Journal articles on the topic 'Concealment of violence'

While mediation is commonly used in custody negotiation, there is no consensus regarding its applicability in domestic violence cases. The aim of this qualitative study in Italy was to explore the role of family mediation in the management of child custody in cases involving domestic violence. Semistructured interviews were conducted with lawyers ( N = 5), social workers ( N = 15), and abused women who had separated from their children’s fathers ( N = 13). Legal documents were also analyzed. The results showed that violence against women and children had often been concealed during mediation, as the professionals involved had failed to detect domestic violence or had labeled it as conflicts. Moreover, the “parental couple” had been dissociated from the “marital couple,” and the responsibility for the abuse had been attributed to both parents. As a result, women and children had been blamed and had experienced secondary victimization, while the perpetrators’ patterns of power and control had continued. The results also revealed that those professionals had not known about and had not applied the Istanbul Convention, which provides guidelines to ensure women’s and children’s safety. Recommendations highlight the need to account for the complexity of domestic violence cases, to hold perpetrators responsible for the abuse, and to support the victims.

AbstractIn spite of the growing public focus on domestic violence (DV) in mainstream Australian society, ethnographers have remained aloof from analysing this problem. In an ethnographic study in the Brisbane region, I analysed people’s perceptions of anti-violence images that were part of a public campaign and assessed the appropriateness of the images’ locations. Occasionally, my interlocutors unexpectedly included accounts of DV. My analysis reveals the tensions between public display and the concealment underlying the campaign. The interlocutors revealed experiences of competing responsibilities related to DV. The use of subtle images of anti-violence in locations filled with competing images, coupled with a failure to consider historical continuities and changes in local imaginaries of violence, exposed the difficulties associated with conveying persuasive messages of DV prevention.

Invisible violence in school physical education can negatively affect students’ body and mind and is detrimental to students’ sports cognition, sports participation, and sound personality cultivation and shaping. We analyze the manifestation and causes of invisible violence in physical education and propose a path to eliminate it, so as to improve the quality of school physical education and promote students’ physical and mental health. In this study, 30 students were interviewed, relevant research data were collected, and coding and clustering were conducted using the rooting theory research method. The results of the study are as follows: Invisible violence in physical education is characterized by concealment, unconsciousness, and indirect harm. According to the 11 characteristics of invisible violence in physical education, invisible violence in physical education is classified as invisible behavioral violence, invisible verbal violence, and invisible discrimination violence. The root causes of invisible violence in physical education are physical education teachers’ lack of understanding of the value of physical education, misplaced transfer of bad emotions and teaching. The root causes of invisible violence in physical education are teachers’ lack of understanding of the value of physical education, misplaced emotions, and the wrong expression of teaching language. The three countermeasures to eliminate invisible violence in physical education are: reshaping physical education teachers’ professional beliefs, improving physical education teachers’ emotional self-management ability, and strengthening physical education teachers’ oral expression ability.

The article describes the types, causes and risk factors of child abuse in the family. Currently, one of the urgent social problems in society is: the impact of domestic violence on children. We see how brutality, violence is escalating, the situation is escalating. The reason for this was the quarrels of parents in the family, the consequences of alcohol and drugs. There are often factors associated with the abduction of children, their trafficking, placement in hard work or the sale of body parts. All these situations are a problem that cannot be solved in the world. It is obvious that a child who has been abused is terrified, such a crime cannot be prevented because of the concealment of children. In this regard, the article provides a comparative analysis of forms of violence against children in Kazakhstan, Russia and abroad. The results of surveys conducted through social networks were also discussed. The systematization of interpretations of the concept of violence in science, as well as categories of child abuse, is proposed.

Este artículo describe y analiza las formas en que los distintos niveles de violencia se concatenan durante la vida, como en la forma de morir, de mujeres en edad reproductiva de Los Altos de Chiapas. La discusión se centra en el análisis de las relaciones sociales en el ámbito institucional, entre las personas, y entre las instituciones y las personas. El análisis se realiza a través de historias individuales y muestra la sociedad en la que viven y fallecen estas mujeres. Pobreza, rezago, insensibilidad, naturalización, encubrimiento, omisión o comisión de la violencia, resultan en efectos perniciosos directos en la salud, educación, y en la posibilidad de sobrevivencia. ABSTRACT This article describes and analyzes the ways in which different levels of violence are linked together during the lives of women of reproductive age in the Los Altos region of Chiapas and the ways in which they die. Discussion is focused on an analysis of social relationships at the institutional level, between individuals, and between institutions and individuals. The authors conduct their analysis through individual histories, and demonstrate the society in which these women live and die. Poverty, backwardness, insensitivity, naturalization, concealment, omission and commission of violence all result in direct harmful effects on the health and education of these women and their possibilities for survival.

The relevance of the research topic is justified by the growing number of cases of domestic violence in the period of lockdown restrictions during the COVID-19 pandemic introduced by governments around the world. These include: lockdown, restrictions on social contacts and mobility. They aim at slowing down the spread of COVID-19. Financial insecurity, increased stress due to changes in typical daily behavior and social isolation, possibility of perpetrators to control their victims in everyday life during long period of time have resulted in increased level of aggression and growing number of cases of domestic violence. The international community recognizes domestic violence as one of the most common violations of human rights and freedoms of women, men, the elderly persons, children. Almost everywhere in the world, governmental agencies and various civil society organizations consolidate their effort in order to address this problem, emphasizing its concealment and complexity, as well as gaps in legislation framework regulating prevention and combating such violations. This article analyzes the best international practices of addressing domestic violence during the pandemic, as study of these practices can be useful to Ukrainian society for developing its own programs to combat domestic violence in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic. Due to specific objectives of the research, a theoretical analysis of the scientific literature and foreign Internet sources was conducted to find out specific measures taken in different countries to address domestic violence during the COVID-19 pandemic. We analyzed practices of combating domestic violence in Canada, Sweden, the Czech Republic, Moldova, and Belarus and identified key actions taken by governments and leading civil society organizations in these countries. The selected practices encourage critical assessment, deeper study and consideration of implementing the best of them in Ukraine.

The article deals with the peculiarities of tactical techniques for conducting interrogations on extremist crimes committed on the Internet. The Internet space acts as a social environment that is congruent (attractive) for adherents of extremist activities, where their leading characteristic is a focus on atypical, non — normative, asocial behavior. Tactical interrogation techniques create conditions for obtaining evidence about the circumstances of the case: whether there was a call to violence, whether violence is justified, what is the content of the materials presented in the network, what means (posters, leaflets, etc.) were used. When conducting an interrogation, the use of psychological influence techniques makes it easier to obtain criminally significant information. For individuals who commit crimes of extremist orientation, taking into account the typification of personal characteristics (idealistic, adventurers, non-normative), some effective tactics are described (egress to emotions, naked aggression, exchange of positions, intervention of an authoritative third, etc.) with an approximate list of questions. Techniques are designed to achieve mutual understanding between the investigator and the interrogated, in which the latter, regardless of the current situation, cooperates with the investigator and provides information about the circumstances of the case without distortion or concealment.

AbstractCivilization is not what it means and it is not eliminating brutality, and yet it would frame uncivilized elements within the civilized framework with legitimacy. However, the thrust of civilization has not been towards the elimination of such acts altogether, but towards hiding such acts out of sight, making the individual oblivious to their true nature due to a lack in ability to visualize and therefore, to fully cognize. The paper critically examines in what ways the concept of concealment and distance hijacked by modern warfare and technology to remove the sense of violence from the cognition by creating an illusionary image of civilization. The phenomenon of modern war is a similar representation of modernity’s betrayed promises. The purpose of this research paper is to employ the conceptual framework of Politics of sight offered by Pachirat in his work “Every Twelve Seconds”, to show how the war in the modern world does not disappear but is made acceptable through concealment and distancing. The case study method along with the discourse analysis has been employed to derive the politics of sights and modern warfare, and it is based on a wide range of sources, both primary and secondary. In conclusion, the paper argues that the modern battlefield differs significantly from its pre-modern counterpart, in that it is governed by many rules articulated in terms of humanitarian law and operationalised by technologies, which, to many, might serve as an apparent indicator of civility. However, a discursive reading into modern warfare, structures and apparatuses built around it, and technologies that enable it might indicate otherwise.

When suspected rapists are detained in Brazil, they are frequently subject to brutal punishments: sodomy, torture, or summary execution. This article examines the competing logics of gender and justice that intersect in Brazilian prisons as authorities sometimes attempt to protect, and inmates almost always endeavor to punish, men who have been put behind bars in cases involving rape. Drawing on years of fieldwork conducted in multiple courtrooms and prisons in a small state in northeastern Brazil, the article describes the strategies of concealment prison administrators and court officials use—or deliberately fail to use—to shield prisoners from being identified as rapists. At the same time, the essay documents the brutal ways that inmates punish peers who have been revealed as perpetrators of sexual assault. Ultimately, the article argues that power in Brazil’s male prisons, like power in Brazilian society more broadly, cannot be understood without considering who has the authority to define and to punish acts of sexual violence.

Post 9/11 the ‘invisibility’ of political prisoners as part of the ‘war on terror’ has had a direct correlation with the concealment of abusive treatment of detainees in the detention camps at Guantánamo Bay and Abu Ghraib. Details of these abuse scandals have indicated that there has been a notable shift away from the optical towards the sonic as a form of punishment and torture, with accounts of detainees being subjected to rock music played for prolonged periods at excruciating volumes (Smith, 2008). Addressing a number of key concerns – sound and phe- nomenology, sound and the ethics of spectatorship, sound and the experience/intensification of confinement, sound as a (potential) mode of resistance/control – this paper will investigate the use of sound in cinematic depictions of imprisonment including A Man Escaped (Bresson, 1956), Hunger (McQueen, 2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (Bigelow, 2012). The aim is to explore how an auditory perspective might complicate previously held ocularcentric conceptions of power in penal institutions (Foucault, 1977) and to examine how this experience of sound is represented on screen. The essay also considers how sound design can bridge the distance between self and other, and align the spectator emotionally, ethically and politically with a film’s characters. The essay thus proposes that an ethical spectatorship may require cinematic auditors to listen more critically, and it claims that a better understanding of the fundamental role that sound and listening play in the articulation and recognition – or indeed, disavowal – of the subjectivity of prisoners within these narratives may lead to an increased awareness of the politics of aesthetics of individual films. The essay concludes by suggesting that the field of sound studies creates further opportunities for research that explores these important questions about representation, spectatorship and ethics from a range of disciplinary perspectives.

This article discusses the relationship between conspiratorial thinking and physical space by focusing on the ways conspiracy theories regarding political violence shape and are shaped by the environments in which it is commemorated. Conspiratorial thinking features space as a significant element, but is taken to do so mainly figuratively. In blaming external powers and foreign actors for social ills, conspiracy theorists employ the spatial metaphor of inside versus outside. In perceiving discourses of transparency as the concealment rather than revelation of mechanisms of governance, conspiracy theorists engage the trope of a façade separating the space of power’s formulations from that of its operations. Studying the case of an arson attack dating from 1990s Turkey and its recent commemorations, this article argues that space mediates conspiracy theory not just figuratively but also physically and as such serves to catalyze two of its deadliest characteristics: anonymity and non-linear causality. Attending to this mediation requires a shift of focus from what conspiracy theory is to what it does as a spatial practice.

AbstractThinking about the whatness of the Law in the digital era means to return to question its ontological abyss and its metaphysical violence. The essay rests on the idea that Law, to declare or to command, to condemn or to absolve, needs a material medium of communication that allows its sensible perceptibility. At the same time, the concrete appearances of the Law in the public sphere are partial and paradoxical: they are haunted by an ontological excess that resists against a conclusive form of mundane apprehension. Forensic Iconicity is the expression coined to figuratively depict the structural ambiguity between ostensibility and concealment that marks the Law’s presentialness. The aim of the work is to explore the transmutations and the displacements of the ancient bodies of symbolic representation of the Law up to the current dispersion in algorithmic sequences and digital traces. Moreover, according to the view proposed, the unresolved relationship between the abstract prophecy of Law and its physical precipitate has been captured and explained by the means of different paradigms, moving from political theology to algorithmic angelism.

Pregnancy denial was observed in a patient after her second delivery. Contrary to the first pregnancy, she denied weight gain, body changes and baby movements. She reported using a contraceptive pill throughout the entire pregnancy. After a short home delivery without assistance, she was admitted to obstetrical department and referred for psychiatric evaluation. Mrs. T. accepted psychiatric follow-up appointments and was followed up for 6 months. She was initially assessed using the SCID II Interview, beck anxiety and depression interview, WHOQOL (WHO quality of life), and childhood trauma questionnaire. She denied pregnancy concealment and during the period of assessment and follow-up there was no evidence of intimate partner violence. Her female newborn was healthy without consequences of oestrogen/progesteron absorption (hypoplastic left heart syndrome, gastroschisis, hypospadias or congenital urinary trait anomalies) in one year follow up. The patient was discharged after 6 months of clinical outpatient follow-up. This case stresses and emphasizes the health and risk outcomes for both mother and child linked to an underestimated but serious phenomenon such as the denial of pregnancy.Disclosure of interestThe authors have not supplied their declaration of competing interest.

The field of Middle Eastern Studies has seen a recent spate of publications that offer a timely and nuanced look at the intersection of language, ideology, and visual representation in Israel-Palestine. Scholars of cultural studies, comparative literature, history, film studies, and the visual arts will appreciate the breadth of perspective offered by a combined reading of Lital Levy's Poetic Trespass: Writing between Hebrew and Arabic in Israel/Palestine, Gil Z. Hochberg's Visual Occupations: Violence and Visibility in a Conflict Zone, and Yaron Shemer's Identity, Place, and Subversion in Contemporary Mizrahi Cinema in Israel. This cluster of studies, taken as a whole, offers a coherent critical intervention into the politics of a literary and visual field marked by silences, lacunas, blind spots, and elisions. Poetic Trespass sketches the contours of a Hebrew literary landscape inhabited by a tacit Arabic presence. With a purview that extends to literature, cinema, and the plastic arts, Visual Occupations probes the tension between systemic practices of concealment and strategic modes of lending visibility. Identity, Place, and Subversion, a powerfully articulated analysis of Mizrahi cinema, interrogates the notion that ethnic difference has become irrelevant in the context of a contemporary Israeli melting pot.

AbstractPrevious research on LGB parenting is dominated by comparing the LGB families to traditional families with heterosexual parents. Little is known about personal experiences of LGB parents and psychological consequences of nonheterosexual parenting in a heteronormative environment.This article presents the conceptualization of lesbian, gay and bisexual parents’ minority stress and focuses especially on it’s sources. LGB parents are considered as a multiple excluded minority group. Using a theoretical framework of minority stress (Meyer 1995) the main stressors are described with reference to parental situation: discrimination and violence, perceived stigma, self-concealment and internalized homophobia. These factors’ possible impact on psychological wellbeing is discussed on the basis of research available. The Polish sociocultural context and its potential influence of LGB parents’ stress is also described.The specificity of LGB parents’ minority stress is that it challenges the aspect of identity associated with a parental social role. The most common stressors undermine the status and quality of parent-child bond and involves the child himself/ herself. In conclusion, minority stress of LGB parents is recognized as a risk factor for decrease in mental health, but also as an opportunity for personal development based on the stress - related growth.

The psycho–lexical approach is extended to Hindi, a major language spoken in India. From both the dictionary and from Hindi novels, a huge set of personality descriptors was put together, ultimately reduced to a manageable set of 295 trait terms. Both self and peer ratings were collected on those terms from a sample of 511 participants. Factor analyses (principal components analysis), performed separately on self and on peer ratings, suggested three up to six factors. From a comparison with an ancient but still popular system of personality description, called the triguna, and from a comparison with a recently developed comprehensive trait taxonomy in Dutch, it was concluded that only three factors, not to be confused with the Big Three, firmly stood out, all three belonging to the three–dimensional triguna. Congruence coefficients between factors based on self and on peer ratings confirmed the stability of these three factors. The three factors are called rajasic, representing ambition, friendliness, humility versus hypocrisy, deception and violence, tamasic, representing egoism, mean mindedness and concealment, and finally sattvic, representing competence, impartiality, being organized, sober and harmonious. Copyright © 2013 European Association of Personality Psychology

For many Indigenous peoples, ancestral lands are a source of nourishment, strength, and sovereignty that counteracts colonial legacies of violence and hegemony. However, the feelings associated with place and the land can also be complicated by embodied fear and ambivalence. What happens when the remnants of colonialism feed feelings of ambivalence, shame, or fear of the land? How do these lasting emotional scars on Indigenous minds and bodies impact Native place-making, today? This paper problematizes the role of ancestral lands and affective place-making in shaping Indigenous identity, sovereignty, resource management, and sustainability. In the Marquesas Islands of French Polynesia, ancestral places are felt as much as seen, and the spirits that dwell there can be dangerous. The active concealment of these Marquesan reactions and relationships to place illustrates the blending of colonial and Indigenous histories and values in ambivalent, affective experiences on the land. Thus, even as islanders work to revitalize their traditional culture and build a sustainable future based on ancestral places, reticence complicates local relationships to the land and the vital hopes they represent. As global sustainability efforts emphasize the conservation of lands inhabited by Indigenous communities, recognizing the conflicted, emplaced emotions and experiences of local peoples will be a key part of understanding such areas and how to preserve them.

In this study, the Busan Wanwol-dong the red light district, the first brothel in Korea, continues to this day under the connivance and management of the central and local governments. Laws and norms are inconsistent, ‘Wanwol-dong’ itself has a mixture of residential and commercial areas, or is closely connected, affecting the residents of the community. In this regard, I studied what the experience of the prostitution women, local community women, and anti-prostitution activists, who are directly victims of Wanwol-dong, by the continuation of the Wanwol-dong prostitution gathering place, and what the impact was depending on the location. To this end, 9 research participants who were closely related to the Busan Wanwol- dong the red light district were selected and conducted as a case study method. The research participants' experience of social control, masculine culture, and connivance and management, which are formal regulations, due to the continuation of the Busan Wanwol the red light district differs depending on the location of women, Prostitution women, community women, and anti- sex trafficking activists repeatedly practice femininity of the 'protected sex' and 'non-protected sex', and as they become gendered, they internalize double norms and become marginalized. However, anti-prostitution activists challenge patriarchal double norms and cause cracks in the empowerment of sex while eradicating prostitution and closing down the Wanwol-dong assembly point in Busan while supporting prostitution women. In addition, prostitution in a specific area spreads the conventional wisdom that prostitution is considered natural, and the demand for sex purchase increases. As it becomes insensitive to violence against women, it strengthens violence against women and puts them in an inferior position, deepening gender empowerment. The Busan Wanwol-dong the red light district is directly and indirectly connected to the local community, such as violence against women and illegal acts, as residential and commercial areas develop through acquiescence and management, which are formal regulations of the government and local governments. Indifference to or concealment of prostitution. In addition, as the system and norms in the local community are inconsistent with each other, the law does not play a role, which is the cause of the persistence of the Busan Wanwol-dong the red light district.

Most women live with an inactive lifestyle, which suggests a need for preference-based choices to promote their participation in physical activity. This systematic review synthesized key findings on the health benefits of Qigong among women. We conducted a systematic search of randomized controlled trials (RCTs) of Qigong among women according to the PRISMA guidelines using the following databases from their inception through March 2021: PubMed/MEDLINE, Web of Science, Cochrane Library, and US National Library of Medicine. The risk of bias was examined using the Cochrane Collaboration’s tool for assessing the risk of bias in randomized trials. Altogether, 18 RCTs were included for final review. Results showed that Qigong was a feasible exercise in improving health outcomes, particularly depressive symptoms (63% of trials), quality of life (43%), and fatigue (29%), among general women, intimate partner violence survivors, and women with chronic conditions (e.g., breast cancer patients or survivors). Almost 90% (7/8) of trials reported high adherence rates ranging from 73 to 95% for supervised group training and 63 to 80% for home self-practice. Thus far, there was no evidence of serious adverse effects from performing Qigong. For the risk of bias across trials, a lack of allocation concealment (72% of trials), no blinding of participants and personnel (67%), and incomplete outcome data (67%) were the major sources. In summary, Qigong is a safe, feasible, and beneficial exercise for general women, abused sufferers, and health-compromised women. However, given the potential risk of bias found in many studies, improved rigor of study design in future trials will be imperatively required.

Objective. To determine the morbidity, mortality, and epidemiologic features of pediatric powder-firearm injuries in a defined urban population. Design and setting. A population-based, descriptive epidemiologic study was conducted of firearm injuries to children in a mid-size urban community (total population: 435 178) in 1992. The population was 56% white and 39% black. Data from prehospital care providers, all city and adjacent community hospitals, and medical examiner and police records were searched for cases of firearm injury. The 1990 United States census provided denominator data. Case definition. Subjects were all 0- to 16-year-old residents of Kansas City, Missouri who sought medical treatment at a hospital for a powder-firearm injury or who presented to the medical examiner with a fatal firearm injury in calendar year 1992. Results. Seventy-two children met the case definition, for an incidence of 70 per 100 000 persons per year. There were 12 (16.7%) fatalities, for a mortality rate of 11.7 per 100 000 persons per year. Almost 10% of the patients sustained permanent disability. Mean and median ages of the patients were 14.9 years and 15.8 years, respectively; 79% were male and 82% were black. The majority of the children (63%) lived in census tracts with a high proportion of families in poverty. Black males had the highest rates of firearm injury, with a 1-year incidence of 233 per 100 000 persons per year. At younger than 12 years, the rates were equal among the races; however, for those 12 years and older, black adolescents had 13 times the risk of white adolescents (541 compared to 42 per 100 000 persons per year). The majority (71%) of injuries were due to assaults, with drive-by shootings the most frequent circumstance. The majority of unintentional injuries occurred to adolescents as the result of an unplanned discharge of a handgun as it was being placed in or removed from concealment. Among the patients, 39% were admitted to the hospital and 26% required surgery. Conclusions. 1) Black male adolescents had the highest risk of firearm injury or fatality. 2) The majority of victims lived in census tracts characterized by poverty. 3) Injuries were alarmingly severe. 4) Interpersonal violence was the leading contributor to fatal and nonfatal injuries. 5) Unintentional injuries characteristically occurred during the process of weapon concealment. 6) The leading contributor to injury and death was the interaction of adolescents and guns, particularly handguns. The main implication for firearm-injury prevention in this population is the limiting of access to guns by adolescents. In addition, measures aimed at preventing violent behavior, such as education in nonviolent methods of conflict resolution, should be explored.

Защита детей от жестокости, предупреждение преступлений против них является чрезвычайно важной, социально значимой и актуальной задачей, решение которой носит междисциплинарный характер. В деятельность по пресечению насилия должны вовлекаться работники правоохранительной системы, органов опеки и попечительства, представители социальной и педагогической сообществ, сотрудники медицинской и психологической служб. Однако чаще всего усилия по созданию эффективной системы профилактики и пресечения насилия в отношении детей, оказания помощи жертвам жестокого обращения разбивающихся через препятствия, из числа: ведомственная ограниченность и межведомственная разобщенность, субъективизм в выборе негосударственных организаций для сотрудничества, отсутствие единых методических и системных подходов в организации профилактической работы; игнорирование профилактической направленности в работе с детьми и семьей; отсутствие законодательных норм и правоприменительной практики по защите и реабилитации жертв, что усугубляется правовой неграмотность и недоверием населения к правоохранительным органам, низкими материальными доходами, которые не позволяют обращаться за квалифицированной юридической помощью; несформированностью у педагогических, полицейских, социальных, медицинских работников навыков общения с жертвой, что ведет к сокрытию или замалчиванию фактов насилия, особенно при отсутствии личной заинтересованности взрослого в наказании обидчика и реабилитации пострадавшего от домашнего насилия; отсутствие эффективно действующей и целесообразно организованной реабилитационной системы. На основании историко-педагогического анализа выявлены ведущие положения вариативных концепций психолого-педагогической ресоциализации семей с детьми, пережившими насилие. Представлена авторская модель психолого-педагогический ресоциализации семей из группы социального риска, в том числе с детьми – жертвами насилия, особенности которой связаны с: 1) опорой на системно-деятельностный, личностно-ориентированный подходы; 2) использованием ведущих теоретических положений семейной педагогики, технологий ресоциализации детей, перенесших насилие, закономерностей гармонизации человека и общества, социально-педагогической поддержки личности в процессе социализации и самореализации и др. и принципы коррекционно-педагогической деятельности; 4) ориентацией содержательно-технологического компонента на индивидуальные особенности семьи и ребенка, психоэмоционального состояния каждого участника группы; использование определенного алгоритма совокупности интерактивных методов взаимодействия, арттерапии в рамках индивидуального, группового и коллективного режимах; 5) применением психолого-педагогического мониторинга, выявляющего сформированность детско-родительских отношений, моральных представлений, направленных на выявления уровня тревожности и агрессивности, развитие коммуникативных навыков и социальной адаптации. The protection of children from cruelty and the prevention of crimes against them is an extremely important, socially significant and urgent task, the solution of which is interdisciplinary. Employees of the law enforcement system, guardianship and guardianship authorities, representatives of the social and pedagogical communities, employees of medical and psychological services should be involved in the activities to prevent violence. However, most often, efforts to create an effective system for the prevention and suppression of violence against children, providing assistance to victims of abuse who break through obstacles, are among the following:: departmental limitations and interdepartmental disunity, subjectivity in the choice of non-governmental organizations for cooperation, the lack of unified methodological and systematic approaches in the organization of preventive work; ignoring the preventive orientation in working with children and families; the lack of legal norms and law enforcement practices for the protection and rehabilitation of victims, which is compounded by legal illiteracy and distrust of the population to law enforcement agencies, low material incomes that do not allow you to apply for qualified legal assistance; lack of educational, police, social, and medical skills of communication with the victim, which leads to concealment or silence of the facts of violence, especially in the absence of personal interest of an adult in punishing the offender and rehabilitating the victim of domestic violence; the lack of an effective and reasonably organized rehabilitation system. Based on the historical and pedagogical analysis, the leading positions of the variable concepts of psychological and pedagogical re-socialization of families with children who have experienced violence are revealed. The author's model of psychological and pedagogical re-socialization of families from the social risk group, including those with child victims of violence, is presented, the features of which are associated with: 1) reliance on system-activity, personality-oriented approaches; 2) using the leading theoretical provisions of family pedagogy, technologies of resocialization of children who have suffered violence, laws of harmonization of a person and society, socio-pedagogical support of the individual in the process of socialization and self-realization, etc. and the principles of correctional and pedagogical activity; 4) orientation of the content and technological component to the individual characteristics of the family and the child, the psycho-emotional state of each group member; the use of a certain algorithm of a set of interactive methods of interaction, art therapy in the framework of individual, group and collective modes; 5) the use of psychological and pedagogical monitoring, which reveals the formation of child-parent relations, moral ideas, aimed at identifying the level of anxiety and aggression, the development of communication skills and social adaptation.

ObjectivesThe aim of this analysis is to: (i) assess the prevalence of clinically significant depressive symptoms at baseline and follow-up for participants in the PROUD trial of HIV pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), examining changes in prevalence over time and (ii) investigate the association of socioeconomic and psychosocial factors with depression.MethodsPROUD was an open label randomised trial evaluating the benefit of PrEP for 544 HIV-negative gay, bisexual and other men who have sex with men (GBMSM) in England. Enrolment was between 2012 and 2014, with at least 2 years follow-up. Prevalence of depression (score ≥10 on Patient Health Questionnaire-9) was assessed and compared across time-points (using McNemar’s χ2tests) and between trial arms (using χ2tests). Cross-sectional associations with socioeconomic and psychosocial factors were examined using baseline data in modified Poisson regression models and combined 12 and 24 month follow-up data in generalised estimating equations (GEEs). Prevalence ratios (PRs) were presented as unadjusted PR and adjusted PR (aPR) for age, UK birth, sexual identity, university education, London study clinic site and calendar time (and follow-up time-point in GEEs).ResultsDepression increased significantly from baseline (9.1%; 49/540) to the 12 month (14.4%; 59/410) and 24 month (14.4%; 48/333) follow-ups, possibly explained by underreporting at baseline. The prevalence of depression did not differ by study trial arm, at any time-point. In the baseline analysis, younger age, unemployment and crystal methamphetamine use, was associated with depression. In combined analysis of 12 and 24 month data, measures of intimate partner violence (IPV) (lifetime IPV victimisation aPR 2.57 (95% CI: 1.71 to 3.86)), internalised homophobia (aPR 1.91 (95% CI: 1.29 to 2.83)) and concealment of sexual identity (aPR 1.75 (95% CI: 1.16 to 2.65)), were strongly associated with depression.ConclusionsThere is a high concomitant burden of psychosocial factors with depression among GBMSM.Trial registration numberISRCTN (ISRCTN94465371) and ClinicalTrials.gov (NCT02065986).

Abstract Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP) is an autoimmune condition characterized by autoantibody-mediated platelet destruction and suboptimal megakaryocytic production. Primarily acute (< 6 months) in duration among children, ITP manifests predominantly chronically among adults, increasing susceptibility to bleeding events. Despite recent growth, published literature on health-related quality of life in ITP remains limited. The objective of our investigation was to identify lifestyle concerns associated with ITP among adult and pediatric patients in the United Kingdom. In collaboration with ITP specialists, a 43 question, closed-field lifestyle survey was developed, addressing social engagement, work and school performance, sports and activities, treatment, and travel. Patient members of the United Kingdom ITP Support Association (N = 1,767) were asked to complete and return mailed surveys. Pearson’s chi-square and Fisher’s exact tests were used to evaluate differences in dichotomized variables between groups. 790 (45%) completed surveys were returned. As illustrated in the table below, roughly one-quarter of adults (≥ 16 years) and one-fifth of children reported ‘always’, ‘sometimes’, or ‘often’ missing school or work owing to fatigue and having encountered difficulty obtaining insurance. Nearly one-third of adults further revealed having an elective surgery delayed owing to a low platelet count. Disparities were noted across gender with regard to bruise concealment (adults: p < 0.01; children: p = 0.03) and suspicions of subjection to violence (adults: p < 0.01; children: p = 0.49). In contrast with adults, pediatric patients reported being more likely to having requests for referral denied (p = 0.03). This study represents the largest quality of life investigation of ITP to date. Although the survey utilized remains to be validated, its findings nonetheless successfully highlight avenues for future investigation. Subgroups: ‘Yes’ % Adults Children Question Total ‘Yes’ % N = 790 Male N = 199 Female N = 497 Male N = 51 Female N = 43 [1] Total number of responses recorded for the given question. Have you ever been unable to go to work or school because of tiredness and fatigue? 29% 710[1] 26% 186 31% 435 20% 49 30% 40 Have you had difficulty obtaining or been refused travel and life insurance? 29% 611 30% 540 18% 71 Have you ever had surgery (other than splenectomy for ITP) postponed or delayed because of a low platelet count? 30% 620 34% 158 30% 391 13% 39 19% 32 Do you try to hide your bruises? 29% 756 10% 190 37% 475 20% 50 42% 41 Are people ever suspicious that the bruises are a result of physical violence? 17% 750 5% 193 19% 468 31% 49 38% 40 Have you ever been refused a referral to an ITP specialist or hospital of 5% 574 3% 144 4% 358 10% 41 10% 31

The European aristocratic imaginary and the Eastern paradise: Europe, Islam andChina 1100-1780. Batchelor. Robert Kinnaird, Jr. Ph.D. University of California, LosAngeles, 1999.218~A~d.v isers: John Brewer and David Sabean.The disseaion investigates changes in the social imaginary of the European aristocracy,which centered on the garden as a space of social and cultural production, to argue that firstIslam and later China played an integral role in the formation of conceptions of both aristocraticsociety and later the nation in Europe. The nineteenth century institution ofOrientalism as a scholarly and literary form of writing about the East cannot be understoodwithout an historical understanding of its basis in earlier aristocratic attempts to define andmaintain their class status in emerging nation states by drawing upon cultural models perceivedas external and superior to Europe. An interest in the unique combination of sensualityand emtic love with formal geometry and a strict ordering of nature in the Islamic gardendrove this process during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, while in the seventeenthand eighteenth centuries, especially in England, the “irregular” nature of the Chinese gardenwith its “management of contrasts” and “concealment of the bounds’’ captivated the attentionof a “patriotic” and nationally oriented aristocracy and gentry. These exchanges cameout of, and were in turn shaped by, a formal commerce in writings and images that developedfirst locally in the Meditemean and then globally between Europe and China.Bayazid Bistami an analysis of early Persian mysticism (ninth century, Islam). Tehmi,Diane. Ph.D. Cofwnbia University, 1999. 147pp. Adviser: Hamid Dabashi.This study is an analysis of the development of early Persian mysticism with specific referenceto the ninth century Islamic mystic Bayazid Bistami. The study contains historical,political, social, religious, and literary background of Bayazid in Islamic thought. A completetranslation of the sayings of Bayazid, certain metaphors employed by him for the clarificationof his doctrine, and an alphabetized list of names of the persons and places mentionedin the text are also brought into consideration. This study also contains backgroundof his life. contemporaries, and contribution to Sufism. as well as terminology, symbolicmetaphors, and annotation of expressions and technical terms in his work.Terrorism in the name of religion: perceptions and attitudes of religious leaders fromJudaism, Christianity, and Islam in the United States. Al-Khattar, Aref M. Ph.D.Idiana University of Pennsylvania, 1998. 365pp. Adviser: W. Timothy Austin.This dissertation analyzes the way in which spiritual leaders representing Judaism,Christianity, and Islam perceive terrorism. In-depth, semistructured interviews were conductedto explore how Rabbis, Priests, and Imams/Sheiks from three monotheistic religionsdefine and justify terrorism in the name of religion. Also addressed are what functions, ifany, religious leaders can or should play in fostering better understanding of terrorism in theU.S.A. or elsewhere. A stratified, purposive sample of 24 participants was drawn from anavailable population of religious leaders (representing their major sects) from the Northeastregion of the United States. Following traditions appropriate to qualitative research, datawas collected, sorted and analyzed. Findings of this study confiied the difficulty of definingterrorism. All participants agree that terrorism cannot be justified in their religions.Nevertheless, many of them gave some justifications of certain terrorist acts without specificallyconsidering these acts as terrorism. It was concluded that violence, but not terrorism, ...

ON 23 DECEMBER 1858, theTimesreported the proceedings of the trial in Reading of Mary Newell, a servant, for the willful murder of her three-month-old child, whose body had been discovered in the Thames by boys who had gone fishing. Since Newell herself had admitted the crime in a statement to the constables who came to her mother's house to arrest her, the focus of the trial was not so much on establishing the guilt or innocence of the prisoner as it was on determining what could have motivated such an extreme and seemingly unnatural act of violence in order to decide the severity of her punishment. According to the testimony of a fellow inmate in the workhouse where she lived, Newell had been “a kind and affectionate mother” to the infant and had “suckled it to the last”; the prisoner's defense counsel, seeking to reconcile this description with the seriousness of her crime, invited the medical witness to affirm that she might have been “seized by a destructive impulse” that made her “destroy [that] to which [she] was most fondly attached.” While Newell's defense hoped to establish mental instability as the likeliest conceivable explanation for her act, the prisoner's confession to the constables, describing her hopelessness on being turned away by the child's father, pointed to another motivation, that of economic desperation: “I went to the father of it, and he refused to give me anything, and I told him I would swear the baby, or have a summons for him. He said I might do so. He put on his coat and left me in the shop…. I stood there till his sister put up the shutters. She said it was no use to stop any longer, he would not be home till 11 or 12. I walked the town till 12, being destitute of a farthing. I walked down the Forbury to the King's Meadow. I undressed the baby and laid it by the side on the bank, and let the baby roll in. Afterwards I walked up and down to see if I could see him come indoors. After that I went and got over into a field, and sat under a hedge–it was in a turnip field–till morning…. I saw him at Christmas and he said he would pay for the child.” (“Criminal Courts” 23 Dec. 1858)

There are, thus, three essential distinguishing features: intentionality, purpose and severity of suffering. Torture can be broadly defined as the intentional infliction of severe pain or suffering, by agents of the State, for a specific purpose, such as the extraction of information, a confession, intimidation or punishment or discrimination[1]. Other relevant elements not provided in the legal definition include the suppression of the will of the victim, powerlessness and the moral injury suffered, and the attack on dignity as an essential human value. Similarly, enforced disappearance (ED) is, also broadly defined, the deprivation of liberty by agents of the State followed by the refusal to acknowledge the fate or whereabouts of the detainee, this putting the person outside the protection of the law[2]. ED is a composite human rights violation that involves two kinds of victims: first, the direct victim, who suffered the violence of abduction, the anguish of being held defenceless in an unknown place and who, in most cases, suffered physical or psychological torture, and, on the other hand, the relatives of the disappeared[3]. The level of anguish and suffering inflicted on family members has been repeatedly considered by the medical and psychological community to be of sufficient severity to meet the threshold of the definition of torture (Citroni, 2017; Hollander, 2016; Kordon, D., Edelman, L., Lagos, D., & Kersner, 1998; Pérez-Sales, 2000; Robins, 2010; Shaery-Yazdi, 2020; Smid et al., 2020; Zarrugh, 2018). There are strong arguments to consider that ED is a form of torture. Indeed, EDs always imply, towards the person disappeared, intentionality, purpose, suffering, powerlessness, absolute deprivation of will and attacks to dignity. At the same time, some of these elements may be more complex to prove in the case of relatives. One should recall, for example, that the German High Command, while implementing the sadly famous Night and Fog Decree, which instituted a program to enforcedly disappear victims in the occupied territories during World War II, expressly indicated that "[e]fficient and enduring intimidation can only be achieved either by capital punishment or by measures by which the relatives of the criminal and the population do not know the fate of the criminal. This aim is achieved when the criminal is transferred to Germany" (Finucane, 2010). This paper explores these links (see also Nowack, 2012) and puts forward some proposals and challenges for the future. [1] In accordance with the Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, “the term "torture" means any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity. It does not include pain or suffering arising only from, inherent in or incidental to lawful sanctions” (article 1.1). [2] Enforced disappearances are defined as “the arrest, detention, abduction or any other form of deprivation of liberty by agents of the State or by persons or groups of persons acting with the authorization, support or acquiescence of the State, followed by a refusal to acknowledge the deprivation of liberty or by concealment of the fate or whereabouts of the disappeared person, which place such a person outside the protection of the law”. See International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance, article 2. [3]Indeed, the ED Convention, provides that the term ’victim’ means the disappeared person and any individual who has suffered harm as the direct result of an enforced disappearance”. In this sense, and as victims often recall, there are (a) the rights of the disappeared, including the right to due process, to liberty, security and integrity of the person, to be searched, reparation, etc. (b) the rights of the relatives to truth and justice, to measures of psycho-social assistance and other forms of reparation, etc.

The recent film Boys Don't Cry illustrates in a highly dramatised form the problems that the phenomenon of gender identity disorder can create in an extreme situation. The film is based on the true story of a young person, Brandon, with a female body who perceived himself as a male. In the film we do not know when the issue of his male gender identity first appeared, but we see him living in a male role as a teenager trying to conceal, to his peers, the reality of his female body. (I refer to Brandon as ‘he’ because this is how Brandon presents himself in the film. The dilemma about using ‘he’ or ‘she’ typically confronts professionals in the management of teenagers like Brandon.) The struggles of these concealments are well portrayed, as in the scene when he steals tampons from a shop. He joins in male activities and displays of physical strength as a confirmation of his male role. He is well accepted as a boy within a troubled and troublesome group of young people. He falls passionately in love with a girl, Lana, who accepts him as he is without much questioning, and a close intimate relationship develops, which the peer group seems to accept. The reality of his body is eventually revealed. His girlfriend can accept the new situation, but had she really not known or had she turned a blind eye? Unfortunately, two young men become more and more disturbed by this realisation. It stirs a primitive violence in them, which leads first to Brandon's rape and then to his murder.

Abstract Background Domestic violence during pregnancy is a severe public health problem. Abused pregnant women are confronted with the threats posed by domestic violence. Pregnancy and protection of the unborn child could affect maternal strategies for managing violence. The purpose of this study was to explore Iranian women's strategies for managing domestic violence during pregnancy. Methods This qualitative study was conducted in October 2019 to June 2021 in Mashhad, Iran. Data were collected through individual semi structured interviews with 13 women who experienced perinatal domestic violence, two relatives and 24 related specialists as well as two focus group discussions with attendance of 20 abused mothers until the data saturation was achieved. Data were analyzed by the conventional content analysis approach of Graneheim and Lundman. Results The main themes "escape strategies" and "situation improvement strategies" were emerged as the result of data analysis. Escape strategies was comprised of three categories including concealment, passive dysfunctional behaviors and neutral behaviors to control maternal emotional distress. Situation improvement strategies was comprised of three categories including active self-regulation, protecting family privacy and help seeking to control violence. Conclusion Understanding the experience of managing domestic violence among pregnant women is essential to design evidence based violence prevention programs, which enable supportive healthcare and social systems to encourage abused mothers to use more effective strategies and seeking help to overcome domestic violence.

What happens when the memory duty—the idea that remembrance leads to prevention, redemption, and recognition—intersects with a contentious past of violence between “intimate enemies”? This article turns to the microhistory of a small highland town that became a scenery of both collaboration and resistance during the insurgency of the Maoist rebels of Shining Path in Peru (1980–2000) to answer this question. An analysis of the (post-)conflict strategies deployed by the villagers reveals processes of both appropriation and contestation of the memory duty. On the one hand, the heroic narrative of resistance against Shining Path that dominates public remembrance in Sacsamarca serves to demand recognition by the Peruvian state for the community’s role in opposing the Maoist revolutionaries. On the other, putting emphasis on resistance enables the villagers to downplay their initial support for Shining Path, a necessary precondition for claiming reparations and citizenship as well as for maintaining a tense coexistence between community members.

Although transgender women of color, specifically Black and Latina experience gender-based violence in a variety of contexts, one of the most consistently reported is from a dating or romantic partner. This qualitative study sought to understand the manifestations and consequences of stigma experienced by transgender women of color in their dating or romantic relationships. Between January and February 2019, we purposively recruited 33 transgender women of color to participate in five focus group discussions and complete a brief survey. We employed both inductive and deductive approaches to coding and thematic analysis. We identified different forms of anti-transgender interpersonal stigma experienced by transgender women of color seeking romantic relationships and by those in romantic relationships. For those dating and seeking relationships, anti-transgender interpersonal stigma took the form of dehumanizing stereotypes and sexual objectification. While these manifestations of anti-transgender interpersonal stigma persisted for some within relationships, concealment behaviors from partners was the predominant type of anti-transgender interpersonal stigma. Each of these forms of anti-transgender interpersonal stigma had significant gender-based violence consequences, specifically encountering physical violence, experiencing psychological trauma, and engaging in survival strategies. In the current climate of COVID-19, which is exacerbating risks of gender-based violence, there is an urgent need to understand and address the nuanced manifestations of stigma in relationships and their consequences on the lives of transgender women of color. Culturally grounded gender-based violence prevention policies and programs with transgender women should address these forms of stigma and build on community strengths. Findings also highlight the importance of future research and gender-based violence prevention programming with cisgender men in/seeking partnerships with transgender women of color.

AbstractFamilies globally experience child to parent violence (CPV). Stories of CPV have been considered at an individual and collective level to ascertain themes in parents’ accounts to identify enabling and restraining factors for CPV. However, understanding the societal narratives, defined as discourses, which have a multi-directional and entangled relationship with individual recounts of CPV have yet to be investigated. This research utilizes Narrative Inquiry with participatory approaches to explicate the societal narratives within mothers’ recounts of CPV. This analysis, guided by the interactional and discursive view of violence, and response-based practice, identifies societal narratives which set the conditions for what is possible and impossible in relation to CPV. The analysis contributes to understanding the attitudes of minimization and concealment of violence within parents’ accounts of CPV. The mothers’ recounts were constrained and made possible by the ‘good’ mother narrative and narratives of adolescence and gender. This research examines the intra-actions mothers’ recounts have with the societal narratives, and the performance of their roles as (en)actors of the subject positions ‘mother’ and ‘child’. Implications for practice and research include: consideration to practitioner’s views of power and subject positions in a parent and child relationship when working with CPV; and practitioners to be critical of essentialism and gender in working with CPV. This study posits a practical demonstration for using the response-based practice approach in research; and a way of viewing stories which can be incorporated in working with families experiencing CPV.

The life of Holy Prophet (PBUH) is a beacon of light not only for Muslims but for all of humanity. There is no such aspect of life for which we do not have guidance from the life of Holy Prophet (PBUH). Whether it is personal life or social life. One of these aspects is the Da'wah strategy of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) in Makki era. This article elaborates the Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) strategies adopted for the preaching of the Islam during the Makki era. The basic elements of his missionary strategies such as the way of argumentations, parlance and dialects are made the subject of discussion. It highlights the diverse and distinct communication strategies to make the message of Islam intelligible to the common people even, which include: common values, courtesy, non-violence, intellectual stature of the audience, evolutionary process, the psychological intelligibility of addressee, sense of responsibility and proportionality, capacity to perform missionary activity, intimacy with newly converts, concealment of the faith, migration, and strong assertion of faith. The methodology deployed in construing this discourse is descriptive-cum-analytical.

Abstract Background External causes are events that lead to traumas, injuries and any health problems, whether deliberate or not, with sudden onset and with immediate consequence, which may or may not lead to death or incapacitating injuries. Studies show that the main causes of death of women in fertile period are external causes, and they associate this fact with the change in habits and lifestyle adopted by this group in modern times that make them more vulnerable to the risks of becoming ill or dying from such causes. The objective of this study is precisely to analyze the prevalence of the main external causes in women assisted by SAMU 192 in Espírito Santo, Brazil, and in this way, assist in the development of accident and violence prevention strategies and also contribute to the scientific society through the description of the profile epidemiological profile of these events. Methods This is a cross-sectional study of primary care provided by SAMU 192, in the state of Espírito Santo, in 2015, in which only women victims of traffic accidents, aggression or falls were selected. Results Among the women assisted by SAMU 192, 23.5% were victims of accidents and violence. Of this total, 48.6% received assistance for falls, 46.6% for traffic accidents and 4.9% for aggression. Adulthood was the most frequent, with an average age of 44.9 ± 22.7 years. Conclusions External causes involving women represent a major problem in Brazil and worldwide. In Espírito Santo, falling was the most common type of external cause and mainly affected the elderly woman, while the traffic accident mainly affected the adult woman. As for the aggressions, these occurred mainly at night with association with the use of alcoholic beverages. Thus, it is immensely necessary to develop actions to promote and prevent external causes of harm to women's health in the state of Espírito Santo. Key messages Knowing what affects the most women's health in an emerging country like Brazil, is essential for public policy actions aimed at reducing the femininity, sexism and the death of women in general. Violence against women is an underreported event because of several factors, leading to the concealment of violence, emphasizing once again the importance of public policies for this purpose.

Drawing from comparable experiences of trauma, play, and tectonic improvisation as camoufleurs during the First World War, architects Ralph Walker and Aymar Embury II would later work through logics of protective concealment in domestic design projects ranging from carpet prototypes for the Metropolitan Museum in New York to bridge infrastructures for Robert Moses—pursuing forms that provided a sense of security in their woven equivocation and offered portability through their scalability and potential for standardized ubiquity. As with the operations of artillery and personnel camouflage where makeshift flat-tops of fabric and foliage provided spaces of relief within a brutal theater of reciprocal violence, the “masterly confusion” of much interwar architectural work long deemed “modernistic,” middlebrow, or not fully modern was often animated by strained therapeutic desires to mask or avoid the aesthetic and physiological shocks of modernity while also furthering the entrenchment of modern forms of mobilization at more systemic levels. This paper traces how formal ambivalence born out of necessity on the battlefield would come to migrate across surfaces and mutate into surfaces back home, advancing the fluid forms of capital and corporatism via subtle tectonic and material means.

As many violence scholars, I have not found myself to be greatly interested in cruelty, for the simple reason that instances of cruelty are relatively rare, if we accept its usual definition as “willful indifference to suffering, or taking pleasure in inflicting such suffering upon sentient beings.” Most people do not actively wish harm to others, and for this reason, the harms that keep our societies running smoothly and in ordered fashion must be kept in concealment, far from our direct vision, if we are to be asked to tolerate them—cruel punishments, executions, exclusions of minorities from the full benefits of the society, etc. However, Michael Trice’s new book, Encountering Cruelty, renews a fresh interest in this dark topic by redefining cruelty as an ordinary, common occurrence, infecting the everyday in ever more subtle forms. Trice reveals how a too narrow definition of cruelty may grant us the comfort of believing its occurrence to be minimal, but it robs us of the opportunity to track its traces writ large across the landscape of the human world. We cannot hope to understand, and ultimately heal, the rebounding effects of suffering across the broader social terrain, unless we are willing to admit the cruelty that underlies modern institutional life.

Objective: Country-level structural stigma toward sexual minority individuals (i.e., discriminatory laws and policies and prejudicial attitudes) shows robust associations with sexual minority individuals’ mental health and individual-level stigma processes, such as identity concealment. Whether structural stigma is also associated with interpersonal-level stigma processes, such as victimization, is rarely studied. Whether the association between structural stigma and sexual minority individuals’ interpersonal mistreatment varies across gender, gender nonconformity, and socioeconomic status also remains to be determined. Methods: In 2012, sexual minority adults ( n = 86,308) living in 28 European countries responded to questions assessing past-12-month victimization experiences (i.e., physical or sexual attack or threat of violence). Country-level structural stigma was objectively indexed as an aggregate of national laws, policies, and population attitudes negatively affecting sexual minority individuals Results: Country-level structural stigma was significantly associated with victimization (adjusted odds ratios [AOR]: 1.13, 95% confidence interval [CI]: 1.04–1.22; p = .004). However, this effect varied by gender, gender nonconformity, and socioeconomic status. For both sexual minority men and women, gender nonconformity and lower socioeconomic status were associated with increased risk of victimization. The strongest association between country-level stigma and victimization was found among gender nonconforming men with lower socioeconomic status (AOR: 1.32, 95% CI: 1.14–1.52; p < .001). Conclusions: A much larger proportion of sexual minorities living in higher stigma countries reports victimization than those living in lower stigma countries. At the same time, the association between country-level structural stigma and victimization is most heavily concentrated among gender nonconforming men with lower socioeconomic status.

The post-truth ideology seems to question the possibility of credibility in present-day society; however, the very idea of truth remains potent. In this paper, we adopt the notion of parrhesia, or the mode of telling the uncomfortable truth without deceit and concealment, to analyze how the discourse of truth is presented in contemporary fiction. Avoiding its political aspects, we limit our study to the interpersonal level of parrhesia that shapes individuals as moral subjects and belongs to the domain of ethos. We select Lauren Oliver's novel “Before I Fall” for analysis because it resembles a confession that involves the characters and readers in the practice of truth-telling. Drawing from Foucauldian theory, we examine how the protagonist participates in the parrhesiastic game and how the truth transforms her after she completes the stages of search for the truth, test of the character, and care for oneself and others. We argue that in the novel truth-telling is related to the problems of school bullying, social separateness, and suicide. Through the rhetorical approach to narrative we show how narration reflects psychological and moral changes of the protagonist and examine how narrative judgments reveal the ethical values of the author and the readers. We analyse how the novel describes the problem of violence demonstrating that its source lies within the family and school where abusive adolescent conduct is caused by the inability of adults to create a healthy climate for children. Individuals deprived of emotional support and guidance tend to direct their rage and frustration towards others to reduce inner strain. Lauren Oliver demonstrates the effectiveness of the parrhesiastic practice in renewing social bonds between interlocutors and reducing violent behavior. We conclude that the novel establishes truth as the highest ethical value that includes developing a true self, leading a true life according to the principles and having courage to oppose false opinions of others.

It is surprising that although 12 million people in India suffer from epilepsy this remains a thoroughly under-researched area in the sociology of health and practice. We address this intellectual and policy neglect by reviewing the social, psychological and legal challenges governing the lives of people living with epilepsy (PWE) by paying particular attention to negotiations in arranged marriages and employment. Drawing on the analytical frameworks of the sociological study of stigma, critical race theory and paying attention to the cultural models of health and suffering, this study utilized a combination of (online) survey data (N = 100) and in-depth qualitative interviews (N = 10) with PWE and their families. The online survey was administered to map the level of awareness about epilepsy and its clinical management among the general population, whereas the in-depth interviews were conducted to understand the experience, self-perception and everyday struggles of those diagnosed with the condition. Findings from the survey on non-PWE suggest a general lack of awareness and fearful misconceptions around epilepsy related seizures. In-depth interviews with PWEs revealed concealment (of the illness) as a dominant coping strategy to attenuate the social alienation and rejection associated with epilepsy. Further, PWE participants reported persistent discrimination, harassment and prejudiced understanding of diminished cognitive capacities at workplaces as a result of cultural myths and popular representations of epilepsy-related seizures. The study also demonstrated the significance of institutional support groups in assisting PWE to cope with symbolic violence and forge solidarities. We conclude with reflections on the ethical dilemmas faced by medical practitioners while dealing with social-medical interventions of epilepsy treatment. Overall, results from this study undergird the significance to revisit the social-moral as well as legal frameworks that persistently restrict opportunities for PWE in India. In an attempt to reimagine inclusive futures regardless of disease, disability and affliction, we attempt to move beyond the biomedical gaze and instead privilege stories of individual personhood, struggles and aspirations.

BASTARDYAll children born before matrimony, or so long after the death of the husband as to render it impossible that the child could be begotten by him, are bastards.– Cro. Jac. 451William Toone: The Magistrates Manual, 1817 (66)On 4 September 1832, the body of a newborn baby boy was found washed up on the shore at the port town of Fremantle, Western Australia. As the result of an inquest into the child’s suspicious death, a 20-year-old, unmarried woman named Mary Summerland was accused of concealing his birth. In October 2014, 25-year-old Irish backpacker Caroline Quinn faced court in Perth, Western Australia, over claims that she concealed the birth of her stillborn child after giving birth in the remote north west town of Halls Creek during May of the same year. Both women denied the existence of their children, both appear to have given birth to their “illegitimate” babies alone, and both women claimed that they did not know that they had ever been pregnant at all. In addition, both women hid the body of their dead child for several days while the people they lived with or were close to, did not appear to notice that the mother of the child had had a baby. In neither case did any person associated with either woman seek to look for the missing child after it had been born.Despite occurring 182 years apart, the striking similarities between these cases could lead to the assumption that it is almost as if there were a written script of behaviour that would explain the actions of both young women. Close examination of the laws surrounding child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth reveals evidence of similar behaviours being enacted by women as far back as the 1600s (and earlier), and all are shaped in response to the legal frameworks that prosecuted women who gave birth outside of marriage.This article traces the history of child murder law from its formation in England in the 1600s and explores how early moral assumptions concerning unmarried mothers echoed through the lived experiences of women who killed their illegitimate babies in colonial Western Australia, and continue to resonate in the treatment of, and legal response to, women accused of similar crimes in the present day. The Unlicensed ChildThe unlicensed child is a term coined by Swain and Howe to more accurately define the social matrix faced by single women and their children in Australia. The term seeks to emphasise the repressive and controlling religious, legal and social pressures that acted on Australian women who had children outside marriage until the mid-1970s (xxi, 1, 92, 94). For the purposes of this article, I extend Swain and Howe’s term the unlicensed child to coin the term the unlicensed mother. Following on from Swain and Howe’s definition, if the children of unmarried mothers did not have a license to be born, it is essential to acknowledge that their mothers did not have a license to give birth. Women who had children without social and legal sanction gave birth within a society that did not allocate them “permission” to be mothers, something that the corporeality of pregnancy made it impossible for them not to be. Their own bodies—and the bodies of the babies growing inside them—betrayed them. Unlicensed mothers were punished socially, religiously, legally and financially, and their children were considered sinful and inferior to children who had married parents simply because they had been born (Scheper-Hughes 410). This unspoken lack of authorisation to experience the unavoidably innate physicality of pregnancy, birth and motherhood, in turn implies that, until recently unmarried mothers did not have license to be mothers. Two MothersAll that remains of the “case” of Mary Summerland is a file archived at the State Records Office of Western Australia under the title CONS 3472, Item 10: Rex V Mary Summerland. Yet revealed within those sparse documents is a story echoed by the events surrounding Caroline Quinn nearly two hundred years later. In September 1832, Mary Summerland was an unmarried domestic servant living and working in Fremantle when the body of a baby was found lying on a beach very close to the settlement. Western Australia had only been colonized by the British in 1829. The discovery of the body of an infant in such a tiny village (colonial Fremantle had a population of only 436 women and girls out of 1341 non-Aboriginal emigrants) (Gardiner) set in motion an inquest that resulted in Mary Summerland being investigated over the suspicious death of the child.The records suggest that Mary may have given birth, apparently alone, over a week prior to the corpse of the baby being discovered, yet no one in Fremantle, including her employer and her family, appeared to have noticed that Mary might have been pregnant, or that she had given birth to a child. When Mary Summerland was eventually accused of giving birth to the baby, she strongly denied that she had ever been pregnant, and denied being the mother of the child. It is not known how her infant ended up being disposed of in the ocean. It is also not known if Mary was eventually charged with concealment or child murder, but in either scenario, the case against her was dismissed as “no true bill” when she faced her trial. The details publically available on the case of Caroline Quinn are also sparse. Even the sex of her child has not been revealed in any of the media coverage of the event. Yet examination of the limited details available on her charge of “concealment of birth” reveal similarities between her behaviours and those of Mary Summerland.In May 2014 Caroline Quinn had been “travelling with friends in the Kimberly region of Western Australia” (Lee), and, just as Mary did, Caroline claims she “did not realise that she was pregnant” when she went into labour (Independent.ie). She appears, like Mary Summerland, to have given birth alone, and also like Mary, when her child died due to unexplained circumstances she hid the corpse for several days. Also echoing Mary’s story, no person in the sparsely populated Hall’s Creek community (the town has a populace of 1,211) or any friends in Caroline’s circle of acquaintances appears to have noticed her pregnancy, nor did they realise that she had given birth to a baby until the body of the child was discovered hidden in a hotel room several days after her or his birth. The media records are unclear as to whether Caroline revealed her condition to her friends or whether they “discovered” the body without her assistance. The case was not brought to the attention of authorities until Caroline’s friends took her to receive medical attention at the local hospital and staff there notified the police.Media coverage of the death of Caroline Quinn’s baby suggests her child was stillborn or died soon after birth. As of 13 August 2014 Caroline was granted leave by the Chief Magistrate to return home to Ireland while she awaited her trial, as “without trivialising the matter, nothing more serious was alleged than the concealing of the birth” (Collins, "Irish Woman"). Caroline Quinn was not required to return to Australia to appear at her trial and when the case was presented at the Perth Magistrates Court on Thursday 2 October, all charges against her were dropped as the prosecutor felt “it was not in the public interest” to proceed with legal action (Collins, "Case").Statutory MarginalisationTo understand the similarities between the behaviours of, and legal and medical response to, Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn, it is important to situate the deaths of their children within the wider context of child murder, concealment of birth and “bastardy” law. Tracing the development of these methods of law-making clarifies the parallels between much of the child murder, infanticide and concealment of birth narrative that has occurred in Western Australia since non-Aboriginal settlement.Despite the isolated nature of Western Australia, the nearly 400 years since the law was formed in England, and the extremely remote rural locations where both these women lived and worked, their stories are remarkably alike. It is almost as if there were a written script and each member of the cast knew what role to play: both Mary and Caroline knew to hide their pregnancies, to deny the overwhelmingly traumatic experience of giving birth alone, and to conceal the corpses of their babies. The fathers of their children appear to have cut off any connection to the women or their child. The family, friends, or employers of the parents of the dead babies knew to pretend that they did not know that the mother was pregnant or who the father was. The police and medical officers knew to charge these women and to collect evidence that could be used to simultaneously meet the needs of the both prosecution and the defence when the cases were brought to trial.In reference to Mary Summerland’s case, in colonial Western Australia when a woman gave birth to an infant who died under suspicious circumstances, she could be prosecuted with two charges: “child murder” and/or “concealment of birth”. It is suggestive that Mary may have been charged with both. The laws regarding these two offences were focused almost exclusively on the deaths of unlicensed children and were so deeply interconnected they are difficult to untangle. For Probyn, shame pierces the centre of who we think we are, “what makes it remarkable is that it reveals with precision our values, hopes and aspirations, beyond the generalities of good manners and cultured norms” (x). Dipping into the streams of legal and medical discourse that flow back to the seventeenth century highlights the pervasiveness of discourses marginalising single women and their children. This situates Mary Summerland and Caroline Quinn within a ‘burden on society’ narrative of guilt, blame and shame that has been in circulation for over 500 years, and continues to resonate in the present (Coull).An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard ChildrenIn England prior to the 17th century, penalties for extramarital sex, the birth and/or maintenance of unlicensed children or for committing child murder were expressed through church courts (Damme 2-6; Rapaport 548; Butler 61; Hoffer and Hull 3-4). Discussion of how the punishment of child murder left the religious sphere and came to be regulated by secular laws that were focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother points to two main arguments: firstly, the patriarchal response to unlicensed (particularly female) sexuality; and secondly, a moral panic regarding a perceived rise in unlicensed pregnancies in women of the lower classes, and the resulting financial burden placed on local parishes to support unwanted, unlicensed children (Rapaport 532, 48-52; McMahon XVII, 126-29; Osborne 49; Meyer 3-8 of 14). In many respects, as Meyer suggests, “the legal system subtly encouraged neonaticide through its nearly universally negative treatment of bastard children” (240).The first of these “personal control laws” (Hoffer and Hull 13) was the Old Poor Law created by Henry VIII in 1533, and put in place to regulate all members of English society who needed to rely on the financial assistance of the parish to survive. Prior to 1533, “by custom the children of the rich depended on their relations, while the ‘fatherless poor’ relied on the charity of the monastic institutions and the municipalities” (Teichman 60-61). Its implementation marks the historical point where the state began to take responsibility for maintenance of the poor away from the church by holding communities responsible for “the problem of destitution” (Teichman 60-61; Meyer 243).The establishment of the poor law system of relief created a hierarchy of poverty in which some poor people, such as those suffering from sickness or those who were old, were seen as worthy of receiving support, while others, who were destitute as a result of “debauchery” or other self-inflicted means were seen as undeserving and sent to a house of correction or common gaol. Underprivileged, unlicensed mothers and their children were seen to be part of the category of recipients unfit for help (Jackson 31). Burdens on SocietyIt was in response to the narrative of poor unlicensed women and their children being undeserving fiscal burdens on law abiding, financially stretched community members that in 1576 a law targeted specifically at holding genetic parents responsible for the financial maintenance of unlicensed children entered the secular courts for the first time. Called the Elizabethan Poor Law it was enacted in response to the concerns of local parishes who felt that, due to the expenses exacted by the poor laws, they were being burdened with the care of a greatly increased number of unlicensed children (Jackson 30; Meyer 5-6; Teichman 61). While the 1576 legislation prosecuted both parents of unlicensed children, McMahon interprets the law as being created in response to a blend of moral and economic forces, undergirded by a deep, collective fear of illegitimacy (McMahon 128). By the 1570s “unwed mothers were routinely whipped and sent to prison” (Meyer 242) and “guardians of the poor” could force unlicensed mothers to wear a “badge” (Teichman 63). Yet surprisingly, while parishes felt that numbers of unlicensed children were increasing, no concomitant rise was actually recorded (McMahon 128).The most damning evidence of the failure of this law, was the surging incidence of infanticide following its implementation (Rapaport 548-49; Hoffer and Hull 11-13). After 1576 the number of women prosecuted for infanticide increased by 225 percent. Convictions resulting in unlicensed mothers being executed also rose (Meyer 246; Hoffer and Hull 8, 18).Infanticide IncreasesBy 1624 the level of infanticide in local communities was deemed to be so great An Act to Prevent the Destroying and Murthering of Bastard Children was created. The Act made child murder a “sex-specific crime”, focused exclusively on the unlicensed mother, who if found guilty of the offence was punished by death. Probyn suggests that “shame is intimately social” (77) and indeed, the wording of An Act to Prevent highlights the remarkably similar behaviours enacted by single women desperate to avoid the shame and criminal implication linked to the social position of unlicensed mother: Whereas many lewd Women that have been delivered of Bastard Children, to avoyd their shame and to escape punishment [my italics], doe secretlie bury, or conceale the Death of their Children, and after if the child be found dead the said Women doe alleadge that the said Children were borne dead;…For the preventing therefore of this great Mischiefe…if any Woman…be delivered of any issue of the Body, Male or Female, which being born alive, should by the Lawes of this Realm be a bastard, and that she endeavour privatlie either by drowning or secret burying thereof, or any other way, either by herselfe of the procuring of others, soe to conceale the Death thereof, as that it may not come to light, whether it be borne alive or not, but be concealed, in every such Case the Mother so offending shall suffer Death… (Davies 214; O'Donovan 259; Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rose 1-2; Rapaport 548). An Act to Prevent also “contained an extraordinary provision which was a reversion of the ordinary common law presumption of dead birth” (Davies 214), removing the burden of proof from the prosecution and placing it on the defence (Francus 133; McMahon 128; Meyer 2 of 14). The implication being that if the dead body of a newborn, unlicensed baby was found hidden, it was automatically assumed that the child had been murdered by their mother (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Osborne 49; Rapaport 549-50; Francus 133). This made the Act unusual in that “the offence involved was the concealment of death rather than the death itself” (O'Donovan 259). The only way an unlicensed mother charged with child murder was able to avoid capital punishment was to produce at least one witness to give evidence that the child was “borne dead” (Law Reform Commission of Western Australia 104; Meyer 238; McMahon 126-27).Remarkable SimilaritiesClearly, the objective of An Act to Prevent was not simply to preserve infant life. It is suggestive that it was enacted in response to women wishing to avoid the legal, social, corporal and religious punishment highlighted by the implementation of the poor law legislation enacted throughout earlier centuries. It is also suggestive that these pressures were so powerful that threat of death if found guilty of killing their neonate baby was not enough to deter women from concealing their unlicensed pregnancies and committing child murder. Strikingly analogous to the behaviours of Mary Summerland in 19th century colonial Western Australia, and Caroline Quinn in 2014, the self-preservation implicit in the “strategies of secrecy” (Gowing 87) surrounding unlicensed birth and child murder often left the mother of a dead baby as the only witness to her baby’s death (McMahon xvii 49-50).An Act to Prevent set in motion the legislation that was eventually used to prosecute Mary Summerland in colonial Western Australia (Jackson 7, Davies, 213) and remnants of it still linger in the present where they have been incorporated into the ‘concealment of birth law’ that prosecuted Caroline Quinn (Legal Online TLA [10.1.182]).Changing the ‘Script’Shame runs like a viral code through the centuries to resonate within the legal response to women who committed infanticide in colonial Western Australia. It continues on through the behaviours of, and legal responses to, the story of Caroline Quinn and her child. As Probyn observes, “shame reminds us about the promises we keep to ourselves” in turn revealing our desire for belonging and elements of our deepest fears (p. x). While Caroline may live in a society that no longer outwardly condemns women who give birth outside of marriage, it is fascinating that the suite of behaviours manifested in response to her pregnancy and the birth of her child—by herself, her friends, and the wider community—can be linked to the narratives surrounding the formation of “child murder” and “concealment” law nearly 400 years earlier. Caroline’s narrative also encompasses similar behaviours enacted by Mary Summerland in 1832, in particular that Caroline knew to say that her child was “born dead” and that she had merely concealed her or his body—nothing more. This behaviour appears to have secured the release of both women as although both Mary and Caroline faced criminal investigation, neither was convicted of any crime. Yet, neither of these women or their small communities were alone in their responses. My research has uncovered 55 cases linked to child murder in Western Australia and the people involved in all of these incidences share unusually similar behaviours (Gardiner). Perhaps, it is only through the wider community becoming aware of the resonance of child murder law echoing through the centuries, that certain women who are pregnant with unwanted children will be able to write a different script for themselves, and their “unlicensed” children. ReferencesButler, Sara, M. "A Case of Indifference? Child Murder in Later Medieval England." Journal of Women's History 19.4 (2007): 59-82. Collins, Padraig. "Case against Irish Woman for Concealing Birth Dropped." The Irish Times 2 Oct. 2014. ---. "Irish Woman Held for Hiding Birth in Australia Allowed Return Home." The Irish Times 13 Aug. 2014. Coull, Kim. “The Womb Artist – A Novel: Translating Late Discovery Adoptee Pre-Verbal Trauma into Narrative”. Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Damme, Catherine. "Infanticide: The Worth of an Infant under Law." Medical History 22.1 (1978): 1-24. Davies, D.S. "Child-Killing in English Law." The Modern Law Review 1.3 (1937): 203-23. Dickinson, J.R., and J.A. Sharpe. "Infanticide in Early Modern England: The Court of Great Sessions at Chester, 1650-1800." Infanticide: Historical Perspectives on Child Murder and Concealment, 1550-2000. Ed. Mark Jackson. Hants: Ashgate, 2002. 35-51.Francus, Marilyn. "Monstrous Mothers, Monstrous Societies: Infanticide and the Rule of Law in Restoration and Eighteenth-Century England." Eighteenth-Century Life 21.2 (1997): 133-56. Gardiner, Amanda. "Sex, Death and Desperation: Infanticide, Neonaticide and Concealment of Birth in Colonial Western Australia." Dissertation. Perth, WA: Edith Cowan University, 2014.Gowing, Laura. "Secret Births and Infanticide in Seventeenth-Century England." Past & Present 156 (1997): 87-115. Hoffer, Peter C., and N.E.H. Hull. Murdering Mothers: Infanticide in England and New England 1558-1803. New York: New York University Press, 1984. Independent.ie. "Irish Woman Facing Up to Two Years in Jail for Concealing Death of Her Baby in Australia." 8 Aug. 2014. Law Reform Commission of Western Australia. "Chapter 3: Manslaughter and Other Homicide Offences." Review of the Law of Homicide: Final Report. Perth: Law Reform Commission of Western Australia, 2007. 85-117.Lee, Sally. "Irish Backpacker Charged over the Death of a Baby She Gave Birth to While Travelling in the Australia [sic] Outback." Daily Mail 8 Aug. 2014. Legal Online. "The Laws of Australia." Thomson Reuters 2010. McMahon, Vanessa. Murder in Shakespeare's England. London: Hambledon and London, 2004. Meyer, Jon'a. "Unintended Consequences for the Youngest Victims: The Role of Law in Encouraging Neonaticide from the Seventeenth to Nineteenth Centuries." Criminal Justice Studies 18.3 (2005): 237-54. O'Donovan, K. "The Medicalisation of Infanticide." Criminal Law Review (May 1984): 259-64. Osborne, Judith A. "The Crime of Infanticide: Throwing Out the Baby with the Bathwater." Canadian Journal of Family Law 6 (1987): 47-59. Rapaport, Elizabeth. "Mad Women and Desperate Girls: Infanticide and Child Murder in Law and Myth." Fordham Urban Law Journal 33.2 (2006): 527-69.Rose, Lionel. The Massacre of the Innocents: Infanticide in Britain, 1800-1939. London: Routledge & Kegan, 1986. Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. Death without Weeping: The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1992. Swain, Shurlee, and Renate Howe. Single Mothers and Their Children: Disposal, Punishment and Survival in Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Teichman, Jenny. Illegitimacy: An Examination of Bastardy. Oxford: Cornell University Press, 1982. Toone, William. The Magistrate's Manual: Or a Summary of the Duties and Powers of a Justice of the Peace. 2nd ed. London: Joseph Butterworth and Son, 1817.

Ubiquitous in airports, border checkpoints, and other securitised spaces throughout the world, full-body imaging scanners claim to read bodies in order to identify if they pose security threats. Millimetre-wave body imaging machines—the most common type of body scanner—display to the operating security agent a screen with a generic body outline. If an anomaly is found or if an individual does not align with the machine’s understanding of an “average” body, a small box is highlighted and placed around the “problem” area, prompting further inspection in the form of pat-downs or questioning. In this complex security regime governed by such biometric, body-based technologies, it could be argued that nonalignment with bodily normativity as well as an attendant failure to reveal oneself—to become “transparent” (Hall 295)—marks a body as dangerous. As these algorithmic technologies become more pervasive, so too does the imperative to critically examine their purported neutrality and operative logic of revelation and readability.Biometric technologies are marketed as excavators of truth, with their optic potency claiming to demask masquerading bodies. Failure and bias are, however, an inescapable aspect of such technologies that work with narrow parameters of human morphology. Indeed, surveillance technologies have been taken to task for their inherent racial and gender biases (Browne; Pugliese). Facial recognition has, for example, been critiqued for its inability to read darker skin tones (Buolamwini and Gebru), while body scanners have been shown to target transgender bodies (Keyes; Magnet and Rodgers; Quinan). Critical security studies scholar Shoshana Magnet argues that error is endemic to the technological functioning of biometrics, particularly since they operate according to the faulty notion that bodies are “stable” and unchanging repositories of information that can be reified into code (Magnet 2).Although body scanners are presented as being able to reliably expose concealed weapons, they are riddled with incompetencies that misidentify and over-select certain demographics as suspect. Full-body scanners have, for example, caused considerable difficulties for transgender travellers, breast cancer patients, and people who use prosthetics, such as artificial limbs, colonoscopy bags, binders, or prosthetic genitalia (Clarkson; Quinan; Spalding). While it is not in the scope of this article to detail the workings of body imaging technologies and their inconsistencies, a growing body of scholarship has substantiated the claim that these machines unfairly impact those identifying as transgender and non-binary (see, e.g., Beauchamp; Currah and Mulqueen; Magnet and Rogers; Sjoberg). Moreover, they are constructed according to a logic of binary gender: before each person enters the scanner, transportation security officers must make a quick assessment of their gender/sex by pressing either a blue (corresponding to “male”) or pink (corresponding to “female”) button. In this sense, biometric, computerised security systems control and monitor the boundaries between male and female.The ability to “reveal” oneself is henceforth predicated on having a body free of “abnormalities” and fitting neatly into one of the two sex categorisations that the machine demands. Transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals, particularly those who do not have a binary gender presentation or whose presentation does not correspond to the sex marker in their documentation, also face difficulties if the machine flags anomalies (Quinan and Bresser). Drawing on a Foucauldian analysis of power as productive, Toby Beauchamp similarly illustrates how surveillance technologies not only identify but also create and reshape the figure of the dangerous subject in relation to normative configurations of gender, race, and able-bodiedness. By mobilizing narratives of concealment and disguise, heightened security measures frame gender nonconformity as dangerous (Beauchamp, Going Stealth). Although national and supranational authorities market biometric scanning technologies as scientifically neutral and exact methods of identification and verification and as an infallible solution to security risks, such tools of surveillance are clearly shaped by preconceptions and prejudgements about race, gender, and bodily normativity. Not only are they encoded with “prototypical whiteness” (Browne) but they are also built on “grossly stereotypical” configurations of gender (Clarkson).Amongst this increasingly securitised landscape, creative forms of artistic resistance can offer up a means of subverting discriminatory policing and surveillance practices by posing alternate visualisations that reveal and challenge their supposed objectivity. In his 2018 audio-video artwork installation entitled SANCTUM, UK-based American artist Zach Blas delves into how biometric technologies, like those described above, both reveal and (re)shape ontology by utilising the affectual resonance of sexual submission. Evoking the contradictory notions of oppression and pleasure, Blas describes SANCTUM as “a mystical environment that perverts sex dungeons with the apparatuses and procedures of airport body scans, biometric analysis, and predictive policing” (see full description at https://zachblas.info/works/sanctum/).Depicting generic mannequins that stand in for the digitalised rendering of the human forms that pass through body scanners, the installation transports the scanners out of the airport and into a queer environment that collapses sex, security, and weaponry; an environment that is “at once a prison-house of algorithmic capture, a sex dungeon with no genitals, a weapons factory, and a temple to security.” This artistic reframing gestures towards full-body scanning technology’s germination in the military, prisons, and other disciplinary systems, highlighting how its development and use has originated from punitive—rather than protective—contexts.In what follows, we adopt a methodological approach that applies visual analysis and close reading to scrutinise a selection of scenes from SANCTUM that underscore the sadomasochistic power inherent in surveillance technologies. Analysing visual and aural elements of the artistic intervention allows us to complicate the relationship between transparency and recognition and to problematise the dynamic of mandatory complicity and revelation that body scanners warrant. In contrast to a discourse of visibility that characterises algorithmically driven surveillance technology, Blas suggests opacity as a resistance strategy to biometrics' standardisation of identity. Taking an approach informed by critical security studies and queer theory, we also argue that SANCTUM highlights the violence inherent to the practice of reducing the body to a flat, inert surface that purports to align with some sort of “core” identity, a notion that contradicts feminist and queer approaches to identity and corporeality as fluid and changing. In close reading this artistic installation alongside emerging scholarship on the discriminatory effects of biometric technology, this article aims to highlight the potential of art to queer the supposed objectivity and neutrality of biometric surveillance and to critically challenge normative logics of revelation and readability.Corporeal Fetishism and Body HorrorThroughout both his artistic practice and scholarly work, Blas has been critical of the above narrative of biometrics as objective extractors of information. Rather than looking to dominant forms of representation as a means for recognition and social change, Blas’s work asks that we strive for creative techniques that precisely queer biometric and legal systems in order to make oneself unaccounted for. For him, “transparency, visibility, and representation to the state should be used tactically, they are never the end goal for a transformative politics but are, ultimately, a trap” (Blas and Gaboury 158). While we would simultaneously argue that invisibility is itself a privilege that is unevenly distributed, his creative work attempts to refuse a politics of visibility and to embrace an “informatic opacity” that is attuned to differences in bodies and identities (Blas).In particular, Blas’s artistic interventions titled Facial Weaponization Suite (2011-14) and Face Cages (2013-16) protest against biometric recognition and the inequalities that these technologies propagate by making masks and wearable metal objects that cannot be detected as human faces. This artistic-activist project contests biometric facial recognition and their attendant inequalities by, as detailed on the artist’s website,making ‘collective masks’ in workshops that are modelled from the aggregated facial data of participants, resulting in amorphous masks that cannot be detected as human faces by biometric facial recognition technologies. The masks are used for public interventions and performances.One mask explores blackness and the racist implications that undergird biometric technologies’ inability to detect dark skin. Meanwhile another mask, which he calls the “Fag Face Mask”, points to the heteronormative underpinnings of facial recognition. Created from the aggregated facial data of queer men, this amorphous pink mask implicitly references—and contests—scientific studies that have attempted to link the identification of sexual orientation through rapid facial recognition techniques.Building on this body of creative work that has advocated for opacity as a tool of social and political transformation, SANCTUM resists the revelatory impulses of biometric technology by turning to the use and abuse of full-body imaging. The installation opens with a shot of a large, dark industrial space. At the far end of a red, spotlighted corridor, a black mask flickers on a screen. A shimmering, oscillating sound reverberates—the opening bars of a techno track—that breaks down in rhythm while the mask evaporates into a cloud of smoke. The camera swivels, and a white figure—the generic mannequin of the body scanner screen—is pummelled by invisible forces as if in a wind tunnel. These ghostly silhouettes appear and reappear in different positions, with some being whipped and others stretched and penetrated by a steel anal hook. Rather than conjuring a traditional horror trope of the body’s terrifying, bloody interior, SANCTUM evokes a new kind of feared and fetishized trope that is endemic to the current era of surveillance capitalism: the abstracted body, standardised and datafied, created through the supposedly objective and efficient gaze of AI-driven machinery.Resting on the floor in front of the ominous animated mask are neon fragments arranged in an occultist formation—hands or half a face. By breaking the body down into component parts— “from retina to fingerprints”—biometric technologies “purport to make individual bodies endlessly replicable, segmentable and transmissible in the transnational spaces of global capital” (Magnet 8). The notion that bodies can be seamlessly turned into blueprints extracted from biological and cultural contexts has been described by Donna Haraway as “corporeal fetishism” (Haraway, Modest). In the context of SANCTUM, Blas illustrates the dangers of mistaking a model for a “concrete entity” (Haraway, “Situated” 147). Indeed, the digital cartography of the generic mannequin becomes no longer a mode of representation but instead a technoscientific truth.Several scenes in SANCTUM also illustrate a process whereby substances are extracted from the mannequins and used as tools to enact violence. In one such instance, a silver webbing is generated over a kneeling figure. Upon closer inspection, this geometric structure, which is reminiscent of Blas’s earlier Face Cages project, is a replication of the triangulated patterns produced by facial recognition software in its mapping of distance between eyes, nose, and mouth. In the next scene, this “map” breaks apart into singular shapes that float and transform into a metallic whip, before eventually reconstituting themselves as a penetrative douche hose that causes the mannequin to spasm and vomit a pixelated liquid. Its secretions levitate and become the webbing, and then the sequence begins anew.In another scene, a mannequin is held upside-down and force-fed a bubbling liquid that is being pumped through tubes from its arms, legs, and stomach. These depictions visualise Magnet’s argument that biometric renderings of bodies are understood not to be “tropic” or “historically specific” but are instead presented as “plumbing individual depths in order to extract core identity” (5). In this sense, this visual representation calls to mind biometrics’ reification of body and identity, obfuscating what Haraway would describe as the “situatedness of knowledge”. Blas’s work, however, forces a critique of these very systems, as the materials extracted from the bodies of the mannequins in SANCTUM allude to how biometric cartographies drawn from travellers are utilised to justify detainment. These security technologies employ what Magnet has referred to as “surveillant scopophilia,” that is, new ways and forms of looking at the human body “disassembled into component parts while simultaneously working to assuage individual anxieties about safety and security through the promise of surveillance” (17). The transparent body—the body that can submit and reveal itself—is ironically represented by the distinctly genderless translucent mannequins. Although the generic mannequins are seemingly blank slates, the installation simultaneously forces a conversation about the ways in which biometrics draw upon and perpetuate assumptions about gender, race, and sexuality.Biometric SubjugationOn her 2016 critically acclaimed album HOPELESSNESS, openly transgender singer, composer, and visual artist Anohni performs a deviant subjectivity that highlights the above dynamics that mark the contemporary surveillance discourse. To an imagined “daddy” technocrat, she sings:Watch me… I know you love me'Cause you're always watching me'Case I'm involved in evil'Case I'm involved in terrorism'Case I'm involved in child molestersEvoking a queer sexual frisson, Anohni describes how, as a trans woman, she is hyper-visible to state institutions. She narrates a voyeuristic relation where trans bodies are policed as threats to public safety rather than protected from systemic discrimination. Through the seemingly benevolent “daddy” character and the play on ‘cause (i.e., because) and ‘case (i.e., in case), she highlights how gender-nonconforming individuals are predictively surveilled and assumed to already be guilty. Reflecting on daddy-boy sexual paradigms, Jack Halberstam reads the “sideways” relations of queer practices as an enactment of “rupture as substitution” to create a new project that “holds on to vestiges of the old but distorts” (226). Upending power and control, queer art has the capacity to both reveal and undermine hegemonic structures while simultaneously allowing for the distortion of the old to create something new.Employing the sublimatory relations of bondage, discipline, sadism, and masochism (BDSM), Blas’s queer installation similarly creates a sideways representation that re-orientates the logic of the biometric scanners, thereby unveiling the always already sexualised relations of scrutiny and interrogation as well as the submissive complicity they demand. Replacing the airport environment with a dark and foreboding mise-en-scène allows Blas to focus on capture rather than mobility, highlighting the ways in which border checkpoints (including those instantiated by the airport) encourage free travel for some while foreclosing movement for others. Building on Sara Ahmed’s “phenomenology of being stopped”, Magnet considers what happens when we turn our gaze to those “who fail to pass the checkpoint” (107). In SANCTUM, the same actions are played out again and again on spectral beings who are trapped in various states: they shudder in cages, are chained to the floor, or are projected against the parameters of mounted screens. One ghostly figure, for instance, lies pinned down by metallic grappling hooks, arms raised above the head in a recognisable stance of surrender, conjuring up the now-familiar image of a traveller standing in the cylindrical scanner machine, waiting to be screened. In portraying this extended moment of immobility, Blas lays bare the deep contradictions in the rhetoric of “freedom of movement” that underlies such spaces.On a global level, media reporting, scientific studies, and policy documents proclaim that biometrics are essential to ensuring personal safety and national security. Within the public imagination, these technologies become seductive because of their marked ability to identify terrorist attackers—to reveal threatening bodies—thereby appealing to the anxious citizen’s fear of the disguised suicide bomber. Yet for marginalised identities prefigured as criminal or deceptive—including transgender and black and brown bodies—the inability to perform such acts of revelation via submission to screening can result in humiliation and further discrimination, public shaming, and even tortuous inquiry – acts that are played out in SANCTUM.Masked GenitalsFeminist surveillance studies scholar Rachel Hall has referred to the impetus for revelation in the post-9/11 era as a desire for a universal “aesthetics of transparency” in which the world and the body is turned inside-out so that there are no longer “secrets or interiors … in which terrorists or terrorist threats might find refuge” (127). Hall takes up the case study of Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab (infamously known as “the Underwear Bomber”) who attempted to detonate plastic explosives hidden in his underwear while onboard a flight from Amsterdam to Detroit on 25 December 2009. Hall argues that this event signified a coalescence of fears surrounding bodies of colour, genitalia, and terrorism. News reports following the incident stated that Abdulmutallab tucked his penis to make room for the explosive, thereby “queer[ing] the aspiring terrorist by indirectly referencing his willingness … to make room for a substitute phallus” (Hall 289). Overtly manifested in the Underwear Bomber incident is also a desire to voyeuristically expose a hidden, threatening interiority, which is inherently implicated with anxieties surrounding gender deviance. Beauchamp elaborates on how gender deviance and transgression have coalesced with terrorism, which was exemplified in the wake of the 9/11 attacks when the United States Department of Homeland Security issued a memo that male terrorists “may dress as females in order to discourage scrutiny” (“Artful” 359). Although this advisory did not explicitly reference transgender populations, it linked “deviant” gender presentation—to which we could also add Abdulmutallab’s tucking of his penis—with threats to national security (Beauchamp, Going Stealth). This also calls to mind a broader discussion of the ways in which genitalia feature in the screening process. Prior to the introduction of millimetre-wave body scanning technology, the most common form of scanner used was the backscatter imaging machine, which displayed “naked” body images of each passenger to the security agent. Due to privacy concerns, these machines were replaced by the scanners currently in place which use a generic outline of a passenger (exemplified in SANCTUM) to detect possible threats.It is here worth returning to Blas’s installation, as it also implicitly critiques the security protocols that attempt to reveal genitalia as both threatening and as evidence of an inner truth about a body. At one moment in the installation a bayonet-like object pierces the blank crotch of the mannequin, shattering it into holographic fragments. The apparent genderlessness of the mannequins is contrasted with these graphic sexual acts. The penetrating metallic instrument that breaks into the loin of the mannequin, combined with the camera shot that slowly zooms in on this action, draws attention to a surveillant fascination with genitalia and revelation. As Nicholas L. Clarkson documents in his analysis of airport security protocols governing prostheses, including limbs and packies (silicone penis prostheses), genitals are a central component of the screening process. While it is stipulated that physical searches should not require travellers to remove items of clothing, such as underwear, or to expose their genitals to staff for inspection, prosthetics are routinely screened and examined. This practice can create tensions for trans or disabled passengers with prosthetics in so-called “sensitive” areas, particularly as guidelines for security measures are often implemented by airport staff who are not properly trained in transgender-sensitive protocols.ConclusionAccording to media technologies scholar Jeremy Packer, “rather than being treated as one to be protected from an exterior force and one’s self, the citizen is now treated as an always potential threat, a becoming bomb” (382). Although this technological policing impacts all who are subjected to security regimes (which is to say, everyone), this amalgamation of body and bomb has exacerbated the ways in which bodies socially coded as threatening or deceptive are targeted by security and surveillance regimes. Nonetheless, others have argued that the use of invasive forms of surveillance can be justified by the state as an exchange: that citizens should willingly give up their right to privacy in exchange for safety (Monahan 1). Rather than subscribing to this paradigm, Blas’ SANCTUM critiques the violence of mandatory complicity in this “trade-off” narrative. Because their operationalisation rests on normative notions of embodiment that are governed by preconceptions around gender, race, sexuality and ability, surveillance systems demand that bodies become transparent. This disproportionally affects those whose bodies do not match norms, with trans and queer bodies often becoming unreadable (Kafer and Grinberg). The shadowy realm of SANCTUM illustrates this tension between biometric revelation and resistance, but also suggests that opacity may be a tool of transformation in the face of such discriminatory violations that are built into surveillance.ReferencesAhmed, Sara. “A Phenomenology of Whiteness.” Feminist Theory 8.2 (2007): 149–68.Beauchamp, Toby. “Artful Concealment and Strategic Visibility: Transgender Bodies and U.S. State Surveillance after 9/11.” Surveillance & Society 6.4 (2009): 356–66.———. Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S. Surveillance Practices. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2019.Blas, Zach. “Informatic Opacity.” The Journal of Aesthetics and Protest 9 (2014). <http://www.joaap.org/issue9/zachblas.htm>.Blas, Zach, and Jacob Gaboury. 2016. “Biometrics and Opacity: A Conversation.” Camera Obscura: Feminism, Culture, and Media Studies 31.2 (2016): 154-65.Buolamwini, Joy, and Timnit Gebru. “Gender Shades: Intersectional Accuracy Disparities in Commercial Gender Classification.” Proceedings of Machine Learning Research 81 (2018): 1-15.Browne, Simone. Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2015.Clarkson, Nicholas L. “Incoherent Assemblages: Transgender Conflicts in US Security.” Surveillance & Society 17.5 (2019): 618-30.Currah, Paisley, and Tara Mulqueen. “Securitizing Gender: Identity, Biometrics, and Transgender Bodies at the Airport.” Social Research 78.2 (2011): 556-82.Halberstam, Jack. The Queer Art of Failure. Durham: Duke UP, 2011.Hall, Rachel. “Terror and the Female Grotesque: Introducing Full-Body Scanners to U.S. Airports.” Feminist Surveillance Studies. Eds. Rachel E. Dubrofsky and Shoshana Amielle Magnet. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2015. 127-49.Haraway, Donna. “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective.” Feminist Studies 14.3 (1988): 575-99.———. Modest_Witness@Second_Millennium. FemaleMan_Meets_OncoMouse: Feminism and Technoscience. New York: Routledge, 1997.Kafer, Gary, and Daniel Grinberg. “Queer Surveillance.” Surveillance & Society 17.5 (2019): 592-601.Keyes, O.S. “The Misgendering Machines: Trans/HCI Implications of Automatic Gender Recognition.” Proceedings of the ACM on Human-Computer Interaction 2. CSCW, Article 88 (2018): 1-22.Magnet, Shoshana Amielle. When Biometrics Fail: Gender, Race, and the Technology of Identity. Durham: Duke UP, 2011.Magnet, Shoshana, and Tara Rodgers. “Stripping for the State: Whole Body Imaging Technologies and the Surveillance of Othered Bodies.” Feminist Media Studies 12.1 (2012): 101–18.Monahan, Torin. Surveillance and Security: Technological Politics and Power in Everyday Life. New York: Routledge, 2006.Packer, Jeremy. “Becoming Bombs: Mobilizing Mobility in the War of Terror.” Cultural Studies 10.5 (2006): 378-99.Pugliese, Joseph. “In Silico Race and the Heteronomy of Biometric Proxies: Biometrics in the Context of Civilian Life, Border Security and Counter-Terrorism Laws.” Australian Feminist Law Journal 23 (2005): 1-32.Pugliese, Joseph. Biometrics: Bodies, Technologies, Biopolitics New York: Routledge, 2010.Quinan, C.L. “Gender (In)securities: Surveillance and Transgender Bodies in a Post-9/11 Era of Neoliberalism.” Eds. Stef Wittendorp and Matthias Leese. Security/Mobility: Politics of Movement. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2017. 153-69.Quinan, C.L., and Nina Bresser. “Gender at the Border: Global Responses to Gender Diverse Subjectivities and Non-Binary Registration Practices.” Global Perspectives 1.1 (2020). <https://doi.org/10.1525/gp.2020.12553>.Sjoberg, Laura. “(S)he Shall Not Be Moved: Gender, Bodies and Travel Rights in the Post-9/11 Era.” Security Journal 28.2 (2015): 198-215.Spalding, Sally J. “Airport Outings: The Coalitional Possibilities of Affective Rupture.” Women’s Studies in Communication 39.4 (2016): 460-80.

Introduction I think the Privacy Act is a huge edifice to protect the minority of things that could go wrong. I’ve got a good example for you, I’m just trying to think … yeah the worst one I’ve ever seen was the Balga Youth Program where we took these students on a reward excursion all the way to Fremantle and suddenly this very alienated kid started to jump under a bus, a moving bus so the kid had to be restrained. The cops from Fremantle arrived because all the very good people in Fremantle were alarmed at these grown-ups manhandling a kid and what had happened is that DCD [Department of Community Development] had dropped him into the program but hadn’t told us that this kid had suicide tendencies. No, it’s just chronically bad. And there were caseworkers involved and … there is some information that we have to have that doesn’t get handed down. Rather than a blanket rule that everything’s confidential coming from them to us, and that was a real live situation, and you imagine how we’re trying to handle it, we had taxis going from Balga to Fremantle to get staff involved and we only had to know what to watch out for and we probably could have … well what you would have done is not gone on the excursion I suppose (School Principal, quoted in Balnaves and Luca 49). These comments are from a school principal in Perth, Western Australia in a school that is concerned with “at-risk” students, and in a context where the Commonwealth Privacy Act 1988 has imposed limitations on their work. Under this Act it is illegal to pass health, personal or sensitive information concerning an individual on to other people. In the story cited above the Department of Community Development personnel were apparently protecting the student’s “negative right”, that is, “freedom from” interference by others. On the other hand, the principal’s assertion that such information should be shared is potentially a “positive right” because it could cause something to be done in that person’s or society’s interests. Balnaves and Luca noted that positive and negative rights have complex philosophical underpinnings, and they inform much of how we operate in everyday life and of the dilemmas that arise (49). For example, a ban on euthanasia or the “assisted suicide” of a terminally ill person can be a “positive right” because it is considered to be in the best interests of society in general. However, physicians who tacitly approve a patient’s right to end their lives with a lethal dose by legally prescribed dose of medication could be perceived as protecting the patient’s “negative right” as a “freedom from” interference by others. While acknowledging the merits of collaboration between people who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk”, this paper examines some of the barriers to collaboration. Based on both primary and secondary sources, and particularly on oral testimonies, the paper highlights the tension between privacy as a negative right and collaborative helping as a positive right. It also points to other difficulties and dilemmas within and between the institutions engaged in this joint undertaking. The authors acknowledge Michel Foucault’s contention that discourse is power. The discourse on privacy and the sharing of information in modern societies suggests that privacy is a negative right that gives freedom from bureaucratic interference and protects the individual. However, arguably, collaboration between agencies that are working to support individuals “at-risk” requires a measured relaxation of the requirements of this negative right. Children and young people “at-risk” are a case in point. Towards Collaboration From a series of interviews conducted in 2004, the school authorities at Balga Senior High School and Midvale Primary School, people working for the Western Australian departments of Community Development, Justice, and Education and Training in Western Australia, and academics at the Edith Cowan and Curtin universities, who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk” as part of an Australian Research Council (ARC) project called Smart Communities, have identified students “at-risk” as individuals who have behavioural problems and little motivation, who are alienated and possibly violent or angry, who under-perform in the classroom and have begun to truant. They noted also that students “at-risk” often suffer from poor health, lack of food and medication, are victims of unwanted pregnancies, and are engaged in antisocial and illegal behaviour such as stealing cars and substance abuse. These students are also often subject to domestic violence (parents on drugs or alcohol), family separation, and homelessness. Some are depressed or suicidal. Sometimes cultural factors contribute to students being regarded as “at-risk”. For example, a social worker in the Smart Communities project stated: Cultural factors sometimes come into that as well … like with some Muslim families … they can flog their daughter or their son, usually the daughter … so cultural factors can create a risk. Research elsewhere has revealed that those children between the ages of 11-17 who have been subjected to bullying at school or physical or sexual abuse at home and who have threatened and/or harmed another person or suicidal are “high-risk” youths (Farmer 4). In an attempt to bring about a positive change in these alienated or “at-risk” adolescents, Balga Senior High School has developed several programs such as the Youth Parents Program, Swan Nyunger Sports Education program, Intensive English Centre, and lower secondary mainstream program. The Midvale Primary School has provided services such as counsellors, Aboriginal child protection workers, and Aboriginal police liaison officers for these “at-risk” students. On the other hand, the Department of Community Development (DCD) has provided services to parents and caregivers for children up to 18 years. Academics from Edith Cowan and Curtin universities are engaged in gathering the life stories of these “at-risk” students. One aspect of this research entails the students writing their life stories in a secured web portal that the universities have developed. The researchers believe that by engaging the students in these self-exploration activities, they (the students) would develop a more hopeful outlook on life. Though all agencies and educational institutions involved in this collaborative project are working for the well-being of the children “at-risk”, the Privacy Act forbids the authorities from sharing information about them. A school psychologist expressed concern over the Privacy Act: When the Juvenile Justice Department want to reintroduce a student into a school, we can’t find out anything about this student so we can’t do any preplanning. They want to give the student a fresh start, so there’s always that tension … eventually everyone overcomes [this] because you realise that the student has to come to the school and has to be engaged. Of course, the manner and consequences of a student’s engagement in school cannot be predicted. In the scenario described above students may have been given a fair chance to reform themselves, which is their positive right but if they turn out to be at “high risk” it would appear that the Juvenile Department protected the negative right of the students by supporting “freedom from” interference by others. Likewise, a school health nurse in the project considered confidentiality or the Privacy Act an important factor in the security of the student “at-risk”: I was trying to think about this kid who’s one of the children who has been sexually abused, who’s a client of DCD, and I guess if police got involved there and wanted to know details and DCD didn’t want to give that information out then I’d guess I’d say to the police “Well no, you’ll have to talk to the parents about getting further information.” I guess that way, recognising these students are minor and that they are very vulnerable, their information … where it’s going, where is it leading? Who wants to know? Where will it be stored? What will be the outcomes in the future for this kid? As a 14 year old, if they’re reckless and get into things, you know, do they get a black record against them by the time they’re 19? What will that information be used for if it’s disclosed? So I guess I become an advocate for the student in that way? Thus the nurse considers a sexually abused child should not be identified. It is a positive right in the interest of the person. Once again, though, if the student turns out to be at “high risk” or suicidal, then it would appear that the nurse was protecting the youth’s negative right—“freedom from” interference by others. Since collaboration is a positive right and aims at the students’ welfare, the workable solution to prevent the students from suicide would be to develop inter-agency trust and to share vital information about “high-risk” students. Dilemmas of Collaboration Some recent cases of the deaths of young non-Caucasian girls in Western countries, either because of the implications of the Privacy Act or due to a lack of efficient and effective communication and coordination amongst agencies, have raised debates on effective child protection. For example, the British Laming report (2003) found that Victoria Climbié, a young African girl, was sent by her parents to her aunt in Britain in order to obtain a good education and was murdered by her aunt and aunt’s boyfriend. However, the risk that she could be harmed was widely known. The girl’s problems were known to 6 local authorities, 3 housing authorities, 4 social services, 2 child protection teams, and the police, the local church, and the hospital, but not to the education authorities. According to the Laming Report, her death could have been prevented if there had been inter-agency sharing of information and appropriate evaluation (Balnaves and Luca 49). The agencies had supported the negative rights of the young girl’s “freedom from” interference by others, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps Victoria’s racial background may have contributed to the concealment of information and added to her disadvantaged position. Similarly, in Western Australia, the Gordon Inquiry into the death of Susan Taylor, a 15 year old girl Aboriginal girl at the Swan Nyungah Community, found that in her short life this girl had encountered sexual violation, violence, and the ravages of alcohol and substance abuse. The Gordon Inquiry reported: Although up to thirteen different agencies were involved in providing services to Susan Taylor and her family, the D[epartment] of C[ommunity] D[evelopment] stated they were unaware of “all the services being provided by each agency” and there was a lack of clarity as to a “lead coordinating agency” (Gordon et al. quoted in Scott 45). In this case too, multiple factors—domestic, racial, and the Privacy Act—may have led to Susan Taylor’s tragic end. In the United Kingdom, Harry Ferguson noted that when a child is reported to be “at-risk” from domestic incidents, they can suffer further harm because of their family’s concealment (204). Ferguson’s study showed that in 11 per cent of the 319 case sample, children were known to be re-harmed within a year of initial referral. Sometimes, the parents apply a veil of secrecy around themselves and their children by resisting or avoiding services. In such cases the collaborative efforts of the agencies and education may be thwarted. Lack of cultural education among teachers, youth workers, and agencies could also put the “at-risk” cultural minorities into a high risk category. For example, an “at-risk” Muslim student may not be willing to share personal experiences with the school or agencies because of religious sensitivities. This happened in the UK when Khadji Rouf was abused by her father, a Bangladeshi. Rouf’s mother, a white woman, and her female cousin from Bangladesh, both supported Rouf when she finally disclosed that she had been sexually abused for over eight years. After group therapy, Rouf stated that she was able to accept her identity and to call herself proudly “mixed race”, whereas she rejected the Asian part of herself because it represented her father. Other Asian girls and young women in this study reported that they could not disclose their abuse to white teachers or social workers because of the feeling that they would be “letting down their race or their Muslim culture” (Rouf 113). The marginalisation of many Muslim Australians both in the job market and in society is long standing. For example, in 1996 and again in 2001 the Muslim unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total (Australian Bureau of Statistics). But since the 9/11 tragedy and Bali bombings visible Muslims, such as women wearing hijabs (headscarves), have sometimes been verbally and physically abused and called ‘terrorists’ by some members of the wider community (Dreher 13). The Howard government’s new anti-terrorism legislation and the surveillance hotline ‘Be alert not alarmed’ has further marginalised some Muslims. Some politicians have also linked Muslim asylum seekers with terrorists (Kabir 303), which inevitably has led Muslim “at-risk” refugee students to withdraw from school support such as counselling. Under these circumstances, Muslim “at-risk” students and their parents may prefer to maintain a low profile rather than engage with agencies. In this case, arguably, federal government politics have exacerbated the barriers to collaboration. It appears that unfamiliarity with Muslim culture is not confined to mainstream Australians. For example, an Aboriginal liaison police officer engaged in the Smart Communities project in Western Australia had this to say about Muslim youths “at-risk”: Different laws and stuff from different countries and they’re coming in and sort of thinking that they can bring their own laws and religions and stuff … and when I say religions there’s laws within their religions as well that they don’t seem to understand that with Australia and our laws. Such generalised misperceptions of Muslim youths “at-risk” would further alienate them, thus causing a major hindrance to collaboration. The “at-risk” factors associated with Aboriginal youths have historical connections. Research findings have revealed that indigenous youths aged between 10-16 years constitute a vast majority in all Australian States’ juvenile detention centres. This over-representation is widely recognised as associated with the nature of European colonisation, and is inter-related with poverty, marginalisation and racial discrimination (Watson et al. 404). Like the Muslims, their unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total in 2001 (ABS). However, in 1998 it was estimated that suicide rates among Indigenous peoples were at least 40 per cent higher than national average (National Advisory Council for Youth Suicide Prevention, quoted in Elliot-Farrelly 2). Although the wider community’s unemployment rate is much lower than the Aboriginals and the Muslims, the “at-risk” factors of mainstream Australian youths are often associated with dysfunctional families, high conflict, low-cohesive families, high levels of harsh parental discipline, high levels of victimisation by peers, and high behavioural inhibition (Watson et al. 404). The Macquarie Fields riots in 2005 revealed the existence of “White” underclass and “at-risk” people in Sydney. Macquarie Fields’ unemployment rate was more than twice the national average. Children growing up in this suburb are at greater risk of being involved in crime (The Age). Thus small pockets of mainstream underclass youngsters also require collaborative attention. In Western Australia people working on the Smart Communities project identified that lack of resources can be a hindrance to collaboration for all sectors. As one social worker commented: “government agencies are hierarchical systems and lack resources”. They went on to say that in their department they can not give “at-risk” youngsters financial assistance in times of crisis: We had a petty cash box which has got about 40 bucks in it and sometimes in an emergency we might give a customer a couple of dollars but that’s all we can do, we can’t give them any larger amount. We have bus/metro rail passes, that’s the only thing that we’ve actually got. A youth worker in Smart Communities commented that a lot of uncertainty is involved with young people “at-risk”. They said that there are only a few paid workers in their field who are supported and assisted by “a pool of volunteers”. Because the latter give their time voluntarily they are under no obligation to be constant in their attendance, so the number of available helpers can easily fluctuate. Another youth worker identified a particularly important barrier to collaboration: because of workers’ relatively low remuneration and high levels of work stress, the turnover rates are high. The consequence of this is as follows: The other barrier from my point is that you’re talking to somebody about a student “at-risk”, and within 14 months or 18 months a new person comes in [to that position] then you’ve got to start again. This way you miss a lot of information [which could be beneficial for the youth]. Conclusion The Privacy Act creates a dilemma in that it can be either beneficial or counter-productive for a student’s security. To be blunt, a youth who has suicided might have had their privacy protected, but not their life. Lack of funding can also be a constraint on collaboration by undermining stability and autonomy in the workforce, and blocking inter-agency initiatives. Lack of awareness about cultural differences can also affect unity of action. The deepening inequality between the “haves” and “have-nots” in the Australian society, and the Howard government’s harshness on national security issues, can also pose barriers to collaboration on youth issues. Despite these exigencies and dilemmas, it would seem that collaboration is “the only game” when it comes to helping students “at-risk”. To enhance this collaboration, there needs to be a sensible modification of legal restrictions to information sharing, an increase in government funding and support for inter-agency cooperation and informal information sharing, and an increased awareness about the cultural needs of minority groups and knowledge of the mainstream underclass. Acknowledgments The research is part of a major Australian Research Council (ARC) funded project, Smart Communities. The authors very gratefully acknowledge the contribution of the interviewees, and thank *Donald E. Scott for conducting the interviews. References Australian Bureau of Statistics. 1996 and 2001. Balnaves, Mark, and Joe Luca. “The Impact of Digital Persona on the Future of Learning: A Case Study on Digital Repositories and the Sharing of Information about Children At-Risk in Western Australia”, paper presented at Ascilite, Brisbane (2005): 49-56. 10 April 2006. http://www.ascilite.org.au/conferences/brisbane05/blogs/proceedings/ 06_Balnaves.pdf>. Dreher, Tanya. ‘Targeted’: Experiences of Racism in NSW after September 11, 2001. Sydney: University of Technology, 2005. Elliot-Farrelly, Terri. “Australian Aboriginal Suicide: The Need for an Aboriginal Suicidology”? Australian e-Journal for the Advancement of Mental Health, 3.3 (2004): 1-8. 15 April 2006 http://www.auseinet.com/journal/vol3iss3/elliottfarrelly.pdf>. Farmer, James. A. High-Risk Teenagers: Real Cases and Interception Strategies with Resistant Adolescents. Springfield, Ill.: C.C. Thomas, 1990. Ferguson, Harry. Protecting Children in Time: Child Abuse, Child Protection and the Consequences of Modernity. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Ed. Colin Gordon, trans. Colin Gordon et al. New York: Pantheon, 1980. Kabir, Nahid. Muslims in Australia: Immigration, Race Relations and Cultural History. London: Kegan Paul, 2005. Rouf, Khadji. “Myself in Echoes. My Voice in Song.” Ed. A. Bannister, et al. Listening to Children. London: Longman, 1990. Scott E. Donald. “Exploring Communication Patterns within and across a School and Associated Agencies to Increase the Effectiveness of Service to At-Risk Individuals.” MS Thesis, Curtin University of Technology, August 2005. The Age. “Investing in People Means Investing in the Future.” The Age 5 March, 2005. 15 April 2006 http://www.theage.com.au>. Watson, Malcolm, et al. “Pathways to Aggression in Children and Adolescents.” Harvard Educational Review, 74.4 (Winter 2004): 404-428. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid, and Mark Balnaves. "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>. APA Style Kabir, N., and M. Balnaves. (May 2006) "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>.

Like any genre or mode, the Gothic is malleable, changing according to time and place. This is particularly apparent when what is considered Gothic in one era is compared with that of another. The giant helmet that falls from the sky in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) is a very different threat to the ravenous vampires that stalk the novels of Anne Rice, just as Ann Radcliffe’s animated portraits may not inspire anxiety for a contemporary reader of Stephen King. The mutability of Gothic is also apparent across various versions of national Gothic that have emerged, with the specificities of place lending Gothic narratives from countries such as Ireland, Scotland and Australia a distinctive flavour. In New Zealand, the Gothic is most commonly associated with Pakeha artists exploring extreme psychological states, isolation and violence. Instead of the haunted castles, ruined abbeys and supernatural occurrences of classic Gothics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as those produced by writers as diverse as Charles Brockden Brown, Matthew Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Radcliffe, Bram Stoker and Walpole, New Zealand Gothic fiction tends to focus on psychological horror, taking its cue, according to Jenny Lawn, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which ushered in a tendency in the Gothic novel to explore the idea of a divided consciousness. Lawn observes that in New Zealand “Our monsters tend to be interior: they are experiences of intense psychological states, often with sexual undertones within isolated nuclear families” (“Kiwi Gothic”). Kirsty Gunn’s novella Rain (1994), which focuses on a dysfunctional family holidaying in an isolated lakeside community, exemplifies the tendency of New Zealand Gothic to omit the supernatural in favour of the psychological, with its spectres being sexual predation, parental neglect and the death of an innocent. Bronwyn Bannister’s Haunt (2000) is set primarily in a psychiatric hospital, detailing various forms of psychiatric disorder, as well as the acts that spring from them, such as one protagonist’s concealment for several years of her baby in a shed, while Noel Virtue’s The Redemption of Elsdon Bird (1987) is another example, with a young character’s decision to shoot his two younger siblings in the head as they sleep in an attempt to protect them from the religious beliefs of his fundamentalist parents amply illustrating the intense psychological states that characterise New Zealand Gothic. Although there is no reason why Gothic literature ought to include the supernatural, its omission in New Zealand Gothic does point to a confusion that Timothy Jones foregrounds in his suggestion that “In the absence of the trappings of established Gothic traditions – castles populated by fiendish aristocrats, swamps draped with Spanish moss and possessed by terrible spirits” New Zealand is “uncertain how and where it ought to perform its own Gothic” (203). The anxiety that Jones notes is perhaps less to do with where the New Zealand Gothic should occur, since there is an established tradition of Gothic events occurring in the bush and on the beach, while David Ballantyne’s Sydney Bridge Upside Down (1968) uses a derelict slaughterhouse as a version of a haunted castle and Maurice Gee successfully uses a decrepit farmhouse as a Gothic edifice in The Fire-Raiser (1986), but more to do with available ghosts. New Zealand Gothic literature produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries certainly tends to focus on the psychological rather than the supernatural, but earlier writing that utilises the Gothic mode is far more focused on spooky events and ghostly presences. There is a tradition of supernatural Gothic in New Zealand, but its representations of Maori ghosts complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. The stories in D. W. O. Fagen’s collection Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand (1952) illustrate the tendency in colonial New Zealand literature to represent Maori in supernatural terms expressive both of anxieties surrounding Maori agency and indigeneity, as well as Western assumptions regarding Maori culture. In much colonial Gothic, Maori ghosts, burial grounds and the notion of tapu express settler anxieties while also working to contain those anxieties by suggesting the superstitious and hence backward nature of indigenous culture. In Fagan’s story “Tapu”, which first appeared in the Bulletin in 1912, the narrator stumbles into a Maori burial ground where he is confronted by the terrible sight of “two fleshless skeletons” that grin and appear “ghastly in the dim light” (37). The narrator’s desecration of land deemed tapu fills him with “a sort of nameless terror at nothing, a horror of some unknown impending fate against which it was useless to struggle and from which there was no escape” (39). This expresses a sense of the authenticity of Maori culture, but the narrator’s thought “Was there any truth in heathen devilry after all?” is quickly superseded by the relegation of Maori culture as “ancient superstitions” (40). When the narrator is approached by a tohunga following his breach of tapu, his reaction is outrage: "Here was I – a fairly decent Englishman, reared in the Anglican faith and living in the nineteenth century – hindered from going about my business, outcast, excommunicated, shunned as a leper, my servant dying, all on account of some fiendish diablerie of heathen fetish. The affair was preposterous, incredible, ludicrous" (40). Fagan’s story establishes a clear opposition between Western rationalism and “decency”, and the “heathen fetishes” associated with Maori culture, which it uses to infuse the story with the thrills appropriate to Gothic fiction and which it ultimately casts as superstitious and uncivilised. F. E. Maning’s Old New Zealand (1863) includes an episode of Maori women grieving that is represented in terms that would not be out of place in horror. A group of women are described as screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of tuhua, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger – a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. (Maning 120–21) The gory quality of this episode positions Maori as barbaric, but Patrick Evans notes that there is an incident in Old New Zealand that grants authenticity to indigenous culture. After being discovered handling human remains, the narrator of Maning’s text is made tapu and rendered untouchable. Although Maning represents the narrator’s adherence to his abjection from Maori society as merely a way to placate a local population, when a tohunga appears to perform cleansing rituals, the narrator’s indulgence of perceived superstition is accompanied by “a curious sensation […] like what I fancied a man must feel who has just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness” (qtd. in Evans 85). Evans points out that Maning may represent the ritual as solely performative, “but the result is portrayed as real” (85). Maning’s narrator may assert his lack of belief in the tohunga’s power, but he nevertheless experiences that power. Such moments of unease occur throughout colonial writing when assertions of European dominance and rational understanding are undercut or threatened. Evans cites the examples of the painter G. F. Angus whose travels through the native forest of Waikato in the 1840s saw him haunted by the “peculiar odour” of rotting vegetation and Edward Shortland whose efforts to remain skeptical during a sacred Maori ceremony were disturbed by the manifestation of atua rustling in the thatch of the hut in which it was occurring (Evans 85). Even though the mysterious power attributed to Maori in colonial Gothic is frequently represented as threatening, there is also an element of desire at play, which Lydia Wevers highlights in her observation that colonial ghost stories involve a desire to assimilate or be assimilated by what is “other.” Wevers singles out for discussion the story “The Disappearance of Letham Crouch”, which appeared in the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine in 1901. The narrative recounts the experiences of an overzealous missionary who is received by Maori as a new tohunga. In order to learn more about Maori religion (so as to successfully replace it with Christianity), Crouch inhabits a hut that is tapu, resulting in madness and fanaticism. He eventually disappears, only to reappear in the guise of a Maori “stripped for dancing” (qtd. in Wevers 206). Crouch is effectively “turned heathen” (qtd. in Wevers 206), a transformation that is clearly threatening for a Christian European, but there is also an element of desirability in such a transformation for a settler seeking an authentic New Zealand identity. Colonial Gothic frequently figures mysterious experiences with indigenous culture as a way for the European settler to essentially become indigenous by experiencing something perceived as authentically New Zealand. Colonial Gothic frequently includes the supernatural in ways that are complicit in the processes of colonisation that problematizes them as models for contemporary writers. For New Zealanders attempting to produce a Gothic narrative, the most immediately available tropes for a haunting past are Maori, but to use those tropes brings texts uncomfortably close to nineteenth-century obsessions with Maori skeletal remains and a Gothicised New Zealand landscape, which Edmund G. C. King notes is a way of expressing “the sense of bodily and mental displacement that often accompanied the colonial experience” (36). R. H. Chapman’s Mihawhenua (1888) provides an example of tropes particularly Gothic that remain a part of colonial discourse not easily transferable into a bicultural context. Chapman’s band of explorers discover a cave strewn with bones which they interpret to be the remains of gory cannibalistic feasts: Here, we might well imagine, the clear waters of the little stream at our feet had sometime run red with the blood of victims of some horrid carnival, and the pale walls of the cavern had grown more pale in sympathy with the shrieks of the doomed ere a period was put to their tortures. Perchance the owners of some of the bones that lay scattered in careless profusion on the floor, had, when strong with life and being, struggled long and bravely in many a bloody battle, and, being at last overcome, their bodies were brought here to whet the appetites and appease the awful hunger of their victors. (qtd. in King) The assumptions regarding the primitive nature of indigenous culture expressed by reference to the “horrid carnival” of cannibalism complicate the processes through which contemporary writers could meaningfully draw on a tradition of New Zealand Gothic utilising the supernatural. One answer to this dilemma is to use supernatural elements not specifically associated with New Zealand. In Stephen Cain’s anthology Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side (1996) there are several instances of this, such as in the story “Never Go Tramping Alone” by Alyson Cresswell-Moorcock, which features a creature called a Gravett. As Timothy Jones’s discussion of this anthology demonstrates, there are two problems arising from this unprecedented monster: firstly, the story does not seem to be a “New Zealand Gothic”, which a review in The Evening Post highlights by observing that “there is a distinct ‘Kiwi’ feel to only a few of the stories” (Rendle 5); while secondly, the Gravatt’s appearance in the New Zealand landscape is unconvincing. Jones argues that "When we encounter the wendigo, a not dissimilar spirit to the Gravatt, in Ann Tracy’s Winter Hunger or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, we have a vague sense that such beings ‘exist’ and belong in the American or Canadian landscapes in which they are located. A Gravatt, however, has no such precedent, no such sense of belonging, and thus loses its authority" (251). Something of this problem is registered in Elizabeth Knox’s vampire novel Daylight (2003), which avoids the problem of making a vampire “fit” with a New Zealand landscape devoid of ancient architecture by setting all the action in Europe. One of the more successful stories in Cain’s collection demonstrates a way of engaging with a specifically New Zealand tradition of supernatural Gothic, while also illustrating some of the potential pitfalls in utilising colonial Gothic tropes of menacing bush, Maori burial caves and skeletal remains. Oliver Nicks’s “The House” focuses on a writer who takes up residence in an isolated “little old colonial cottage in the bush” (8). The strange “odd-angled walls”, floors that seem to slope downwards and the “subterranean silence” of the cottage provokes anxiety in the first-person narrator who admits his thoughts “grew increasingly dark and chaotic” (8). The strangeness of the house is only intensified by the isolation of its surroundings, which are fertile but nevertheless completely uninhabited. Alone and unnerved by the oddness of the house, the narrator listens to the same “inexplicable night screeches and rustlings of the bush” (9) that furnish so much New Zealand Gothic. Yet it is not fear inspired by the menacing bush that troubles the narrator as much as the sense that there was more in this darkness, something from which I felt a greater need to be insulated than the mild horror of mingling with a few wetas, spiders, bats, and other assorted creepy-crawlies. Something was subtlely wrong here – it was not just the oddness of the dimensions and angles. Everything seemed slightly off, not to add up somehow. I could not quite put my finger on whatever it was. (10) When the narrator escapes the claustrophobic house for a walk in the bush, the natural environment is rendered in spectral terms. The narrator is engulfed by the “bare bones of long-dead forest giants” (11) and “crowding tree-corpses”, but the path he follows in order to escape the “Tree-ghosts” is no more comforting since it winds through “a strange grey world with its shrouds of hanging moss, and mist” (12). In the midst of this Gothicised environment the narrator is “transfixed by the intersection of two overpowering irrational forces” when something looms up out of the mist and experiences “irresistible curiosity, balanced by an equal and opposite urge to turn and run like hell” (12). The narrator’s experience of being deep in the threatening bush continues a tradition of colonial writing that renders the natural environment in Gothic terms, such as H. B. Marriot Watson’s The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure (1891), which includes an episode that sees the protagonist Palliser become lost in the forest of Te Tauru and suffer a similar demoralization as Nicks’s narrator: “the horror of the place had gnawed into his soul, and lurked there, mordant. He now saw how it had come to be regarded as the home of the Taniwha, the place of death” (77). Philip Steer points out that it is the Maoriness of Palliser’s surroundings that inspire his existential dread, suggesting a certain amount of settler alienation, but “Palliser’s survival and eventual triumph overwrites this uncertainty with the relegation of Maori to the past” (128). Nicks’s story, although utilising similar tropes to colonial fiction, attempts to puts them to different ends. What strikes such fear in Nicks’s narrator is a mysterious object that inspires the particular dread known as the uncanny: I gave myself a stern talking to and advanced on the shadow. It was about my height, angular, bony and black. It stood as it now stands, as it has stood for centuries, on the edge of a swamp deep in the heart of an ancient forest high in this remote range of hills forming a part of the Southern Alps. As I think of it I cannot help but shudder; it fills me even now with inexplicable awe. It snaked up out of the ground like some malign fern-frond, curving back on itself and curling into a circle at about head height. Extending upwards from the circle were three odd-angled and bent protuberances of unequal length. A strange force flowed from it. It looked alien somehow, but it was man-made. Its power lay, not in its strangeness, but in its unaccountable familiarity; why did I know – have I always known? – how to fear this… thing? (12) This terrible “thing” represents a return of the repressed associated with the crimes of colonisation. After almost being devoured by the malevolent tree-like object the narrator discovers a track leading to a cave decorated with ancient rock paintings that contains a hideous wooden creature that is, in fact, a burial chest. Realising that he has discovered a burial cave, the narrator is shocked to find more chests that have been broken open and bones scattered over the floor. With the discovery of the desecrated burial cave, the hidden crimes of colonisation are brought to light. Unlike colonial Gothic that tends to represent Maori culture as threatening, Nicks’s story represents the forces contained in the cave as a catalyst for a beneficial transformative experience: I do remember the cyclone of malign energy from the abyss gibbering and leering; a flame of terror burning in every cell of my body; a deluge of shrieking unreason threatening to wash away the bare shred that was left of my mind. Yet even as each hellish new dimension yawned before me, defying the limits even of imagination, the fragments of my shattered sanity were being drawn together somehow, and reassembled in novel configurations. To each proposition of demonic impossibility there was a surging, answering wave of kaleidoscopic truth. (19) Although the story replicates colonial writing’s tendency to represent indigenous culture in terms of the irrational and demonic, the authenticity and power of the narrator’s experience is stressed. When he comes to consciousness following an enlightenment that sees him acknowledging that the truth of existence is a limitless space “filled with deep coruscations of beauty and joy” (20) he knows what he must do. Returning to the cottage, the narrator takes several days to search the house and finally finds what he is looking for: a steel box that contains “stolen skulls” (20). The narrator concludes that the “Trophies” (20) buried in the collapsed outhouse are the cause for the “Dark, inexplicable moods, nightmares, hallucinations – spirits, ghosts, demons” that “would have plagued anyone who attempted to remain in this strange, cursed region” (20). Once the narrator returns the remains to the burial cave, the inexplicable events cease and the once-strange house becomes an ideal home for a writer seeking peace in which to work. The colonial Gothic mode in New Zealand utilises the Gothic’s concern with a haunting past in order to associate that past with the primitive and barbaric. By rendering Maori culture in Gothic terms, such as in Maning’s blood-splattered scene of grieving or through the spooky discoveries of bone-strewn caves, colonial writing compares an “uncivilised” indigenous culture with the “civilised” culture of European settlement. For a contemporary writer wishing to produce a New Zealand supernatural horror, the colonial Gothic is a problematic tradition to work from, but Nicks’s story succeeds in utilising tropes associated with colonial writing in order to reverse its ideologies. “The House” represents European settlement in terms of barbarity by representing a brutal desecration of sacred ground, while indigenous culture is represented in positive, if frightening, terms of truth and power. Colonial Gothic’s tendency to associate indigenous culture with violence, barbarism and superstition is certainly replicated in Nicks’s story through the frightening object that attempts to devour the narrator and the macabre burial chests shaped like monsters, but ultimately it is colonial violence that is most overtly condemned, with the power inhabiting the burial cave being represented as ultimately benign, at least towards an intruder who means no harm. More significantly, there is no attempt in the story to explain events that seem outside the understanding of Western rationality. The story accepts as true what the narrator experiences. Nevertheless, in spite of the explicit engagement with the return of repressed crimes associated with colonisation, Nicks’s engagement with the mode of colonial Gothic means there is a replication of some of its underlying notions relating to settlement and belonging. The narrator of Nicks’s story is a contemporary New Zealander who is placed in the position of rectifying colonial crimes in order to take up residence in a site effectively cleansed of the sins of the past. Nicks’s narrator cannot happily inhabit the colonial cottage until the stolen remains are returned to their rightful place and it seems not to occur to him that a greater theft might underlie the smaller one. Returning the stolen skulls is represented as a reasonable action in “The House”, and it is a way for the narrator to establish what Linda Hardy refers to as “natural occupancy,” but the notion of returning a house and land that might also be termed stolen is never entertained, although the story’s final sentence does imply the need for the continuing placation of the powerful indigenous forces that inhabit the land: “To make sure that things stay [peaceful] I think I may just keep this story to myself” (20). The fact that the narrator has not kept the story to himself suggests that his untroubled occupation of the colonial cottage is far more tenuous than he might have hoped. References Ballantyne, David. Sydney Bridge Upside Down. Melbourne: Text, 2010. Bannister, Bronwyn. Haunt. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2000. Calder, Alex. “F. E. Maning 1811–1883.” Kotare 7. 2 (2008): 5–18. Chapman, R. H. 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