Journal articles on the topic 'Farm supply industries South Australia'

Legume-based pastures, particularly those containing a large proportion of lucerne (alfalfa, Medicago sativa), have a prodigious capacity to fix atmospheric N2. Budgets of N show that permanent pastures in south-eastern Australia, when growing with no management limitations, can supply more N than is removed in animal products and can eventually lead to excess soil N. For a mixed crop–livestock farm, legume-dominant ley pastures occupying ~40% of the land area can maintain a stable N balance. The actual performance of pastures on farms normally falls below the potential. Pastures are being replaced by crops in the wheat-sheep zone and, to a lesser extent, in the high-rainfall zone. Pasture productivity, as indicated by the area topdressed, the mean stocking rate, input of superphosphate and sale of pasture legume seed has decreased in the period 1990–2010. It is therefore likely that N2 fixation by pastures is falling sharply in the wheat–sheep zone and is static or falling slightly in the high-rainfall zone. Reversing the decrease in N2 fixation by pastures will become important if the real price of N fertilisers increases, as seems likely because the efficiency of fertiliser synthesis is approaching a maximum and the reserves of natural gas feedstock will eventually be depleted. Increased N2 fixation by pastures will depend on more profitable grazing industries, improved management methods and genotypes, and re-adoption of ley pastures by farmers. There is evidence that profitability of grazing enterprises is approaching that of crops so investment in pasture science is likely to lead to increased N2 fixation.

Forest management policy in New South Wales, Australia, has been dramatically changing during the past two decades in response to public controversy and widening expectations of the values that the forest should provide to society. The nature of NSW forest management today is a reflection of the unique Australian forest ecology, the nature of the forest sector, and the emergence of conflict and polarized views on forest management in the past two decades. Recent efforts have made progress in resolving the forest debate. The key elements have included an expanded protected areas reserve system, expanded reliance on plantation forests for wood supply, increased wood security for native forest industries in return for a commitment to value-adding and the implementation of an ecologically sustainable forest management framework. Like other Australian States, NSW is currently negotiating Regional Forest Agreements with the Commonwealth Government that will set the stage for future directions in forest management. Key words: forest policy, Australia, New South Wales forest management

There is a continuing evolution of feeding systems in both Australian and New Zealand dairy industries and this presents challenges for the future. Since the turn of the century, the two countries have diverged in industry growth characteristics, with Australian dairying having contracted, with 10% less milk being produced because of 20% fewer cows producing 15% more per cow, whereas New Zealand dairying has expanded, producing 83% more milk driven by a 54% increase in cow numbers and a 31% increase in milk production per cow. Solutions to optimise feed efficiency included the common themes of (1) growing more forage on farm, (2) increasing its utilisation and (3) more efficient use of supplements resulting in increases in DM intake, and they remain relevant. In New Zealand, many of the recent research activities have aimed at improving feed supply while limiting environmental impacts driven by increasing societal concern surrounding the environmental footprint of a growing and intensifying agricultural sector. In Australia, many of the recent research activities have aimed at improving feed efficiency, with a focus on understanding situations where partial mixed ration feeding systems (Australian Farm Systems 3 and 4) are sustainable. Simply growing more feed on farm can no longer be a sole objective; farms must be operated with a view to reduce the environmental footprint, with New Zealand dairy farmers increasingly needing to farm within nitrogen limits. The present review revisits and reinforces many of the concepts developed in previous reviews, but also examines the evolution of feeding systems in both countries and opportunities to improve feed efficiency and profit, while satisfying public expectations around environmental stewardship. We also identify some of the gaps in the current knowledge that warrant further research.

The majority of dairy farmers and processors in Australia and New Zealand are considered world class due to their ability to produce dairy products at a cost that is competitive on the world market without requirement for subsidy. International and domestic forces beyond the farm influence the international competitiveness of Antipodean dairy systems, as much or more than, the within-farm characteristics of the systems. Critical external forces include: world population growth, protein demand from increasingly wealthy developing countries, dairy supply from domestic and international producers, international dairy prices and exchange rate volatility. Within farm, the keys to persistent profitability, business survival, and growth will continue to be management ability and labour skill as well as the relationship between milksolids (milk fat + milk protein) produced per system and total production costs. Domestic forces will include competition for resources such as land, water, quality labour and capital, and public expectation that farms will meet the costs of community environmental and welfare objectives. Public and industry investment in research, development and extension in innovations that increase productivity is essential if dairying is to remain competitive. The operation of the comparative advantage principle determines which industries thrive, or decline, in an economy. New Zealand dairying has a strong comparative advantage over alternative pastoral industries which will continue. In Australia, the comparative advantage of dairy farming over alternative activities is less clear-cut. History shows that the best farmers and processors handle risks such as market and climate volatility and other challenges better than others, and their prospects are positive. However, world class performers in the future dairy industry will certainly not be all, or even the majority, of the current population of dairy farmers.

Dual-purpose crops can provide valuable winter forage in livestock production systems and increase subsequent pasture availability. Using experimental measurements of sheep grazing on pasture only or dual-purpose crops of wheat, canola, and wheat and canola in combination, and their associated effects on subsequent pasture grazing, we estimated for two different years the whole-farm changes in whole-farm sheep grazing days (SGD), relative farm production and farm economic impact. The increased winter feed supply and higher grazing intensity on dual-purpose crops allowed 2–3 times the area of pasture to be spelled, which together enabled increases in potential year-round pasture stocking rate. Up to 20% of farm area could be allocated to dual-purpose crops while still obtaining the same number of SGD per farm ha with additional grain production (5.0–5.4 t wheat ha–1 and 1.9–3.6 t canola ha–1) adding significantly to farm profitability and production. Allocating 10–20% of the farm to a combination of dual-purpose wheat and canola grazed in sequence could increase whole-farm SGD by 10–15%, increase farm output by >25% and increase estimated farm profit margin by >AU$150 farm ha–1 compared with pasture-only livestock systems. The long crop-grazing period from wheat and canola in combination providing a large pasture-spelling benefit was a key factor enabling these economic and productivity increases. Introducing wheat or canola alone on up to 30% of the farm is likely to reduce SGD per farm ha, but still significantly increase whole-farm productivity (10–20%) and estimated profit margin ($50–100 farm ha–1). Over the two very different experimental growing seasons, the estimated relative changes in whole-farm productivity and estimated profit margin were similar, indicating that these benefits are likely to be consistent over a range of years. Together, these findings suggest that once whole-farm livestock feed-base effects are considered, large economic and productivity benefits can be attributed to dual-purpose crops when integrated into livestock production systems in Australia’s southern high-rainfall zone.

Abstract The organic soils of the south-western region of the province of Quebec are an important agricultural resource supporting an annual vegetable production in excess of 115 million dollars. This important soil resource has been extensively exploited for the past 25 years, and is therefore subsiding at an excessive rate, In order to reduce this rate of subsidence, better irrigation practices must be introduced along with wind-breaks and cereal rotation. These improved irrigation practices require the availability of large volumes of water in a region where the topography does not allow for the storage of runoff within deep valleys. Furthermore, the procurement of these irrigation volumes must not jeopardise the water supply required by the urban communities and industries. An analysis of the available water supplies indicates that the best choice is the farm pond.

Abstract During World War II, the POW labor program provided cotton planters in the lower Mississippi Valley with a temporary yet timely solution to an increasingly mobile local labor supply. While war prisoners worked in a variety of crops and non-agricultural industries, one of the greatest concentration of camps and captive workers devoted to a single crop occurred along the southern stretch of the Mississippi River. Cotton planters in Arkansas, Mississippi, and northern Louisiana secured over twelve thousand war prisoners from 1943 to 1946. German and Italian prisoners reinforced a labor system based on boundaries of color even as their presence in the fields revealed racial contradictions. Even as the inexperienced field hands undercut planter profits, exposed racial tensions, and undermined racialized notions of work, their presence helped to extend the life of an exploitative plantation economy. Despite the limited scope and dubious success rate of POW labor, cotton planters in the Deep South found a temporary workforce to hold a place on the plantation for African-American labor.

Effects of banded biochar application on dryland wheat production and fertiliser use in 4 experiments in Western Australia and South Australia suggest that biochar has the potential to reduce fertiliser requirement while crop productivity is maintained, and biochar additions can increase crop yields at lower rates of fertiliser use. Banding was used to minimise wind erosion risk and place biochar close to crop roots. The biochars/metallurgical chars used in this study were made at relatively high temperatures from woody materials, forming stable, low-nutrient chars. The results suggest that a low biochar application rate (~1 t/ha) by banding may provide significant positive effects on yield and fertiliser requirement. Benefits are likely to result from improved crop nutrient and water uptake and crop water supply from increased arbuscular mycorrhizal fungal colonisation during dry seasons and in low P soils, rather than through direct nutrient or water supply from biochars. Financial analysis using farm cash flow over 12 years suggests that a break-even total cost of initial biochar use can range from AU$40 to 190/ha if the benefits decline linearly to nil over 12 years, taking into account a P fertiliser saving of 50% or a yield increase of 10%, or both, assuming long-term soil fertility is not compromised. Accreditation of biochar for carbon trading may assist cost reduction.

Australian livestock industries face increased scrutiny from animal welfare groups and society, and the long-distance transport of livestock by sea has recently gained particular attention. Other than non-compliance with broad regulatory standards and voyage mortality rates, there is minimal information to ascertain the welfare of exported livestock. There is currently no standardised, validated animal welfare assessment protocol for livestock on-farm prior to live export or when undergoing transport. This study describes a novel assessment protocol suitable for use on live feeder and slaughter animals exported by sea from Australia. Health and welfare indicators for use in the livestock export supply chain were identified by reviewing three internationally recognised animal welfare assessment protocols for livestock; Welfare Quality®, AWIN and AssureWel, as well as consulting with industry compliance standards and guidelines. This paper proposes a welfare protocol designed to assess sheep and beef cattle exported by sea from Australia, and incorporates environmental-, resource-, management- and animal-based measures. In collaboration with industry, this welfare protocol can be tested on commercial livestock consignments, and be used for ongoing management, for increased transparency and to provide feedback to operators for continuous improvement.

The drive towards the abolition of the slave trade at the beginning of the 19th century was not effective until the 1850s. It was perhaps the only migratory intercontinental movement in history which came to a complete stop because of political pressures in spite of the fact that neither the supply nor the demand for African slaves had disappeared.Because of the continuing demand for bonded labour in some of the plantation areas in the New World (notably the Guiana's, Trinidad, Cuba and Brazil) and because of a new demand for bonded labour in the developing sugar and mining industries in Mauritius, Réunion, Queensland (Australia), Natal (South Africa), the Fiji-islands and Hawaii an international search for ‘newslaves’ started.

This paper reports on field agronomy studies into flax (Linum usitatissimum L.) conducted in Tasmania, Australia from 1994 to 1997. These studies investigated the performance of selected cultivars, and responses to sowing date, plant density and irrigation. The work formed part of a feasibility study assessing the potential of fibre hemp (Cannabis sativa L.) and flax as sources of fibre for the Australian newsprint industry. Two cultivar evaluation trials were conducted at the University of Tasmania Farm, Cambridge, in Tasmania’s south-east. One of these included 7 European and Australian flax cultivars, and the other, 4 mucilage linseed cultivars. The European flax cultivars yielded significantly more stem and bark fibre than the Australian flax cultivars. Of the former group, Ariane (841 g/m 2 ) and Marina (883 g/m 2 ) performed the best in terms of stem yield production, while Viking had comparable bark yields to these 2 cultivars. With the exception of cv. Kreola (543 g/m 2 ), which produced comparable stem yields to the Australian flax cultivars, the linseed cultivars were short and produced relatively low stem yields. Interestingly, seed yields (149–194 g/m 2 ) were not superior to those for the flax cultivars (156–218 g/m 2 ). While offering little dual-purpose seed/fibre potential, they may supply a future niche market for seed production. Three other trials were conducted to investigate the response of flax to seeding rate and sowing date, and the interactions between seeding rate, sowing date and irrigation availability. Autumn sowings of flax gave higher yields of both stem and seed compared with winter and spring sowings. Reasonable stem and seed yields were achieved from dryland cropping of flax. However, good results from such rainfed crops in Tasmania will depend on autumn sowing and good rainfall during winter and spring seasons. There were clear yield benefits from irrigation between early November and January, when the amount and distribution of rainfall was poor. The selection of an optimum seeding rate will depend on the sowing date and involve a compromise between maximising yield and minimising potential losses from lodging. The decreased occurrence of lodging with winter and spring sowings in this study, suggests that later sowings can accommodate higher seeding rates.

The distribution and prevalence of strains of Mycobacterium avium subsp. paratuberculosis were determined among sheep, cattle, and other species with Johne's disease in Australia. A total of 328 isolates were evaluated from numerous farms in New South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania, and South Australia, Australia. Restriction fragment length polymorphism (RFLP) analysis of genomic DNA usingBstEII and an IS900 probe and IS1311 polymorphism analysis using PCR and restriction endonuclease analysis (PCR-REA) was used to classify isolates as cattle (C) or sheep (S) strains. IS1311 PCR-REA provided similar information to IS900 RFLP analysis but was more useful than RFLP analysis where DNA was degraded or scarce. Twelve IS900 RFLP types were found. Johne's disease in sheep was always due to S strains, while cattle were infected only with C strains. RFLP type S1 was the dominant strain in sheep in New South Wales (97% of isolates) and was the only strain found in sheep from Victoria. Seven RFLP types were present in cattle. RFLP types C3 and C1 were most common (collectively, 85% of isolates), but C1 was not found in New South Wales and C3 was present in dairy cattle but not in beef cattle in Victoria. These differences may be explained by restricted livestock trading patterns between different segments of the cattle industry. Up to five RFLP types were present in some geographic regions in Victoria, while up to three RFLP types were found among cattle on some farms. Individual cattle usually were infected with only one RFLP type, but one animal was infected with both C5 and CU4. Two isolates from goats were C type as were three from alpacas, one from a rhinoceros, and two from a human with Crohn's disease. The prevalences of specific RFLP types in Australia differ from those reported in Europe and elsewhere. Given the existence of geographical and farm enterprise differences in IS900 RFLP type, this technique may be applied selectively to trace the spread of Johne's disease, at least in the cattle industries. As these observations reflect past exposure of livestock to M. avium subsp.paratuberculosis, the monitoring of strains present in animals in Australia is continuing.

This study assessed whether more potassium (K) was required for optimal growth and grain yield of cereal crops under drought and salinity than under non-stressed conditions. In 2011, three experiments on wheat (Triticum aestivum L.) with four K rates (0, 20, 40, 80 kg K/ha), four application times (0, 5, 10, 15 weeks after sowing, WAS) and two sources (KCl, K2SO4) were conducted in the central and southern grainbelts of Western Australia. The lack of plant response to K supply at the sites of Bolgart (36 mg K/kg at 0–30 cm) and Borden (25 mg K/kg at 0–30 cm), compared with significant gain in K uptake, dry matter and grain yield at Dowerin (29 mg K/kg at 0–30 cm), was not explained by differences in soil K levels. However, rain fell regularly through the growing season at Bolgart and Borden, whereas a dry spell occurred from stem elongation to grain development at Dowerin. The effectiveness of K application time followed the trend of 0, 5 > 10 > 15 WAS. In 2012, barley (Hordeum vulgare L.) was grown on a moderately saline (saturation extract electrical conductivity ~4 dS/m) and low K (20 mg K/kg) farm in the central grainbelt and treated with 0, 20, 40 and 120 kg K/ha. Applying K increased K uptake but decreased Na uptake, especially at 120 kg K/ha. Plant growth and grain yield increased with K supply, but the difference between the K rates was relatively small, indicating possible partial K substitution by Na. Higher than normal fertiliser K supply on low K soils would enhance the adaptation by cereals to water-limited environments, but K-fertiliser management on moderately saline soils may need to account for both K and Na uptake and use by the crops.

Australia is a water-stressed nation and demand on potable water supply is increasing. Consequently water conservation and reuse are increasingly becoming important. Irrigation of recycled wastewater on water repellent soils is a technology that is being trialled as a means of improving crop production and conserving potable supply. However, recycled water contains potentially harmful heavy metals. This paper reports the competitive sorption and desorption of several common heavy metals found in soils collected from a farm located in the south-east of South Australia. The soil from this location is severely water repellent, but some sites were amended with kaolinite clay (Si4Al4O10(OH)8) about 7 and 15 years ago. The metals studied were Cu, Pb, Cd, Cr, Ni, and Zn. Competitive sorption of the metals was distinctly observed. For all heavy metals, the quantity of metal sorbed was higher in amended soil, and there was a strong correlation between the specific sorption to total sorption ratio and the amount of clay in the soil. The sorption intensities varied with metal, Cr, Pb, and Cu having a high sorption tendencies and Zn, Cd, and Ni having comparatively low sorption tendencies. The total sorption capacity for all metals increased in clay-treated soils compared with non-treated soils. On average, clay-amended water repellent soils had a 20–40% increased capacity to adsorb total metals; however, this increase was largely caused by the increased capacities to adsorb Zn, Cd, and Ni. The effect of clay treatment largely enhanced the sorption capacity of relatively weakly adsorbing heavy metals. The implications for using recycled wastewater on the long-term sustainable agro-environmental management of these soils are discussed.

This study conducted a life cycle assessment (LCA) investigating energy, land occupation, greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, fresh water consumption and stress-weighted water use from production of export lamb in the major production regions of New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia. The study used data from regional datasets and case study farms, and applied new methods for assessing water use using detailed farm water balances and water stress weighting. Land occupation was assessed with reference to the proportion of arable and non-arable land and allocation of liveweight (LW) and greasy wool was handled using a protein mass method. Fossil fuel energy demand ranged from 2.5 to 7.0 MJ/kg LW, fresh water consumption from 58.1 to 238.9 L/kg LW, stress-weighted water use from 2.9 to 137.8 L H2O-e/kg LW and crop land occupation from 0.2 to 2.0 m2/kg LW. Fossil fuel energy demand was dominated by on-farm energy demand, and differed between regions and datasets in response to production intensity and the use of purchased inputs such as fertiliser. Regional fresh water consumption was dominated by irrigation water use and losses from farm water supply, with smaller contributions from livestock drinking water. GHG emissions ranged from 6.1 to 7.3 kg CO2-e/kg LW and additional removals or emissions from land use (due to cultivation and fertilisation) and direct land-use change (due to deforestation over previous 20 years) were found to be modest, contributing between –1.6 and 0.3 kg CO2-e/kg LW for different scenarios assessing soil carbon flux. Excluding land use and direct land-use change, enteric CH4 contributed 83–89% of emissions, suggesting that emissions intensity can be reduced by focussing on flock production efficiency. Resource use and emissions were similar for export lamb production in the major production states of Australia, and GHG emissions were similar to other major global lamb producers. The results show impacts from lamb production on competitive resources to be low, as lamb production systems predominantly utilised non-arable land unsuited to alternative food production systems that rely on crop production, and water from regions with low water stress.

Milk production per cow and per farm in the irrigated region in northern Victoria have increased dramatically over the past 2 decades. However, these increases have involved large increases in inputs, and average productivity gains on farms have been modest. Before the early 1980s, cows were fed predominantly pasture and conserved fodder. There is now large diversity in feeding systems and feed costs comprise 40–65% of total costs on irrigated dairy farms. This diversity in feeding systems has increased the need to understand the nutrient requirements of dairy cows and the unique aspects of nutrient intake and digestion in cows at grazing. Principles of nutrient intake and supply to the grazing dairy cow from the past 15 years’ research in northern Victoria are summarised and gaps in knowledge for making future productivity gains are identified. Moreover, since the majority of the milk produced in south-eastern Australia is used in the manufacture of products for export, dairy companies have increased their interest in value-added dairy products that better meet nutritional requirements or provide health benefits for humans. Finally, some examples of the impacts of farm system changes on operating profit for some case study farms in northern Victoria are presented to illustrate the need for thorough analysis of such management decisions.

Accelerated rates of soil erosion, following European settlement in Australia, pose a major threat to river ecosystems and water supply storages with agricultural catchments, such as Warragamba Dam (the main water supply dam for Sydney). Sediment yields from 1988 to 1999 have been determined by stream monitoring for 6 small grazing catchments located near Goulburn in southern New South Wales, in the outer Warragamba catchment. Average specific sediment yields were 0.07 t/ha.year from 3 small catchments of around 10 ha, where the drainage lines were not continuously gullied, and the drainage lines were undisturbed. Sediment yields from larger gullied catchments of 29, 52, and 510 ha were at least an order of magnitude higher than from the ungullied catchments at around 1 t/ha.year. Gullies continue to be the dominant source of sediment from these subcatchments despite indications that yields from gullies in the Southern Tablelands are much less than in the first few decades following settlement and are gradually declining as gullies move towards a stable vegetated state. Measured sediment yields from this study are comparable with yields for southern New South Wales determined using other methods, such as radionuclide and farm dam survey techniques. The impact of soil conservation works, such as sediment trapping and grade stabilisation works, on sediment yields can be mixed depending on the activity of the gully being treated and the mobility of the bed sediments. Turbidity levels from runoff events from the gullied catchments were an order of magnitude higher than from the ungullied catchments. For the Warragamba catchment turbidity levels are scale dependent; at the farm paddock scale turbidities are generally low where the land use is grazing, they increase dramatically at the subcatchment scale where active gullies dominate the drainage network, and then drop back again at the large river catchment scale. Turbidity is positively correlated with sediment concentration, so works that reduce sediment loads will also reduce the turbidity of water leaving the subcatchment. However, the link between high turbidity levels in small upland catchments and downstream water quality in large complex river basins is tenuous.

The profitability of dairy farm systems in southern Australia is closely related to the amount of pasture grown and consumed on-farm by dairy cows. However, there are doubts regarding the extent to which gains in feed supply from perennial ryegrass pasture can continue to support productivity growth in the industry. A farmlet experiment was conducted in south-western Victoria for 4 years (June 2005–May 2009), comparing a production system based on the use of forage species that complement perennial ryegrass in their seasonal growth pattern (‘Complementary Forages’, or CF) with a well managed system solely based on perennial ryegrass pasture (‘Ryegrass Max’, or RM). The forage base in CF included perennial ryegrass with a double-cropping rotation of winter cereal grown for whole-crop silage, followed by a summer brassica for grazing on 15% of farmlet area, a summer-active pasture based on tall fescue (on average 20% of farmlet area), perennial ryegrass oversown with short-rotation ryegrasses (average 16% of farmlet area) and summer brassica crops used in the process of pasture renovation (average 5% of farmlet area). The stocking rate was 2.2 and 2.8 cows/ha on RM and CF, respectively. Both systems were profitable over the 4 years of the experiment, with the modified internal rate of return over 4 years being 14.4% and 14.7% for the RM and CF farmlets, respectively. The coefficient of variation (%) of annual operating profit over 4 years was higher for the CF farmlet (56% and 63% for RM and CF, respectively). A severe drought in one of the 4 years exposed the more highly stocked CF system to greater supplementary feed costs and business risk. By comparison, the RM system performed consistently well across different seasons and in the face of a range of milk prices. The very small gain in profit from CF, plus the associated higher risk, makes it difficult to endorse a substantial change away from the traditional RM feed supply to greater reliance on summer-grown forages on non-irrigated dairy farms in southern Australia, as implemented in this experiment.

The profitability of dairy farms in Australia and New Zealand is closely related to the amount of pasture dry matter consumed per hectare per year. There is variability in the pasture growth curve within years (seasonal variation) and between years (interannual variation) in all dairy regions in both countries. Therefore, the biological efficiency of production systems depends on the accuracy and timeliness of the many strategic and tactical decisions that influence the balance between feed supply and demand over an annual cycle. In the case of interannual variation, decisions are made with only limited quantitative information on the range of possible pasture growth outcomes. To address this limitation, we used the biophysical simulation model ‘DairyMod’ to estimate mean monthly herbage accumulation rates of annual or perennial ryegrass-based pastures in 100 years (1907–2006) for five Australian sites (Kyabram in northern Victoria, Terang in south-west Victoria, Ellinbank in Gippsland, Elliott in north-west Tasmania and Vasse in south-west Western Australia) and in 35 years (1972–2006) for three sites in New Zealand (Hamilton in the Waikato, Palmerston North in the Manawatu and Winchmore in Canterbury). The aim was to evaluate whether or not a probabilistic approach to the analysis of pasture growth could provide useful information to support decision making. For the one site where annual ryegrass was simulated, Vasse, the difference between the 25th and 75th percentile years was 20 kg DM/ha.day or less in all months when pasture growth occurred. Irrigation at Kyabram and Winchmore also resulted in a narrow range of growth rates in most months. For non-irrigated sites, the 25th–75th percentile range was narrow (10–15 kg DM/ha.day) from May or June through to September or October, because plant available soil water was adequate to support perennial ryegrass growth, and the main source of interannual variability was variation in temperature. Outside of these months, however, variability in growth was large. There was a positive relationship between total annual herbage accumulation rate and mean stocking for four southern Australian regions (northern Victoria, south-west Victoria, Gippsland and Tasmania), but there was evidence of a negative relationship between the co-efficient of variation in pasture growth and stocking rate. The latter suggests that farmers do account for risk in pasture supply in their stocking rate decisions. However, for the one New Zealand region included in this analysis, Waikato, stocking rate was much higher than would be expected based on the variability in pasture growth, indicating that farmers in this region have well defined decision rules for coping with feed deficits or surpluses. Model predictions such as those presented here are one source of information that can support farm management decision making, but should always be coupled with published data, direct experience, and other relevant information to analyse risk for individual farm businesses.

The main plant species relied on for forage supply to grazing animals in New Zealand and south-eastern Australia is perennial ryegrass (Lolium perenne L.). Perennial ryegrass has evolved with a fungal endophyte (Neotyphodium lolii, Latch, Christensen & Samuals) that occupies intercellular spaces, and is nourished by its host. The endophyte (referred to as standard or wild-type) provides the plant with protection from a range of insect pests by producing alkaloids, some of which are also toxic to grazing animals, causing ryegrass staggers and/or exacerbating heat stress. Over the last 20 years naturally occurring perennial ryegrass endophytes have been found in Europe that produce less of the alkaloids that cause animal health problems but have similar or enhanced effects as the standard endophyte on deterring insect attack on infected plants, when introduced into New Zealand and Australian-bred ryegrasses. This review provides a summary of endophyte research in New Zealand from the perspective of insect pests, plants (particularly perennial ryegrass) and the animals grazed on ryegrass-dominant pastures. The protocols used to evaluate perennial ryegrass/endophyte associations over the past 30 years are also discussed. Future testing of new grass/endophyte associations should include the utilisation of more environments for agronomic and entomological experiments; routinely carrying out small animal toxicology assays, and the running of short-term indoor feeding experiments with sheep and cows. Implementation of these changes provides the minimum requirements for strengthening the evaluation of new endophyte associations so farmers using these technologies, gain optimal benefits from their adoption.

With an ongoing interest in developing northern Australia, we undertook a beef situation analysis to assist the Cooperative Research Centre for Developing Northern Australian in tailoring their investment decisions. The northern beef industry is dominated by rangeland enterprises that include family farms, indigenous pastoral enterprises and large corporate interests. The analysis was a whole of supply chain examination of current practices, strategies and plans. It included consultation with producers, industry groups, research organisations and government departments. The competitive advantages of the northern beef industry are its adapted production systems, low cost base and geographic positioning that allows it to take advantage of south-east Asian markets. However, the inherent low productivity, high capital costs and over reliance on a small number of markets make it vulnerable to market shocks. We found that the industry faces challenges in maintaining profitability and the ability to translate research to practice to enhance productivity its social license to operate. The review makes recommendation under four themes: There is an ongoing need for research and develop for profitability and productivity gains for the top businesses; There is a need to improve the translation of proven R and D to farm practice for the majority of the northern Australian beef industry; There is a need to support and develop business cases for economic enabling infrastructure to allow the northern Australian beef industry to remain competitive and intensify production, and; There remains some regulatory reform and derisking required to support investment in the industry and allow diversification.

There is considerable interest in integrating deep-rooted perennial plants into the dryland farming systems of southern Australia as soil, water supplies and biodiversity are continually threatened by salinity. In addition to wood products, trees could provide new products, such as bioenergy, environmental services, such as the sequestration of carbon, reductions in recharge to groundwater and biodiversity protection. Before marketing these services, it is necessary to determine the optimal distribution of trees across the landscape, in terms of land suitability, their productivity, and proximity to existing processing and transport infrastructure. Similarly, understanding how recharge varies across landscapes will allow the targeting of trees to areas where they are most needed for salinity control. Catchment scale (1:100 000) soil and landform datasets are now available across much of the agricultural area of Australia. While these data are at a scale inappropriate for management at the enterprise (farm) scale, they will allow broad planning for new plant-based industries, such as whether there is sufficient suitable land available before embarking on a new enterprise and the likely productivity of that land. In this paper, we outline an approach that combines existing soil and landform data with estimates of climate to produce estimates of likely wood yield, carbon sequestration and potential for recharge to groundwater. Using the 283 686 ha Collie catchment of south-western Australia as an example, this analysis indicated broad areas where land is suitable for forestry, where forestry is unlikely to succeed, or where it was not required because leakage to groundwater is negligible. It also provides broad estimates of wood production and carbon sequestration. The approach is applicable to the integration of deep-rooted perennial plants into farming systems in other regions confronted with multiple natural resource management issues.

Purpose – The purpose of the study is to study diversification among Australian olive growers in various regions, as well as perceived opportunities and challenges of olive growing from the perspective of micro olive growers. In doing so, the study considers and adopts the theory of planned behaviour (TPB). Design/methodology/approach – Semi-structured interviews with 24 micro olive growers operating in the Australian state of New South Wales were conducted. Findings – The findings partly identify alignment with the TPB. Essentially, attitude or growers’ favourable assessment to diversify appears to determine growers’ intention to implement diversification strategies, including adding value to olive production, and marketing it through tourism. In contrast, subjective norm, which refers to the impact of social influence or pressures, in the case of the present study to growing olives or to diversifying into olive oil production, was to a great extent disconfirmed. Originality/value – Very limited research has investigated the motivations of micro olive growers, especially in the Southern Hemisphere. In particular, the use of the TPB has been adopted to a very limited extent in the context of micro-farm diversification, including among emerging industries such as olive growing in Australia. The study addresses these current research gaps.

The development and use of perennial ryegrass (Lolium perenne L.), cocksfoot (Dactylis glomerata L.), phalaris (Phalaris aquatica L.) and tall fescue (Lolium arundinaceum Darbysh.) in the high-rainfall zone and the wheat–sheep zone is reviewed through the pastoral era of extensive grazing (from European settlement to ~1930), the expansive era of pasture improvement (1930–80) and in the modern era. Their adoption, in conjunction with inoculated clover seed, rose steadily in specifically Australian systems of animal production, designed with an appreciation of the environment, and aided by technical developments such as single-disc and aerial spreaders for mineral fertiliser, chemical fallowing and direct-drilling. These species remain vital contributors to the competitive productivity of Australia’s cattle and sheep industries. Perennial ryegrass (~6 Mha by 1994) and cocksfoot emerged as the most important after a wide range of species was introduced through the 19th Century; many of these became naturalised. Regional strains of perennial ryegrass were subsequently selected for commercialisation in Victoria, New South Wales and Tasmania. In the modern era, persistent ecotypes were harnessed to breed persistent cultivars. Vision to both improve grass persistence and extend the area of adaptation encouraged the adoption of phalaris (~2.7 Mha by 2009) and, to a lesser extent, early-flowering types of cocksfoot and tall fescue, particularly for the marginal-rainfall, wheat–sheep zone. The sowing of grass and clover seed expanded after the wide adoption of superphosphate, which became recognised as essential for correcting the severe deficiency of soil phosphorus and nitrogen associated with ancient, intensely weathered soils. The initial and dramatic response of clover to superphosphate increased farm revenue, so fostering a phase in which perennial grasses could be successfully sown, due to having the benefit of (biologically fixed) nitrogen. The influence of European practice, agricultural societies, the Welsh Plant Breeding Station, CSIRO, universities, state Departments of Agriculture, collaborative arrangements and individuals that nurtured and managed pasture technology, plant breeding, cultivar registration and evaluation are outlined. Future considerations emerging from the review include monitoring the national pasture inventory, promotion of the great potential for increasing livestock carrying capacity, cultivar discrimination and information, relevance of models, and national coordination of collaborative research.

Dairy feeding systems in Australia and New Zealand have seen an increase in the use of mixed rations to manage variability in climate and market conditions and enable a certain degree of resilience in the operating environment. In this review, resilience was defined as the ability of the farm system to respond to challenges, optimise productivity and profitability for a given set of circumstances, and persist over time. Specific attributes of a dairy system that contribute to resilience were considered as flexibility, consistency, adaptation, sustainability and profitability. A flexible forage base that uses water efficient forage species provides a consistent supply of nutrients from home-grown forages across the year and is a key driver of resilience. Consistent milk production from purchased concentrates adds value to the forage base and will ensure that the system is profitable in the long term. Appropriate investment in infrastructure and careful management of debt has a positive impact on technical and financial efficiency and improves overall economic performance and resilience of the system. Nutrients, feed wastage, cow comfort and welfare were also identified as key areas to focus on for improved sustainability. Future research investigating the interaction between forages and concentrates, and the subsequent milk production response will be important for the future resilience of mixed ration systems. Adaptive management at a tactical and strategic level across several technical areas will further underpin the resilience of a mixed ration dairy system, and minimise the impact of climate and price variability. This will have flow on benefits to animal welfare and resource sustainability, which will have a positive impact of the public perception of these systems within the Australian and New Zealand dairy industries.

Summary. Yield and plant characteristics of the longer fingered selection ‘J.D. Special’ were compared with cv. Williams which is the industry standard. Data from 2 sources (‘experiments’), including on-farm trials at 6 sites in Queensland, Australia, (experiment 1) and an experiment at the Queensland Department of Primary Industries South Johnstone Research Station investigating maturity bronzing (experiment 2), were utilised for this report. The fruit on hands 2 or 3 of J.D. Special were on average 10–15% longer in the crops investigated. Increased finger length occurred along the entire bunch resulting in 15 and 6% more extra large fruit for J.D. Special than for Williams in the plant crops of experiments 1 and 2, respectively. Similar differences were observed in the ratoon crops. Bunches of J.D. Special were 19–22% heavier than Williams for plant crops. A combination of greater fruit length and more hands per bunch in J.D. Special contributed to their greater bunch weight. J.D. Special took longer from planting to harvest (average of 17days) but yields/unit time were still 17–19% greater than Williams. Plants of J.D. Special were more prone to bunch losses with 2 cases of 35 and 45% loss compared with no losses for Williams, the losses being largely due to wind damage. This susceptibility of J.D. Special is presumably due to its greater plant height and heavier bunch weight. Fruit greenlife of J.D. Special was 17% less than Williams in the one crop investigated, although this was not significant (P>0.10).

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to assess the competitiveness of the Uruguayan rural tourism sector against its main competitors from Argentina and Brazil, as perceived by Uruguayan stakeholders on the supply side. The paper will also evaluate the potential of Uruguay as a rural tourism destination in attracting German tourists. Design/methodology/approach – Two different questionnaires were administered, one to Uruguayan rural tourism stakeholders and another one to potential German tourists in Germany. Findings – The findings indicate that the main strengths of Uruguayan rural tourism offer, compared to Argentina and Brazil, are the hospitality and friendliness of local people, the natural and cultural attractions and the country’s security and safety. Main weaknesses identified were the poor management of several destination components that are key to create a successful tourism destination and poor management of the “demand conditions” component of Dwyer and Kim’s (2003) integrated model. Originality/value – There is very limited research done on the competitiveness of Uruguay as a rural tourist destination in attracting foreign tourists (Mackinnon et al., 2009). The objective of this study is to partially fill this gap by assessing how competitive Uruguayan rural tourism is and evaluating whether Uruguay represents an attractive market for German tourists looking for agro tourism and farm holiday destinations. The German market was chosen because it is one of the top tourist-generating countries and one of the biggest spenders in international tourism (The World Tourism organization, 2010). Moreover, most tourists – from outside South America – selecting Uruguay as a tourist destination come from Germany, USA and Australia (Peralta, 2012).

The profitability of dairy businesses in southern Australia is closely related to the amount of feed consumed from perennial ryegrass-dominant pasture. Historically, the dairy industry has relied on improvements in pasture productivity and utilisation to support profitable increases in stocking rate and milk production per hectare. However, doubts surround the extent to which the industry can continue to rely on perennial ryegrass technology to provide the necessary productivity improvements required into the future. This paper describes the design and management of a dairy systems experiment at Terang in south-west Victoria (780-mm average annual rainfall) conducted over four lactations (June 2005–March 2009) to compare the production and profitability of two forage base options for non-irrigated dairy farms. These options were represented by two self-contained farmlets each milking 36 mixed-age, autumn-calving Holstein-Friesian cows at peak: (1) well managed perennial ryegrass pasture (‘Ryegrass Max’, or ‘RM’); and (2) perennial ryegrass plus complementary forages (‘CF’) including 15% of farmlet area under double cropping with annual species (winter cereal grown for silage followed by summer brassica for grazing on the same land) and an average of 25% of farmlet area in perennial pasture based on tall fescue for improved late spring–early summer feed supply. The design of these systems was informed by farming systems models (DairyMod, UDDER and Redsky), which were used to estimate the effects of introducing different forage options on farm profitability. The design of the CF system was selected based on modelled profitability increases assuming that all forage components could be managed to optimise forage production and be effectively integrated to optimise milk production per cow. Using the historical ‘average’ pasture growth curve for the Terang district and a mean milk price of $3.71 per kg milk solids, the models estimated that the return on assets of the RM and CF systems would be 9.4 and 15.0%, respectively. The objectives of the experiment described here were to test whether or not such differences in profitability could be achieved in practice, and to determine the risks associated with including complementary forages on a substantial proportion of the effective farm area. Key results of the experiment are presented in subsequent papers.

Purpose Are business outcomes due primarily to entrepreneurial and managerial ability or are they mainly the result of business content? The purpose of this study is to explore this question by comparing the railroads of Victoria and Queensland (Australia) and the South-West and Northern Plains of America between 1881 and 1900. Given the commonalities of the four railway systems in terms of their economic orientation towards rural custom, and their marked difference in terms of ownership, one would expect similarities in their financial circumstances if outcomes were primarily determined by fluctuations in global commodity markets. Conversely, marked differences would be expected if outcomes primarily resulted from managerial initiative. Design/methodology/approach Conceptually, this study is informed by the idea that social and economic outcomes are shaped by long historical movements, with meaningful structural change occurring rarely but to great effect. In exploring this concept through a comparison of the railways of Australia and the American West, the study draws on two forms of archival evidence. One source of evidence relates to railroad management, operations and finances. Figures cited come primarily from Australian railway commissioners’ reports and Poor’s Manual of the Railroads of the USA. The other source of evidence relates to agricultural statistics. These are drawn from official reports. Findings This study argues that effective strategic decision-making can only occur if we understand the structural changes that alter our world. In the late nineteenth century, the Australian and American railroads servicing newly settled rural regions were financial failures because management failed to appreciate the structural changes that the revolution in steam-powered transport had initiated; a revolution which resulted in commodity prices – and hence, the railway rates for farm produce – being determined by global demand and supply balances rather than by local factors. As a result, they continued a policy of expansion that was no longer financially justified. Originality/value This study seeks to contribute to a fundamental debate in historical studies and management about the drivers of social and economic change. Increasingly, there is acceptance of the view that historical circumstances are inherently unstable and what counts is the particular change cascading through a myriad of “events”. This study points in a contrary direction, suggesting that business outcomes are primarily determined by deep structural shifts that can be understood and steered but seldom opposed.

Australian cropping systems are dominated by winter cereals; however, grain legumes, oilseeds and summer cereals play an important role as break crops. Inputs of phosphorus (P) fertiliser account for a significant proportion of farm expenditure on crop nutrition, so effective fertiliser-use guidelines are essential. A national database (BFDC National Database) of field experiments examining yield responses to P fertiliser application has been established. This paper reports the results of interrogating that database using a web application (BFDC Interrogator) to develop calibration relationships between soil P test (0–10 cm depth; Colwell NaHCO3 extraction) and relative grain yield. Relationships have been developed for all available data for each crop species, as well as for subsets of those data derived by filtering processes based on experiment quality, presence of abiotic or biotic stressors, P fertiliser placement strategy and subsurface P status. The available dataset contains >730 entries but is dominated by data for lupin (Lupinus angustifolius; 62% of all P experiments) from the south-west of Western Australia. The number of treatment series able to be analysed for other crop species was quite small (<50–60 treatment series) and available data were sometimes from geographic regions or soil types no longer reflective of current production. There is a need for research to improve information on P fertiliser use for key species of grain legumes [faba bean (Vicia faba), lentil (Lens culinaris), chickpea (Cicer arietinum)], oilseeds [canola (Brassica napus), soybean (Glycine max)] and summer cereals [sorghum (Sorghum bicolor), maize (Zea mays)] in soils and farming systems reflecting current production. Interrogations highlighted the importance of quantifying subsurface P reserves to predict P fertiliser response, with consistently higher 0–10 cm soil test values required to achieve 90% maximum yield (CV90) when subsurface P was low (<5 mg P/kg). This was recorded for lupin, canola and wheat (Triticum aestivum). Crops grown on soils with subsurface P >5 mg/kg consistently produced higher relative yields than expected on the basis of a 0–10 cm soil test. The lupin dataset illustrated the impact of improving crop yield potentials (through more effective P-fertiliser placement) on critical soil test values. The higher yield potentials arising from placement of P-fertiliser bands deeper in the soil profile resulted in significantly higher CV90 values than for crops grown on the same sites but using less effective (shallower) P placement. This is consistent with deeper bands providing an increased and more accessible volume of profile P enrichment and supports the observation of the importance of crop P supply from soil layers deeper than 0–10 cm. Soil P requirements for different species were benchmarked against values determined for wheat or barley (Hordeum vulgare) grown in the same regions and/or soil types as a way of extrapolating available data for less researched species. This approach suggested most species had CV90 values and ranges similar to winter cereals, with evidence of different soil P requirements in only peanut (Arachis hypogaea – much lower) and field pea (Pisum sativum – slightly higher). Unfortunately, sorghum data were so limited that benchmarking against wheat was inconclusive.

The effects of different whole-farm management systems were explored in a farmlet trial on the Northern Tablelands of New South Wales, Australia, between July 2000 and December 2006. The three systems examined were first, a moderate input farmlet with flexible grazing on eight paddocks considered ‘typical’ of the region (farmlet B), a second, also with flexible grazing on eight paddocks but with a high level of pasture renovation and increased soil fertility (farmlet A) and a third with the same moderate level of inputs as farmlet B but which practised intensive rotational grazing on 37 paddocks (farmlet C). The changes in herbage mass, herbage quality and pasture growth followed a seasonal pattern typical of the Northern Tablelands with generally higher levels recorded over spring–summer and lower levels in autumn–winter but with substantial differences between years due to the variable climate experienced. Over the first 18 months of the trial there were no significant differences between farmlets in total herbage mass. Although the climate was generally drier than average, the differences between farmlets in pasture herbage mass and quality became more evident over the duration of the experiment. After the farmlet treatments started to take effect, the levels of total and dead herbage mass became significantly lower on farmlet A compared with farmlets B and C. In contrast, the levels of green herbage were similar for all farmlets. Throughout most of the study period, pastures on farmlet A with its higher levels of pasture renovation and soil fertility, had significantly higher DM digestibility for both green and dead herbage components compared with pastures on either of the moderate input systems (B and C). Thus, when green herbage mass and quality were combined, farmlet A tended to have higher levels of green digestible herbage than either of the other farmlets, which had similar levels, suggesting that pasture renovation and soil fertility had more effect on the supply of quality pasture than did grazing management. This difference was observed in spite of the higher stocking rate supported by farmlet A after treatments took effect. Levels of legume herbage mass, while generally low due to the dry conditions, were significantly higher on farmlet A compared with the other two farmlets. While ground cover on farmlet A was found to be less than the other farmlets, this was largely associated with the higher level of pasture renovation. Generally, all three farmlets had ground cover levels well above 70% for the duration of the experiment, thus being above levels considered critical for prevention of erosion. A multivariate analysis showed that the main explanatory factors significantly linked (P < 0.01) with the supply of high quality herbage were, in decreasing order of importance, those related to season and weather, pasture renovation, grazing management and soil fertility. Measurements of net pasture growth conducted using a limited number of grazing exclosure cages on three paddocks per farmlet revealed clear seasonal trends but no significant (P > 0.05) differences between farmlets. However, post hoc estimates of potential pasture growth rate using remotely sensed MODIS satellite images of normalised difference vegetation index captured weekly from each farmlet revealed a significant (P < 0.001) relationship with the seasonal pattern observed in the measurements of pasture growth rate.

Jersey Oil and Gas Unearths Wengen Prospect The Greater Buchan Area (GBA) now has four drill-ready prospects to add to discoveries already slated for development. In a new subsurface evaluation, Jersey Oil & Gas, a British-independent North Sea-focused upstream oil and gas company, has uncovered a new prospect, named Wengen, to complement its Verbier Deep, Cortina NE, and Zermatt drill-ready prospects. The four are estimated to host some 222 million bbl of P50 prospective resources, all in the immediate vicinity of Jersey’s planned GBA production facility. The consolidated Greater Buchan venture comprises Buchan field (80 million bbl), Verbier (c25 million bbl), J2 (c20 million), and Glenn (14 million). The new prospect, located in License P2170, is directly west of the Tweedsmuir field and should host some 62 million bbl of potential resources (P50), with the probabilistic range set at 31 million bbl at P90 (higher confidence) and 162 mil-lion for P10 (lower confidence). Probability of geological success is 22% for the prospect. Contractor Rockflow previously estimated the recoverable resources in the GBA at 94.7 million bbl, including the parts within P2170. In late November, Jersey announced it is taking full ownership of License P2170, which hosts most of the Verbier discovery, as part of the GBA. In March, Jersey told investors the project is fully funded and that it intends to take the project to potential industry partners via a farm-out process. An exploratory drilling campaign is being planned for 2022. Jordan Finds “Promising” Gas Reserves Near Iraq Border Jordan’s majority state-owned National Petroleum Company (NPC) has discovered “promising” natural gas in the Risha gas field along its eastern border with Iraq. Risha makes up nearly 5% of the kingdom’s consumption of natural gas of around 350 MMcf/D for power generation, Jordanian officials said. The flow of new gas supplies will raise the productivity of the gas field and help Jordan cut dependence on oil imports to fuel its power sector and industries. The country, which now imports over 93% of its total energy supplies, is burdened by a $3.5-billion annual bill, comprising almost 8% of Jordan’s GDP. Although British supermajor BP abandoned the eastern desert area in 2014 after investing over $240 million, Jordanian exploration has stepped up since 2019, boosting quantities by at least 70%, Mohammad al Khasawneh, head of NPC, said. An ambitious 10-year energy plan unveiled in 2019 aims to secure nearly half of the country’s electricity generation from local energy sources com-pared to a current 15%, according to Iraq Energy Minister Hala Zawati. The plan is meant to diversify local energy sources by expanding investments in renewable and oil shale to reduce costly foreign fuel imports, Zawati added. ExxonMobil Discovers Hydrocarbons Offshore Suriname ExxonMobil and Petronas have discovered several hydrocarbon-bearing sandstone zones with good reservoir qualities in the Campanian section of the Sloanea-1 exploration well on Block 52 offshore Suriname, adding to ExxonMobil’s finds in the Guyana-Suriname basin. The well was drilled by operator Petronas. ExxonMobil said in November that it is prioritizing near-term capital spending on advantaged assets with the highest potential future value. Maersk Drilling reported in early July that it had secured the Maersk Developer from Petronas subsidiary PSEPBV in a $20.4-million one-well exploration con-tract offshore Suriname. The semisubmersible rig drilled the Suriname-Guyana basin well to a total depth of 15,682 ft. “We are pleased with the positive results of the well,” Emeliana Rice-Oxley, Petronas’ vice president of upstream exploration, said. “It will provide the drive for Petronas to continue exploring in Suriname, which is one of our focus basins in the Americas.” Block 52 covers an area of 1.2 million acres and is located approximately 75 miles offshore north of Paramaribo. The water depths on Block 52 range from 160 to 3,600 ft. ExxonMobil E&P Suriname BV, an affiliate of ExxonMobil, holds 50% interest in Block 52. PSEPBV is operator and holds 50% interest. CNOOC Starts Production on Penglai 25-6 Oil Field Area 3 Project China National Offshore Oil Corporation (CNOOC) announced on 14 December that its Bohai Sea Project - the Penglai 25-6 oil field area 3 - has started production ahead of schedule. The biggest offshore oil field and the second biggest oil field in China, the Penglai is located in the south central Bohai Sea, with average water depth of about 27 m. In addition to fully utilizing the existing processing facilities of Penglai oil fields, the project has built a new wellhead platform and plans 58 development wells, including 38 production wells and 20 water-injection wells. The project is expected to reach its peak production of approximately 11,511 B/D of crude oil in 2023. Six successful appraisal wells were also drilled, which confirmed the presence of hydrocarbons in reservoirs located with-in Miocene, Lower Minghuazhen, and Guantao sandstones. The Penglai 19-3 oil field is located in Block 11/05 of Bohai Bay, approximately 235 km southeast of Tanggu. The production-sharing contract for block 11/05 was signed between CNOOC and ConocoPhillips China (COPC) in December 1994; the field was discovered jointly by CNOOC and COPC in 1999. The oil field was developed in two phases. Phase I production started in December 2002; production from the wellhead platform C, which is tied back temporarily to the production facilities of Phase I, began in June 2007. Since June 2020, CNOOC has announced five production startups: the Jinzhou 25-1 oilfield 6/11 area project, the Liuhua 16-2 oilfield/ 20-2 oil-field joint development project, the Nan-bao 35-2 oilfield S1 area project, the Luda 21-2/16-3 regional development project, and the Qinhuangdao 33-1S oilfield phase-I project. In Q3 2020, CNOOC achieved a total net production of 131.2 million BOE, which the company said represented an increase of 5.1% year over year. Production from China was said to have increased by 10.4% year over year to 88.6 million BOE. In November, CNOOC revealed that the Liuhua 29-1 gas field had begun production; in September, the company said the Bozhong 19-6 condensate gas field pilot area development project had also begun. Operator CNOOC holds 51% interest while COPC holds 49% interest in the Penglai 25-6 oilfield area 3 project. Equinor’s Snorre Expansion Project Starts Ahead of Schedule, Below Cost Work began in December on the Snorre Expansion Project in the southern part of the Norwegian Sea. This increased-oil-recovery project will add almost 200 million bbl of recoverable oil reserves and help extend the productive life of the Snorre field through 2040. The expansion project is proposed in blocks 34/4 and 34/7 of the Tampen area, approximately 124 miles west of Florø in the Norwegian North Sea. “I am proud that we have managed to achieve safe startup of the Snorre Expansion Project ahead of schedule in such a challenging year as 2020. In addition, the project is set to be delivered more than NOK 1 billion below the cost estimate in the plan for development and operation,” Geir Tungesvik, Equinor’s executive vice president for technology, projects, and drilling, said. Originally scheduled to come onstream in the first quarter of 2021, the project comprises 24 new wells divided into six subsea templates, drilled to recover the new volumes. Bundles connecting the new wells to the platform have been installed, in addition to new risers. The project also includes a new module and modifications on Snorre A. In December 2017, Equinor submitted a modified plan for development and operation of the field. With the expansion, the recovery factor will increase from 46 to 51%, representing significant value for a field with 2 billion bbl of recoverable oil reserves. Wind power will supply about 35% of the power requirement for the Snorre and Gullfaks fields. The Hywind Tampen project, featuring 11 floating wind turbines, should start up in Q3 2022. The investments in the expansion project total NOK 19.5 billion (2020 value). The project has had substantial spin-off effects for the supply industry in Norway, particularly in eastern Norway and in Rogaland. The Snorre field partnership comprises Equinor (operator) 33.27%, Petoro 30%, Vår Energi 18.55%, Idemitsu 9.6%, and Wintershall Dea 8.57%. Petrobras To Sell Entire Stake in Onshore Field of Sergipe Petrobras on 11 December signed a contract with Energizzi Energias do Brasil to sell its entire stake in the onshore field of Rabo Branco, located south of the Carmópolis field in the Sergipe-Alagoas Basin, Sergipe state. The Rabo Branco field is part of the BT-SEAL-13 concession. The $1.5-million sale is in line with Petrobras’ strategy to cut costs and improve its capital allocation, to focus its resources increasingly on deep and ultradeep waters. The average oil production of the field, from January to October 2020, was 138 B/D. Energizzi Energias do Brasil will own 50% stake in the Rabo Branco field; operator Produção de Óleo e Gás (Petrom) holds the remaining 50%. On 10 December, Petrobras closed the divestiture of its full ownership in four onshore fields at the Tucano Basin site in the state of Bahia. Petrobras sold its entire interest to Eagle Exploração de Óleo e Gás (Eagle). Petrobras earned $2.571 million from this sale, in addition to the $602,000 that the company received at the time of signing the sale contract, for a total of $3.173 million. BP, Reliance Announce First Gas From Asia’s Deepest Project Oil-to-telecom conglomerate Reliance Industries Limited (RIL) and BP have started production from India’s first ultradeepwater gas project, the first of three such projects in the KG D6 block. The R Cluster gas field is located off the east coast of India, about 60 km from the existing KG D6 control-and-riser platform (CRP), and comprises a subsea production system tied back to the CRP via a subsea pipeline. It is the deepest offshore gas field in Asia at a depth greater than 2000 m. The companies’ next project, the Satellites Cluster, is expected to come on stream this year, followed by the MJ project in 2022. These projects will utilize the existing hub infrastructure in the KG D6 block. “Growing India’s own production of cleaner-burning gas to meet a significant portion of its energy demand, these three new KG D6 projects will support the country’s drive to shape and improve its future energy mix,” BP Chief Executive Bernard Looney said. The R Cluster field is expected to reach plateau gas production of about 12.9 million standard cubic meters per day (MMscm/D) in 2021. Peak gas production from the three fields should be 30 MMscm/D (1 Bcf/D) by 2023, about 25% of India’s domestic production, and will help reduce the country’s dependence on imported gas. RIL is the operator of KG D6 with a 66.67% interest; BP holds a 33.33% participating interest.

Kangatarianism is the rather inelegant word coined in the first decade of the twenty-first century to describe an omnivorous diet in which the only meat consumed is that of the kangaroo. First published in the media in 2010 (Barone; Zukerman), the term circulated in Australian environmental and academic circles including the Global Animal conference at the University of Wollongong in July 2011 where I first heard it from members of the Think Tank for Kangaroos (THINKK) group. By June 2017, it had gained enough attention to be named the Oxford English Dictionary’s Australian word of the month (following on from May’s “smashed avo,” another Australian food innovation), but it took the Nine Network reality television series Love Island Australia to raise kangatarian to trending status on social media (Oxford UP). During the first episode, aired in late May 2018, Justin, a concreter and fashion model from Melbourne, declared himself to have previously been a kangatarian as he chatted with fellow contestant, Millie. Vet nurse and animal lover Millie appeared to be shocked by his revelation but was tentatively accepting when Justin explained what kangatarian meant, and justified his choice on the grounds that kangaroo are not farmed. In the social media response, it was clear that eating only the meat of kangaroos as an ethical choice was an entirely new concept to many viewers, with one tweet stating “Kangatarian isn’t a thing”, while others variously labelled the diet brutal, intriguing, or quintessentially Australian (see #kangatarian on Twitter).There is a well developed literature around the arguments for and against eating kangaroo, and why settler Australians tend to be so reluctant to do so (see for example, Probyn; Cawthorn and Hoffman). Here, I will concentrate on the role that ethics play in this food choice by examining how the adoption of kangatarianism can be understood as a bargain struck to help to manage grief in the Anthropocene, and the limitations of that bargain. As Lesley Head has argued, we are living in a time of loss and of grieving, when much that has been taken for granted is becoming unstable, and “we must imagine that drastic changes to everyday life are in the offing” (313). Applying the classic (and contested) model of five stages of grief, first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying in 1969, much of the population of the western world seems to be now experiencing denial, her first stage of loss, while those in the most vulnerable environments have moved on to anger with developed countries for destructive actions in the past and inaction in the present. The next stages (or states) of grieving—bargaining, depression, and acceptance—are likely to be manifested, although not in any predictable sequence, as the grief over current and future losses continues (Haslam).The great expansion of food restrictive diets in the Anthropocene can be interpreted as part of this bargaining state of grieving as individuals attempt to respond to the imperative to reduce their environmental impact but also to limit the degree of change to their own diet required to do so. Meat has long been identified as a key component of an individual’s environmental footprint. From Frances Moore Lappé’s 1971 Diet for a Small Planet through the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organisation’s 2006 report Livestock’s Long Shadow to the 2019 report of the EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems, the advice has been consistent: meat consumption should be minimised in, if not eradicated from, the human diet. The EAT–Lancet Commission Report quantified this to less than 28 grams (just under one ounce) of beef, lamb or pork per day (12, 25). For many this would be keenly felt, in terms of how meals are constructed, the sensory experiences associated with eating meat and perceptions of well-being but meat is offered up as a sacrifice to bring about the return of the beloved healthy planet.Rather than accept the advice to cut out meat entirely, those seeking to bargain with the Anthropocene also find other options. This has given rise to a suite of foodways based around restricting meat intake in volume or type. Reducing the amount of commercially produced beef, lamb and pork eaten is one approach, while substituting a meat the production of which has a smaller environmental footprint, most commonly chicken or fish, is another. For those willing to make deeper changes, the meat of free living animals, especially those which are killed accidentally on the roads or for deliberately for environmental management purposes, is another option. Further along this spectrum are the novel protein sources suggested in the Lancet report, including insects, blue-green algae and laboratory-cultured meats.Kangatarianism is another form of this bargain, and is backed by at least half a century of advocacy. The Australian Conservation Foundation made calls to reduce the numbers of other livestock and begin a sustainable harvest of kangaroo for food in 1970 when the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption was still illegal across the country (Conservation of Kangaroos). The idea was repeated by biologist Gordon Grigg in the late 1980s (Jackson and Vernes 173), and again in the Garnaut Climate Change Review in 2008 (547–48). Kangaroo meat is high in protein and iron, low in fat, and high in healthy polyunsaturated fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid, and, as these authors showed, has a smaller environmental footprint than beef, lamb, or pork. Kangaroo require less water than cattle, sheep or pigs, and no land is cleared to grow feed for them or give them space to graze. Their paws cause less erosion and compaction of soil than do the hooves of common livestock. They eat less fodder than ruminants and their digestive processes result in lower emissions of the powerful greenhouse gas methane and less solid waste.As Justin of Love Island was aware, kangaroo are not farmed in the sense of being deliberately bred, fed, confined, or treated with hormones, drugs or chemicals, which also adds to their lighter impact on the environment. However, some pastoralists argue that because they cannot prevent kangaroos from accessing the food, water, shelter, and protection from predators they provide for their livestock, they do effectively farm them, although they receive no income from sales of kangaroo meat. This type of light touch farming of kangaroos has a very long history in Australia going back to the continent’s first peopling some 60,000 years ago. Kangaroos were so important to Aboriginal people that a wide range of environments were manipulated to produce their favoured habitats of open grasslands edged by sheltering trees. As Bill Gammage demonstrated, fire was used as a tool to preserve and extend grassy areas, to encourage regrowth which would attract kangaroos and to drive the animals from one patch to another or towards hunters waiting with spears (passim, for example, 58, 72, 76, 93). Gammage and Bruce Pascoe agree that this was a form of animal husbandry in which the kangaroos were drawn to the areas prepared for them for the young grass or, more forcefully, physically directed using nets, brush fences or stone walls. Burnt ground served to contain the animals in place of fencing, and regular harvesting kept numbers from rising to levels which would place pressure on other species (Gammage 79, 281–86; Pascoe 42–43). Contemporary advocates of eating kangaroo have promoted the idea that they should be deliberately co-produced with other livestock instead of being killed to preserve feed and water for sheep and cattle (Ellicott; Wilson 39). Substituting kangaroo for the meat of more environmentally damaging animals would facilitate a reduction in the numbers of cattle and sheep, lessening the harm they do.Most proponents have assumed that their audience is current meat eaters who would substitute kangaroo for the meat of other more environmentally costly animals, but kangatarianism can also emerge from vegetarianism. Wendy Zukerman, who wrote about kangaroo hunting for New Scientist in 2010, was motivated to conduct the research because she was considering becoming an early adopter of kangatarianism as the least environmentally taxing way to counter the longterm anaemia she had developed as a vegetarian. In 2018, George Wilson, honorary professor in the Australian National University’s Fenner School of Environment and Society called for vegetarians to become kangatarians as a means of boosting overall consumption of kangaroo for environmental and economic benefits to rural Australia (39).Given these persuasive environmental arguments, it might be expected that many people would have perceived eating kangaroo instead of other meat as a favourable bargain and taken up the call to become kangatarian. Certainly, there has been widespread interest in trying kangaroo meat. In 1997, only five years after the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption had been legalised in most states (South Australia did so in 1980), 51% of 500 people surveyed in five capital cities said they had tried kangaroo. However, it had not become a meat of choice with very few found to eat it more than three times a year (Des Purtell and Associates iv). Just over a decade later, a study by Ampt and Owen found an increase to 58% of 1599 Australians surveyed across the country who had tried kangaroo but just 4.7% eating it at least monthly (14). Bryce Appleby, in his study of kangaroo consumption in the home based on interviews with 28 residents of Wollongong in 2010, specifically noted the absence of kangatarians—then a very new concept. A study of 261 Sydney university students in 2014 found that half had tried kangaroo meat and 10% continued to eat it with any regularity. Only two respondents identified themselves as kangatarian (Grant 14–15). Kangaroo meat advocate Michael Archer declared in 2017 that “there’s an awful lot of very, very smart vegetarians [who] have opted for semi vegetarianism and they’re calling themselves ‘kangatarians’, as they’re quite happy to eat kangaroo meat”, but unless there had been a significant change in a few years, the surveys did not bear out his assertion (154).The ethical calculations around eating kangaroo are complicated by factors beyond the strictly environmental. One Tweeter advised Justin: “‘I’m a kangatarian’ isn’t a pickup line, mate”, and certainly the reception of his declaration could have been very cool, especially as it was delivered to a self declared animal warrior (N’Tash Aha). All of the studies of beliefs and practices around the eating of kangaroo have noted a significant minority of Australians who would not consider eating kangaroo based on issues of animal welfare and animal rights. The 1997 study found that 11% were opposed to the idea of eating kangaroo, while in Grant’s 2014 study, 15% were ethically opposed to eating kangaroo meat (Des Purtell and Associates iv; Grant 14–15). Animal ethics complicate the bargains calculated principally on environmental grounds.These ethical concerns work across several registers. One is around the flesh and blood kangaroo as a charismatic native animal unique to Australia and which Australians have an obligation to respect and nurture. Sheep, cattle and pigs have been subject to longterm propaganda campaigns which entrench the idea that they are unattractive and unintelligent, and veil their transition to meat behind euphemistic language and abattoir walls, making it easier to eat them. Kangaroos are still seen as resourceful and graceful animals, and no linguistic tricks shield consumers from the knowledge that it is a roo on their plate. A proposal in 2009 to market a “coat of arms” emu and kangaroo-flavoured potato chip brought complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau that this was disrespectful to these native animals, although the flavours were to be simulated and the product vegetarian (Black). Coexisting with this high regard to kangaroos is its antithesis. That is, a valuation of them informed by their designation as a pest in the pastoral industry, and the use of the carcasses of those killed to feed dogs and other companion animals. Appleby identified a visceral, disgust response to the idea of eating kangaroo in many of his informants, including both vegetarians who would not consider eating kangaroo because of their commitment to a plant-based diet, and at least one omnivore who would prefer to give up all meat rather than eat kangaroo. While diametrically opposed, the end point of both positions is that kangaroo meat should not be eaten.A second animal ethics stance relates to the imagined kangaroo, a cultural construct which for most urban Australians is much more present in their lives and likely to shape their actions than the living animals. It is behind the rejection of eating an animal which holds such an iconic place in Australian culture: to the dexter on the 1912 national coat of arms; hopping through the Hundred Acre Wood as Kanga and Roo in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh children’s books from the 1920s and the Disney movies later made from them; as a boy’s best friend as Skippy the Bush Kangaroo in a fondly remembered 1970s television series; and high in the sky on QANTAS planes. The anthropomorphising of kangaroos permitted the spectacle of the boxing kangaroo from the late nineteenth century. By framing natural kangaroo behaviours as boxing, these exhibitions encouraged an ambiguous understanding of kangaroos as human-like, moving them further from the category of food (Golder and Kirkby). Australian government bodies used this idea of the kangaroo to support food exports to Britain, with kangaroos as cooks or diners rather than ingredients. The Kangaroo Kookery Book of 1932 (see fig. 1 below) portrayed kangaroos as a nuclear family in a suburban kitchen and another official campaign supporting sales of Australian produce in Britain in the 1950s featured a Disney-inspired kangaroo eating apples and chops washed down with wine (“Kangaroo to Be ‘Food Salesman’”). This imagining of kangaroos as human-like has persisted, leading to the opinion expressed in a 2008 focus group, that consuming kangaroo amounted to “‘eating an icon’ … Although they are pests they are still human nature … these are native animals, people and I believe that is a form of cannibalism!” (Ampt and Owen 26). Figure 1: Rather than promoting the eating of kangaroos, the portrayal of kangaroos as a modern suburban family in the Kangaroo Kookery Book (1932) made it unthinkable. (Source: Kangaroo Kookery Book, Director of Australian Trade Publicity, Australia House, London, 1932.)The third layer of ethical objection on the ground of animal welfare is more specific, being directed to the method of killing the kangaroos which become food. Kangaroos are perhaps the only native animals for which state governments set quotas for commercial harvest, on the grounds that they compete with livestock for pasturage and water. In most jurisdictions, commercially harvested kangaroo carcasses can be processed for human consumption, and they are the ones which ultimately appear in supermarket display cases.Kangaroos are killed by professional shooters at night using swivelling spotlights mounted on their vehicles to locate and daze the animals. While clean head shots are the ideal and regulations state that animals should be killed when at rest and without causing “undue agonal struggle”, this is not always achieved and some animals do suffer prolonged deaths (NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption). By regulation, the young of any female kangaroo must be killed along with her. While averting a slow death by neglect, this is considered cruel and wasteful. The hunt has drawn international criticism, including from Greenpeace which organised campaigns against the sale of kangaroo meat in Europe in the 1980s, and Viva! which was successful in securing the withdrawal of kangaroo from sale in British supermarkets (“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised”). These arguments circulate and influence opinion within Australia.A final animal ethics issue is that what is actually behind the push for greater use of kangaroo meat is not concern for the environment or animal welfare but the quest to turn a profit from these animals. The Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia, formed in 1970 to represent those who dealt in the marsupials’ meat, fur and skins, has been a vocal advocate of eating kangaroo and a sponsor of market research into how it can be made more appealing to the market. The Association argued in 1971 that commercial harvest was part of the intelligent conservation of the kangaroo. They sought minimum size regulations to prevent overharvesting and protect their livelihoods (“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation”). The Association’s current website makes the claim that wild harvested “Australian kangaroo meat is among the healthiest, tastiest and most sustainable red meats in the world” (Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia). That this is intended to initiate a new and less controlled branch of the meat industry for the benefit of hunters and processors, rather than foster a shift from sheep or cattle to kangaroos which might serve farmers and the environment, is the opinion of Dr. Louise Boronyak, of the Centre for Compassionate Conservation at the University of Technology Sydney (Boyle 19).Concerns such as these have meant that kangaroo is most consumed where it is least familiar, with most of the meat for human consumption recovered from culled animals being exported to Europe and Asia. Russia has been the largest export market. There, kangaroo meat is made less strange by blending it with other meats and traditional spices to make processed meats, avoiding objections to its appearance and uncertainty around preparation. With only a low profile as a novelty animal in Russia, there are fewer sentimental concerns about consuming kangaroo, although the additional food miles undermine its environmental credentials. The variable acceptability of kangaroo in more distant markets speaks to the role of culture in determining how patterns of eating are formed and can be shifted, or, as Elspeth Probyn phrased it “how natural entities are transformed into commodities within a context of globalisation and local communities”, underlining the impossibility of any straightforward ethics of eating kangaroo (33, 35).Kangatarianism is a neologism which makes the eating of kangaroo meat something it has not been in the past, a voluntary restriction based on environmental ethics. These environmental benefits are well founded and eating kangaroo can be understood as an Anthropocenic bargain struck to allow the continuation of the consumption of red meat while reducing one’s environmental footprint. Although superficially attractive, the numbers entering into this bargain remain small because environmental ethics cannot be disentangled from animal ethics. The anthropomorphising of the kangaroo and its use as a national symbol coexist with its categorisation as a pest and use of its meat as food for companion animals. Both understandings of kangaroos made their meat uneatable for many Australians. Paired with concerns over how kangaroos are killed and the commercialisation of a native species, kangaroo meat has a very mixed reception despite decades of advocacy for eating its meat in favour of that of more harmed and more harmful introduced species. Given these constraints, kangatarianism is unlikely to become widespread and indeed it should be viewed as at best a temporary exigency. As the climate warms and rainfall becomes more erratic, even animals which have evolved to suit Australian conditions will come under increasing pressure, and humans will need to reach Kübler-Ross’ final state of grief: acceptance. In this case, this would mean acceptance that our needs cannot be placed ahead of those of other animals.ReferencesAmpt, Peter, and Kate Owen. Consumer Attitudes to Kangaroo Meat Products. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 2008.Appleby, Bryce. “Skippy the ‘Green’ Kangaroo: Identifying Resistances to Eating Kangaroo in the Home in a Context of Climate Change.” BSc Hons, U of Wollongong, 2010 <http://ro.uow.edu.au/thsci/103>.Archer, Michael. “Zoology on the Table: Plenary Session 4.” Australian Zoologist 39, 1 (2017): 154–60.“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation.” The Beverley Times 26 Feb. 1971: 3. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article202738733>.Barone, Tayissa. “Kangatarians Jump the Divide.” Sydney Morning Herald 9 Feb. 2010. 13 Apr. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/kangatarians-jump-the-divide-20100209-gdtvd8.html>.Black, Rosemary. “Some Australians Angry over Idea for Kangaroo and Emu-Flavored Potato Chips.” New York Daily News 4 Dec. 2009. 5 Feb. 2019 <https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/eats/australians-angry-idea-kangaroo-emu-flavored-potato-chips-article-1.431865>.Boyle, Rhianna. “Eating Skippy.” Big Issue Australia 578 11-24 Jan. 2019: 16–19.Cawthorn, Donna-Mareè, and Louwrens C. Hoffman. “Controversial Cuisine: A Global Account of the Demand, Supply and Acceptance of ‘Unconventional’ and ‘Exotic’ Meats.” Meat Science 120 (2016): 26–7.Conservation of Kangaroos. Melbourne: Australian Conservation Foundation, 1970.Des Purtell and Associates. Improving Consumer Perceptions of Kangaroo Products: A Survey and Report. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 1997.Ellicott, John. “Little Pay Incentive for Shooters to Join Kangaroo Meat Industry.” The Land 15 Mar. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.theland.com.au/story/5285265/top-roo-shooter-says-harvesting-is-a-low-paid-job/>.Garnaut, Ross. Garnaut Climate Change Review. 2008. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.garnautreview.org.au/index.htm>.Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2012.Golder, Hilary, and Diane Kirkby. “Mrs. Mayne and Her Boxing Kangaroo: A Married Woman Tests Her Property Rights in Colonial New South Wales.” Law and History Review 21.3 (2003): 585–605.Grant, Elisabeth. “Sustainable Kangaroo Harvesting: Perceptions and Consumption of Kangaroo Meat among University Students in New South Wales.” Independent Study Project (ISP). U of NSW, 2014. <https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/isp_collection/1755>.Haslam, Nick. “The Five Stages of Grief Don’t Come in Fixed Steps – Everyone Feels Differently.” The Conversation 22 Oct. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111>.Head, Lesley. “The Anthropoceans.” Geographical Research 53.3 (2015): 313–20.Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia. Kangaroo Meat. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.kangarooindustry.com/products/meat/>.“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised.” The Canberra Times 13 Sep. 1984: 14. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article136915919>.“Kangaroo to Be Food ‘Salesman.’” Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners’ Advocate, 2 Dec. 1954. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134089767>.Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Death and Dying: What the Dying Have to Teach Doctors, Nurses, Clergy, and their own Families. New York: Touchstone, 1997.Jackson, Stephen, and Karl Vernes. Kangaroo: Portrait of an Extraordinary Marsupial. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010.Lappé, Frances Moore. Diet for a Small Planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.N’Tash Aha (@Nsvasey). “‘I’m a Kangatarian’ isn’t a Pickup Line, Mate. #LoveIslandAU.” Twitter post. 27 May 2018. 5 Apr. 2019 <https://twitter.com/Nsvasey/status/1000697124122644480>.“NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption.” Government Gazette of the State of New South Wales 24 Mar. 1993. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page14638033>.Oxford University Press, Australia and New Zealand. Word of the Month. June 2017. <https://www.oup.com.au/dictionaries/word-of-the-month>.Pascoe, Bruce. Dark Emu, Black Seeds: Agriculture or Accident? Broome: Magabala Books, 2014.Probyn, Elspeth. “Eating Roo: Of Things That Become Food.” New Formations 74.1 (2011): 33–45.Steinfeld, Henning, Pierre Gerber, Tom Wassenaar, Vicent Castel, Mauricio Rosales, and Cees d Haan. Livestock’s Long Shadow: Environmental Issues and Options. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, 2006.Trust Nature. Essence of Kangaroo Capsules. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://ncpro.com.au/products/all-products/item/88139-essence-of-kangaroo-35000>.Victoria Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning. Kangaroo Pet Food Trial. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.wildlife.vic.gov.au/managing-wildlife/wildlife-management-and-control-authorisations/kangaroo-pet-food-trial>.Willett, Walter, et al. “Food in the Anthropocene: The EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems.” The Lancet 16 Jan. 2019. 26 Feb. 2019 <https://www.thelancet.com/commissions/EAT>.Wilson, George. “Kangaroos Can Be an Asset Rather than a Pest.” Australasian Science 39.1 (2018): 39.Zukerman, Wendy. “Eating Skippy: The Future of Kangaroo Meat.” New Scientist 208.2781 (2010): 42–5.

How can civil society actors address regulatory deficiencies in complex systems? The challenge of regulating employment standards in non-unionised industries is shared by many developed countries. In industries like horticulture, violation of minimum employment standards for vulnerable temporary migrant workers is widespread and state employment regulators struggle to enforce laws. This article examines the challenge at a system level incorporating a range of civil society stakeholders. It conceptualises a regional town and its surrounding horticulture-dependent economy and society as a complex system in which stakeholders face the challenge of reputational damage among temporary migrant farm workers, threatening future labour supply. This ‘tragedy of the commons’ was created by some stakeholders acting solely in their individual interests by underpaying and otherwise mistreating the workers. Using a qualitative approach including 30 interviews, focusing on a single farming region in Queensland, Australia, this article identifies the conditions in which civil society stakeholders in a horticulture system regulate employment standards through orienting and connecting with one another to advance both individual and shared interests.

The State Government of Queensland, Australia, has recently embarked on unparalleled reform of the water industry in the populous South-East corner of the state. This reform goes well beyond that previously seen in either the Australian electricity or water industries, and involves the geographic aggregation of 25 separate local government-owned water authorities into a five-tiered, vertically disaggregated series of new water supply and delivery businesses. Particular priority has been placed on establishing the bulk and manufactured water, trunk distribution and grid management entities that will be crucial to meeting the short and long-term water supply needs of this rapidly-growing region, however the scope of reforms covers the full water supply chain through to the consumer. The scale and pace of the reform poses significant challenges for both the industry and its regulators. To achieve the Government's aggressive timetable and delivery outcomes, all parties have had to mobilise quickly and manage the complex task of business transformation while maintaining service continuity - and against a backdrop of severe drought, unprecedented capital works programs, ongoing population growth and concurrent local government amalgamations and boundary changes. If executed properly, however, the reforms offer many potential benefits for the Government, the water authorities, and the community. This paper examines the progress of the Queensland reforms to date, and discusses the approaches taken, key observations, and challenges and opportunities for both the water businesses and the regulators.

The extensive livestock production industries are vital to the national economy of Australia. Continuing improvements to extensively-raised livestock welfare is desirable, necessary and in some situations mandatory, if the social license for animal sourced food and fiber production is to continue sustainably. However, meeting increasingly high welfare standards is challenging. The changing climate in this millennium, has seen the occurrence of two of the most severe drought periods on record in Australia, resulting in complex welfare issues arising from unforeseen disease, trade and environmental catastrophes. The onset of the first drought coincided with an uncontrolled epidemic of ovine paratuberculosis. It ended just prior to a temporary ban on live export of tropical cattle to Indonesia that induced a major market failure and led to severe morbidity and mortality on some beef properties. The second drought period progressed in severity and culminated in the most extreme bushfires recorded, causing unprecedented levels of mortality, morbidity and suffering in farmed animals and wildlife. Temperature extremes have also caused periodic heat-associated or cold-induced hyopthermia losses, requiring increased vigilance and careful management to reduce both temperature-induced stress during transport and the high ovine peri-parturient losses traditionally observed in extensive sheep farming. Several issues remain controversial, including surgical mulesing of wool sheep to manage flystrike, and the continuing live export trade of sheep and cattle. However, in reviewing the increasingly complex welfare challenges for the extensive livestock population industries that are export trade dependent and remain vulnerable to welfare activism, it appears progress has been made. These include development of prescribed livestock welfare Standards and Guidelines and the introduction of the Exporter Supply Chain Assurance System (ESCAS) to address export concerns. Further, the sheep mulesing crisis led to improved producer welfare attitudes and practices, including pain management during aversive husbandry procedures that is now occurring globally. Finally, innovations in animal welfare surveillance and assessment, are additional encouraging signs that suggest improving change management of extensive farm animal welfare is occurring that provides lessons well-beyond Australian shores.

Coal plays a crucial role in India as it fulfills almost 67% of the total commercial energy consumed in Indian industries. Fossil fuels are the major drivers of the country's economy. The coal price is affected by many parameters including its grade, demand at the national level and international coal price. We observed in the year 2017-18, the total production of coal in India was 675 MT but the actual demand for coal in India was 884 Million Tonnes (MT), with the actual supply falling short resulting in a demand deficit. This deficit was offset by import 202 MT of coal. Over 22.8% of coal imports in 2017-18 were sourced from Indonesia followed by import from Australia and South Africa. The study identifies some major factors that may have an influenced on Indian coal price, including coal export, coal import and international coal prices by analysing and processing of Indian coal data which is from 1993to2018 with the help of SPSS software by the regression analysis. The logarithmic coal price is the dependent variable and the hypothesized independent variables are relative value of demand and supply, export, import, stock, international coal price, international oil prices. According to the result, the factors like a relative value of demand and supply, coal production, international oil price are no significant influencing on Indian coal prices and the significant variables are helpful to developing coal pricing mode for Indian coal. The coal pricing model has useful to estimate the future price of Indian coal and also to identify the impact of import coal quantity on Indian coal prices.

Conventional agriculture currently relies on the intensive and expansive growth of a small number of monocultures, this is both risky for food security and is causing substantial environmental degradation. Crops are typically grown far from their native origins, enduring climates, pests, and diseases that they have little evolutionary adaptation to. As a result, farming practices involve modifying the environment to suit the crop, often via practices including vegetation clearing, drainage, irrigation, tilling, and the application of fertilizers, pesticides, and herbicides. One avenue for improvement, however, is the diversification of monoculture agricultural systems with traditional foods native to the area. Native foods benefit from evolutionary history, enabling adaptation to local environmental conditions, reducing the need for environmental modifications and external inputs. Traditional use of native foods in Australia has a rich history, yet the commercial production of native foods remains small compared with conventional crops, such as wheat, barley and sugarcane. Identifying what native crops can grow where would be a first step in scoping potential native food industries and supporting farmers seeking to diversify their cropping. In this study, I modeled the potentially suitable distributions of 177 native food and forage species across Australia, given their climate and soil preferences. The coastal areas of Queensland's wet tropics, south-east Queensland, New South Wales, and Victoria were predicted to support the greatest diversity of native food and forage species (as high 80–120 species). These areas also correspond to the nation's most agriculturally intensive areas, including much of the Murray-Darling Basin, suggesting high potential for the diversification of existing intensive monocultures. Native crops with the most expansive potential distribution include Acacia trees, Maloga bean, bush plum, Emu apple, native millet, and bush tomatoes, with these crops largely being tolerant of vast areas of semi-arid conditions. In addition to greater food security, if diverse native cropping results in greater ecosystem service provisioning, through carbon storage, reduced water usage, reduced nutrient runoff, or greater habitat provision, then payment for ecosystem service schemes could also provide supplemental farm income.

Abstract Background The outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic increased debates on global public health concerns. From early 2020 to 2022, globally, life was upended in the wake of the pandemic. Industries of all kinds were forced to rapidly changed how they work, including agriculture. Particularly for smallholder farmers in developing countries, the COVID-19 pandemic, coupled with climate change effects, negatively affected their livelihoods. Achieving the UN Sustainable Development Goals by 2030 is unrealistic if immediate efforts are not made to address the existential threats facing smallholder farmers. This study analyzes COVID-19 governance and policy responses, examining its effects on smallholder farmers in the south and east of Tanzania using both qualitative and quantitative techniques. Results Findings show that mobility restrictions imposed by other countries and fears of the Tanzanian people leading to voluntary isolation resulted in an amended structure of farmers’ markets: Reductions in exports, imports and in the purchasing power of the local people followed. Food security was diminished as food availability on the market level was reduced due to mobility restrictions. The impact of COVID-19 resulted in more than 85% of smallholder farmers experiencing an income reduction, thus also increasing the pre-existing vulnerability of these communities. Findings show that farms producing non-exported crops had less severe income reductions and could cope better. The results indicate that only 20% of smallholder farmers started using digital information technology to gather information since physical movements were restricted. Access to technology remained limited in rural areas. Even during the COVID-19 crises, farmers’ concerns about the vulnerability of their food systems include non-COVID-19 causes, such as climate change. Conclusions Although Tanzania did not impose a total lockdown, the country was affected by COVID-19, partly via policies of other countries. Impacts included: (i) a decline in local markets as smallholder farmers had fewer trading partners from neighboring states; (ii) a loss of employment opportunities due to the absence of both local and external trade; (iii) reductions of farm output and income; (iv) a lack of agricultural inputs (fertilizer etc.) that are usually imported; (v) fear to continue farming activities due to news about COVID-19 spreading; and (vi) reduction of work efficiency because of a lack of social gathering due to voluntary isolation. While COVID-19 compelled policymakers to make urgent decisions to ensure stable food supply chains, the fundamental task is to address these immediate disruptions while also investing in the long-term goal of a resilient, sustainable, and productive global food system. This can be achieved by adopting a policy package that includes investments in technological development, access to small long-term loans, and regulatory reforms, with which governments can create conditions supporting productive, sustainable, and resilient food systems that can withstand future shocks.

The 1st International Conference on Sustainable Animal Resource and Environment 2021 (ICARE-2021) was organized by the Faculty of Animal Science, Bogor Agricultural University, in collaboration with Animal Scientists Society Indonesia (HILPI). With the theme of “Contribution of Animal Sciences toward Sustainable Development Goals”, this two-day event is aimed to provide scientific platforms for animal science stakeholders (scientists, students, community, government agencies, and industries) to share knowledge and experiences on vast progress in this field. The conference topics address the most recent developments in Animal Sciences by combining plenary and parallel sessions to present the scientific interaction, namely: 1. Sustainable animal genetic resources 2. Smart animal production systems and management 3. Eco-friendly animal feed resources and nutrition 4. Frontier animal product technology 5. Animal welfare, health, and environment ICARE-2021 is inseparable from our previous scientific event of the International Seminar on Animal Industry (ISAI) organized in 2009, 2012, 2015, and 2018. These four series of events were run successfully with wide acceptance by the stakeholders. Hundreds of participants gathered in Bogor for having fruitful knowledge and experiences sharing during the event. ICARE-2021 is a continuation event of ISAI as a part of improving the event with more inclusive topics and addressing the new issues amid the pandemic of COVID-19. Notable, the sustainability of the livestock industry is challenging due to the devastative effects of COVID-19. Decades of modelling pandemics predicted potential consequences, but COVID-19’s impact on the food supply chain, specifically livestock production, was unexpected. Clusters of cases among workers in meat processing plants evolved quickly to affect human, animal, and environmental welfare in several countries. In processing plants, the hygiene focus is on product quality and food safety. Because of their proximity to one another, COVID-19 spread rapidly between workers, and the lack of sick leave and health insurance likely resulted in workers continuing to work when infectious. In the United States, many processing plants shut down when they identified major outbreaks, putting pressure, especially on the pig and poultry industries. A similar issue may also happen in Indonesia and other countries. As such, scientific platforms for discussing this issue are needed. ICARE-2021 is existed to be one of these platforms. ICARE-2021 was run in a hybrid model, in which some of the programs of this event were run virtually, and the other programs were physically in IPB International Convention Center. We believe that this hybrid model is an excellent model to address the issue pertaining to mobile restrictions due to the pandemic. ICARE-2021 featured three keynote speakers from the government agencies (Ministry of Agriculture, Head of National Research and Innovation Agency, and Vice Governor West Sumatra). These three keynote speakers enlighted us with a comprehensive overview of political and strategical issues related to the development of the livestock industry in this country. In addition, ten prominent invited speakers had contributed to this event. They came from various countries, including China, Japan, Malaysia, the Netherland, Germany, Turkey, Australia, South Korea, and Indonesia. Apart from these speakers, there are 104 papers presented by participants during the two-day seminar. The participants come from different countries, including the Netherland, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Sudan. Out of 104 presented papers, 37 full papers were accepted for the publication in this proceeding. List of Committee, Conference Photos are available in the pdf.

Unconventional energy sources have become increasingly important to the global energy mix. These include coal seam gas, shale gas and shale oil. The unconventional gas industry was pioneered in the United States and embraced following the first oil shock in 1973 (Rogers). As has been the case with many global resources (Hiscock), many of the same companies that worked in the USA carried their experience in this industry to early Australian explorations. Recently the USA has secured significant energy security with the development of unconventional energy deposits such as the Marcellus shale gas and the Bakken shale oil (Dobb; McGraw). But this has not come without environmental impact, including contamination to underground water supply (Osborn, Vengosh, Warner, Jackson) and potential greenhouse gas contributions (Howarth, Santoro, Ingraffea; McKenna). The environmental impact of unconventional gas extraction has raised serious public concern about the introduction and growth of the industry in Australia. In coal rich Australia coal seam gas is currently the major source of unconventional gas. Large gas deposits have been found in prime agricultural land along eastern Australia, such as the Liverpool Plains in New South Wales and the Darling Downs in Queensland. Competing land-uses and a series of environmental incidents from the coal seam gas industry have warranted major protest from a coalition of environmentalists and farmers (Berry; McLeish). Conflict between energy companies wanting development and environmentalists warning precaution is an easy script to cast for frontline media coverage. But historical perspectives are often missing in these contemporary debates. While coal mining and natural gas have often received “boosting” historical coverage (Diamond; Wilkinson), and although historical themes of “development” and “rushes” remain predominant when observing the span of the industry (AGA; Blainey), the history of unconventional gas, particularly the history of its environmental impact, has been little studied. Few people are aware, for example, that the first shale gas exploratory well was completed in late 2010 in the Cooper Basin in Central Australia (Molan) and is considered as a “new” frontier in Australian unconventional gas. Moreover many people are unaware that the first coal seam gas wells were completed in 1976 in Queensland. The first four wells offer an important moment for reflection in light of the industry’s recent move into Central Australia. By locating and analysing the first four coal seam gas wells, this essay identifies the roots of the unconventional gas industry in Australia and explores the early environmental impact of these wells. By analysing exploration reports that have been placed online by the Queensland Department of Natural Resources and Mines through the lens of environmental history, the dominant developmental narrative of this industry can also be scrutinised. These narratives often place more significance on economic and national benefits while displacing the environmental and social impacts of the industry (Connor, Higginbotham, Freeman, Albrecht; Duus; McEachern; Trigger). This essay therefore seeks to bring an environmental insight into early unconventional gas mining in Australia. As the author, I am concerned that nearly four decades on and it seems that no one has heeded the warning gleaned from these early wells and early exploration reports, as gas exploration in Australia continues under little scrutiny. Arrival The first four unconventional gas wells in Australia appear at the beginning of the industry world-wide (Schraufnagel, McBane, and Kuuskraa; McClanahan). The wells were explored by Houston Oils and Minerals—a company that entered the Australian mining scene by sharing a mining prospect with International Australian Energy Company (Wiltshire). The International Australian Energy Company was owned by Black Giant Oil Company in the US, which in turn was owned by International Royalty and Oil Company also based in the US. The Texan oilman Robert Kanton held a sixteen percent share in the latter. Kanton had an idea that the Mimosa Syncline in the south-eastern Bowen Basin was a gas trap waiting to be exploited. To test the theory he needed capital. Kanton presented the idea to Houston Oil and Minerals which had the financial backing to take the risk. Shotover No. 1 was drilled by Houston Oil and Minerals thirty miles south-east of the coal mining town of Blackwater. By late August 1975 it was drilled to 2,717 metres, discovered to have little gas, spudded, and, after a spend of $610,000, abandoned. The data from the Shotover well showed that the porosity of the rocks in the area was not a trap, and the Mimosa Syncline was therefore downgraded as a possible hydrocarbon location. There was, however, a small amount of gas found in the coal seams (Benbow 16). The well had passed through the huge coal seams of both the Bowen and Surat basins—important basins for the future of both the coal and gas industries. Mining Concepts In 1975, while Houston Oil and Minerals was drilling the Shotover well, US Steel and the US Bureau of Mines used hydraulic fracture, a technique already used in the petroleum industry, to drill vertical surface wells to drain gas from a coal seam (Methane Drainage Taskforce 102). They were able to remove gas from the coal seam before it was mined and sold enough to make a profit. With the well data from the Shotover well in Australia compiled, Houston returned to the US to research the possibility of harvesting methane in Australia. As the company saw it, methane drainage was “a novel exploitation concept” and the methane in the Bowen Basin was an “enormous hydrocarbon resource” (Wiltshire 7). The Shotover well passed through a section of the German Creek Coal measures and this became their next target. In September 1976 the Shotover well was re-opened and plugged at 1499 meters to become Australia’s first exploratory unconventional gas well. By the end of the month the rig was released and gas production tested. At one point an employee on the drilling operation observed a gas flame “the size of a 44 gal drum” (HOMA, “Shotover # 1” 9). But apart from the brief show, no gas flowed. And yet, Houston Oil and Minerals was not deterred, as they had already taken out other leases for further prospecting (Wiltshire 4). Only a week after the Shotover well had failed, Houston moved the methane search south-east to an area five miles north of the Moura township. Houston Oil and Minerals had researched the coal exploration seismic surveys of the area that were conducted in 1969, 1972, and 1973 to choose the location. Over the next two months in late 1976, two new wells—Kinma No.1 and Carra No.1—were drilled within a mile from each other and completed as gas wells. Houston Oil and Minerals also purchased the old oil exploration well Moura No. 1 from the Queensland Government and completed it as a suspended gas well. The company must have mined the Department of Mines archive to find Moura No.1, as the previous exploration report from 1969 noted methane given off from the coal seams (Sell). By December 1976 Houston Oil and Minerals had three gas wells in the vicinity of each other and by early 1977 testing had occurred. The results were disappointing with minimal gas flow at Kinma and Carra, but Moura showed a little more promise. Here, the drillers were able to convert their Fairbanks-Morse engine driving the pump from an engine run on LPG to one run on methane produced from the well (Porter, “Moura # 1”). Drink This? Although there was not much gas to find in the test production phase, there was a lot of water. The exploration reports produced by the company are incomplete (indeed no report was available for the Shotover well), but the information available shows that a large amount of water was extracted before gas started to flow (Porter, “Carra # 1”; Porter, “Moura # 1”; Porter, “Kinma # 1”). As Porter’s reports outline, prior to gas flowing, the water produced at Carra, Kinma and Moura totalled 37,600 litres, 11,900 and 2,900 respectively. It should be noted that the method used to test the amount of water was not continuous and these amounts were not the full amount of water produced; also, upon gas coming to the surface some of the wells continued to produce water. In short, before any gas flowed at the first unconventional gas wells in Australia at least 50,000 litres of water were taken from underground. Results show that the water was not ready to drink (Mathers, “Moura # 1”; Mathers, “Appendix 1”; HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 21-24). The water had total dissolved solids (minerals) well over the average set by the authorities (WHO; Apps Laboratories; NHMRC; QDAFF). The well at Kinma recorded the highest levels, almost two and a half times the unacceptable standard. On average the water from the Moura well was of reasonable standard, possibly because some water was extracted from the well when it was originally sunk in 1969; but the water from Kinma and Carra was very poor quality, not good enough for crops, stock or to be let run into creeks. The biggest issue was the sodium concentration; all wells had very high salt levels. Kinma and Carra were four and two times the maximum standard respectively. In short, there was a substantial amount of poor quality water produced from drilling and testing the three wells. Fracking Australia Hydraulic fracturing is an artificial process that can encourage more gas to flow to the surface (McGraw; Fischetti; Senate). Prior to the testing phase at the Moura field, well data was sent to the Chemical Research and Development Department at Halliburton in Oklahoma, to examine the ability to fracture the coal and shale in the Australian wells. Halliburton was the founding father of hydraulic fracture. In Oklahoma on 17 March 1949, operating under an exclusive license from Standard Oil, this company conducted the first ever hydraulic fracture of an oil well (Montgomery and Smith). To come up with a program of hydraulic fracturing for the Australian field, Halliburton went back to the laboratory. They bonded together small slabs of coal and shale similar to Australian samples, drilled one-inch holes into the sample, then pressurised the holes and completed a “hydro-frac” in miniature. “These samples were difficult to prepare,” they wrote in their report to Houston Oil and Minerals (HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 10). Their program for fracturing was informed by a field of science that had been evolving since the first hydraulic fracture but had rapidly progressed since the first oil shock. Halliburton’s laboratory test had confirmed that the model of Perkins and Kern developed for widths of hydraulic fracture—in an article that defined the field—should also apply to Australian coals (Perkins and Kern). By late January 1977 Halliburton had issued Houston Oil and Minerals with a program of hydraulic fracture to use on the central Queensland wells. On the final page of their report they warned: “There are many unknowns in a vertical fracture design procedure” (HOMA, “Miscellaneous Pages” 17). In July 1977, Moura No. 1 became the first coal seam gas well hydraulically fractured in Australia. The exploration report states: “During July 1977 the well was killed with 1% KCL solution and the tubing and packer were pulled from the well … and pumping commenced” (Porter 2-3). The use of the word “kill” is interesting—potassium chloride (KCl) is the third and final drug administered in the lethal injection of humans on death row in the USA. Potassium chloride was used to minimise the effect on parts of the coal seam that were water-sensitive and was the recommended solution prior to adding other chemicals (Montgomery and Smith 28); but a word such as “kill” also implies that the well and the larger environment were alive before fracking commenced (Giblett; Trigger). Pumping recommenced after the fracturing fluid was unloaded. Initially gas supply was very good. It increased from an average estimate of 7,000 cubic feet per day to 30,000, but this only lasted two days before coal and sand started flowing back up to the surface. In effect, the cleats were propped open but the coal did not close and hold onto them which meant coal particles and sand flowed back up the pipe with diminishing amounts of gas (Walters 12). Although there were some interesting results, the program was considered a failure. In April 1978, Houston Oil and Minerals finally abandoned the methane concept. Following the failure, they reflected on the possibilities for a coal seam gas industry given the gas prices in Queensland: “Methane drainage wells appear to offer no economic potential” (Wooldridge 2). At the wells they let the tubing drop into the hole, put a fifteen foot cement plug at the top of the hole, covered it with a steel plate and by their own description restored the area to its “original state” (Wiltshire 8). Houston Oil and Minerals now turned to “conventional targets” which included coal exploration (Wiltshire 7). A Thousand Memories The first four wells show some of the critical environmental issues that were present from the outset of the industry in Australia. The process of hydraulic fracture was not just a failure, but conducted on a science that had never been tested in Australia, was ponderous at best, and by Halliburton’s own admission had “many unknowns”. There was also the role of large multinationals providing “experience” (Briody; Hiscock) and conducting these tests while having limited knowledge of the Australian landscape. Before any gas came to the surface, a large amount of water was produced that was loaded with a mixture of salt and other heavy minerals. The source of water for both the mud drilling of Carra and Kinma, as well as the hydraulic fracture job on Moura, was extracted from Kianga Creek three miles from the site (HOMA, “Carra # 1” 5; HOMA, “Kinma # 1” 5; Porter, “Moura # 1”). No location was listed for the disposal of the water from the wells, including the hydraulic fracture liquid. Considering the poor quality of water, if the water was disposed on site or let drain into a creek, this would have had significant environmental impact. Nobody has yet answered the question of where all this water went. The environmental issues of water extraction, saline water and hydraulic fracture were present at the first four wells. At the first four wells environmental concern was not a priority. The complexity of inter-company relations, as witnessed at the Shotover well, shows there was little time. The re-use of old wells, such as the Moura well, also shows that economic priorities were more important. Even if environmental information was considered important at the time, no one would have had access to it because, as handwritten notes on some of the reports show, many of the reports were “confidential” (Sell). Even though coal mines commenced filing Environmental Impact Statements in the early 1970s, there is no such documentation for gas exploration conducted by Houston Oil and Minerals. A lack of broader awareness for the surrounding environment, from floral and faunal health to the impact on habitat quality, can be gleaned when reading across all the exploration reports. Nearly four decades on and we now have thousands of wells throughout the world. Yet, the challenges of unconventional gas still persist. The implications of the environmental history of the first four wells in Australia for contemporary unconventional gas exploration and development in this country and beyond are significant. Many environmental issues were present from the beginning of the coal seam gas industry in Australia. Owning up to this history would place policy makers and regulators in a position to strengthen current regulation. The industry continues to face the same challenges today as it did at the start of development—including water extraction, hydraulic fracturing and problems associated with drilling through underground aquifers. Looking more broadly at the unconventional gas industry, shale gas has appeared as the next target for energy resources in Australia. Reflecting on the first exploratory shale gas wells drilled in Central Australia, the chief executive of the company responsible for the shale gas wells noted their deliberate decision to locate their activities in semi-desert country away from “an area of prime agricultural land” and conflict with environmentalists (quoted in Molan). Moreover, the journalist Paul Cleary recently complained about the coal seam gas industry polluting Australia’s food-bowl but concluded that the “next frontier” should be in “remote” Central Australia with shale gas (Cleary 195). It appears that preference is to move the industry to the arid centre of Australia, to the ecologically and culturally unique Lake Eyre Basin region (Robin and Smith). 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Introduction Negative stereotyping of alternative diets such as veganism and other plant-based diets has been common in Australia, conventionally a meat-eating culture (OECD qtd. in Ting). Indeed, meat consumption in Australia is sanctioned by the ubiquity of advertising linking meat-eating to health, vitality and nation-building, and public challenges to such plant-based diets as veganism. In addition, state, commercial enterprises, and various community groups overtly resist challenges to Australian meat-eating norms and to the intensive animal husbandry practices that underpin it. Hence activists, who may contest not simply this norm but many of the customary industry practices that comprise Australia’s meat production, have been accused of promoting a vegan agenda and even of undermining the “Australian way of life”.If veganism meansa philosophy and way of living which seeks to exclude—as far as is possible and practicable—all forms of exploitation of, and cruelty to, animals for food, clothing or any other purpose; and by extension, promotes the development and use of animal-free alternatives for the benefit of humans, animals and the environment. In dietary terms it denotes the practice of dispensing with all products derived wholly or partly from animals. (Vegan Society)then our interest in this article lies in how a stereotyped label of veganism (and other associated attributes) is being used across Australian public spheres to challenge the work of animal activists as they call out factory farming for entrenched animal cruelty. This is carried out in three main parts. First, following an outline of our research approach, we examine the processes of stereotyping and the key dimensions of vegan stereotyping. Second, in the main part of the article, we reveal how opponents to such animal activist organisations as Animals Australia attempt to undermine activist calls for change by framing them as promoting an un-Australian vegan agenda. Finally, we consider how, despite such framing, that organisation is generating productive public debate around animal welfare, and, further, facilitating the creation of new activist identifications and identities.Research ApproachData collection involved searching for articles where Animals Australia and animal activism were yoked with veg*n (vegan and vegetarian), across the period May 2011 to 2016 (discussion peaked between May and June 2013). This period was of interest because it exposed a flare point with public discord being expressed between communities—namely between rural and urban consumers, farmers and animal activists, Coles Supermarkets (identified by The Australian Government the Treasury as one of two major supermarkets holding over 65% share of Australian food retail market) and their producers—and a consequent voicing of disquiet around Australian identity. We used purposive sampling (Waller, Farquharson, and Dempsey 67) to identify relevant materials as we knew in advance the case was “information-rich” (Patton 181) and would provide insightful information about a “troublesome” phenomenon (Emmel 6). Materials were collected from online news articles (30) and readers’ comments (167), online magazines (2) and websites (2) and readers’ comments (3), news items (Factiva 13), Australian Broadcasting Commission television (1) and radio (1), public blogs (2), and Facebook pages from involved organisations, specifically Australia’s National Farmers’ Federation (NFF, 155 posts) and Coles Supermarkets (29 posts). Many of these materials were explicitly responsive to a) Animals Australia’s Make It Possible campaign against Australian factory farming (launched and highly debated during this period), and b) Coles Supermarket’s short-lived partnership with Animals Australia in 2013. We utilised content analysis so as to make visible the most prominent and consistent stereotypes utilised in these various materials during the identified period. The approach allowed us to code and categorise materials so as to determine trends and patterns of words used, their relationships, and key structures and ways of speaking (Weerakkody). In addition, discourse analysis (Gee) was used in order to identify and track “language-in-use” so as to make visible the stereotyping deployed during the public reception of both the campaign and Animals Australia’s associated partnership with Coles. These methods enabled a “nuanced approach” (Coleman and Moss 12) with which to spot putdowns, innuendos, and stereotypical attitudes.Vegan StereotypingStereotypes creep into everyday language and are circulated and amplified through mainstream media, speeches by public figures, and social media. Stereotypes maintain their force through being reused and repurposed, making them difficult to eradicate due to their “cumulative effects” and influence (Harris and Sanborn 38; Inzlicht, Tullett, Legault, and Kang; Pickering). Over time stereotypes can become the lens through which we view “the world and social reality” (Harris and Sanborn 38; Inzlicht et al.). In summation, stereotyping:reduces identity categories to particular sets of deeds, attributes and attitudes (Whitley and Kite);informs individuals’ “cognitive investments” (Blum 267) by associating certain characteristics with particular groups;comprises symbolic and connotative codes that carry sets of traits, deeds, or beliefs (Cover; Rosello), and;becomes increasingly persuasive through regulating language and image use as well as identity categories (Cover; Pickering; Rosello).Not only is the “iterative force” (Rosello 35) of such associative stereotyping compounded due to its dissemination across digital media sites such as Facebook, YouTube, websites, and online news, but attempts to denounce it tend to increase its “persuasive power” (29). Indeed, stereotypes seem to refuse “to die” (23), remaining rooted in social and cultural memory (Whitley and Kite 10).As such, despite the fact that there is increasing interest in Australia and elsewhere in new food norms and plant-based diets (see, e.g., KPMG), as well as in vegan lifestyle options (Wright), studies still show that vegans remain a negatively stereotyped group. Previous studies have suggested that vegans mark a “symbolic threat” to Western, conventionally meat-eating cultures (MacInnis and Hodson 722; Stephens Griffin; Cole and Morgan). One key UK study of national newspapers, for instance, showed vegans continuing to be discredited in multiple ways as: 1) “self-evidently ridiculous”; 2) “ascetics”; 3) having a lifestyle difficult and impossible to maintain; 4) “faddist”; 5) “oversensitive”; and 6) “hostile extremists” (Cole and Morgan 140–47).For many Australians, veganism also appears anathema to their preferred culture and lifestyle of meat-eating. For instance, the NFF, Meat & Livestock Australia (MLA), and other farming bodies continue to frame veganism as marking an extreme form of lifestyle, as anti-farming and un-Australian. Such perspectives are also circulated through online rural news and readers’ comments, as will be discussed later in the article. Such representations are further exemplified by the MLA’s (Lamb, Australia Day, Celebrate Australia) Australia Day lamb advertising campaigns (Bembridge; Canning). For multiple consecutive years, the campaign presented vegans (and vegetarians) as being self-evidently ridiculous and faddish, representing them as mentally unhinged and fringe dwellers. Such stereotyping not only invokes “affective reactions” (Whitley and Kite 8)—including feelings of disgust towards individuals living such lifestyles or holding such values—but operates as “political baits” (Rosello 18) to shore-up or challenge certain social or political positions.Although such advertisements are arguably satirical, their repeated screening towards and on Australia Day highlights deeply held views about the normalcy of animal agriculture and meat-eating, “homogenizing” (Blum 276; Pickering) both meat-eaters and non-meat-eaters alike. Cultural stereotyping of this kind amplifies “social” as well as political schisms (Blum 276), and arguably discourages consumers—whether meat-eaters or non-meat-eaters—from advocating together around shared goals such as animal welfare and food safety. Additionally, given the rise of new food practices in Australia—including flexitarian, reducetarian, pescatarian, kangatarian (a niche form of ethical eating), vegivores, semi-vegetarian, vegetarian, veganism—alongside broader commitments to ethical consumption, such stereotyping suggests that consumers’ actual values and preferences are being disregarded in order to shore-up the normalcy of meat-eating.Animals Australia and the (So-Called) Vegan Agenda of Animal ActivismGiven these points, it is no surprise that there is a tacit belief in Australia that anyone labelled an animal activist must also be vegan. Within this context, we have chosen to primarily focus on the attitudes towards the campaigning work of Animals Australia—a not-for-profit organisation representing some 30 member groups and over 2 million individual supporters (Animals Australia, “Who Is”)—as this organisation has been charged as promoting a vegan agenda. Along with the RSPCA and Voiceless, Animals Australia represents one of the largest animal protection organisations within Australia (Chen). Its mission is to:Investigate, expose and raise community awareness of animal cruelty;Provide animals with the strongest representation possible to Government and other decision-makers;Educate, inspire, empower and enlist the support of the community to prevent and prohibit animal cruelty;Strengthen the animal protection movement. (Animals Australia, “Who Is”)In delivery of this mission, the organisation curates public rallies and protests, makes government and industry submissions, and utilises corporate outreach. Campaigning engages the Web, multiple forms of print and broadcast media, and social media.With regards to Animals Australia’s campaigns regarding factory farming—including the Make It Possible campaign (see fig. 1), launched in 2013 and key to the period we are investigating—the main message is that: the animals kept in these barren and constrictive conditions are “no different to our pets at home”; they are “highly intelligent creatures who feel pain, and who will respond to kindness and affection – if given the chance”; they are “someone, not something” (see the Make It Possible transcript). Campaigns deliberately strive to engender feelings of empathy and produce affect in viewers (see, e.g., van Gurp). Specifically they strive to produce mainstream recognition of the cruelties entrenched in factory farming practices and build community outrage against these practices so as to initiate industry change. Campaigns thus expressly challenge Australians to no longer support factory farmed animal products, and to identify with what we have elsewhere called everyday activist positions (Rodan and Mummery, “Animal Welfare”; “Make It Possible”). They do not, however, explicitly endorse a vegan position. Figure 1: Make It Possible (Animals Australia, campaign poster)Nonetheless, as has been noted, a common counter-tactic used within Australia by the industries targeted by such campaigns, has been to use well-known negative stereotypes to discredit not only the charges of systemic animal cruelty but the associated organisations. In our analysis, we found four prominent interconnected stereotypes utilised in both digital and print media to discredit the animal welfare objectives of Animals Australia. Together these cast the organisation as: 1) anti-meat-eating; 2) anti-farming; 3) promoting a vegan agenda; and 4) hostile extremists. These stereotypes are examined below.Anti-Meat-EatingThe most common stereotype attributed to Animals Australia from its campaigning is of being anti-meat-eating. This charge, with its associations with veganism, is clearly problematic for industries that facilitate meat-eating and within a culture that normalises meat-eating, as the following example expresses:They’re [Animals Australia] all about stopping things. They want to stop factory farming – whatever factory farming is – or they want to stop live exports. And in fact they’re not necessarily about: how do I improve animal welfare in the pig industry? Or how do I improve animal welfare in the live export industry? Because ultimately they are about a meat-free future world and we’re about a meat producing industry, so there’s not a lot of overlap, really between what we’re doing. (Andrew Spencer, Australian Pork Ltd., qtd. in Clark)Respondents engaging this stereotype also express their “outrage at Coles” (McCarthy) and Animals Australia for “pedalling [sic]” a pro-vegan agenda (Nash), their sense that Animals Australia is operating with ulterior motives (Flint) and criminal intent (Brown). They see cultural refocus as unnecessary and “an exercise in futility” (Harris).Anti-FarmingTo be anti-farming in Australia is generally considered to be un-Australian, with Glasgow suggesting that any criticism of “farming practices” in Australian society can be “interpreted as an attack on the moral integrity of farmers, amounting to cultural blasphemy” (200). Given its objectives, it is unsurprising that Animals Australia has been stereotyped as being “anti-farming”, a phrase additionally often used in conjunction with the charge of veganism. Although this comprises a misreading of veganism—given its focus on challenging animal exploitation in farming rather than entailing opposition to all farming—the NFF accused Animals Australia of being “blatantly anti-farming and proveganism” (Linegar qtd. in Nason) and as wanting “to see animal agriculture phased out” (National Farmers’ Federation). As expressed in more detail:One of the main factors for VFF and other farmers being offended is because of AA’s opinion and stand on ALL farming. AA wants all farming banned and us all become vegans. Is it any wonder a lot of people were upset? Add to that the proceeds going to AA which may have been used for their next criminal activity washed against the grain. If people want to stand against factory farming they have the opportunity not to purchase them. Surely not buying a product will have a far greater impact on factory farmed produce. Maybe the money could have been given to farmers? (Hunter)Such stereotyping reveals how strongly normalised animal agriculture is in Australia, as well as a tendency on the part of respondents to reframe the challenge of animal cruelty in some farming practices into a position supposedly challenging all farming practices.Promoting a Vegan AgendaAs is already clear, Animals Australia is often reproached for promoting a vegan agenda, which, it is further suggested, it keeps hidden from the Australian public. This viewpoint was evident in two key examples: a) the Australian public and organisations such as the NFF are presented as being “defenceless” against the “myopic vitriol of the vegan abolitionists” (Jonas); and b) Animals Australia is accused of accepting “loans from liberation groups” and being “supported by an army of animal rights lawyers” to promote a “hard core” veganism message (Bourke).Nobody likes to see any animals hurt, but pushing a vegan agenda and pushing bad attitudes by group members is not helping any animals and just serves to slow any progress both sides are trying to resolve. (V.c. Deb Ford)Along with undermining farmers’ “legitimate business” (Jooste), veganism was also considered to undermine Australia’s rural communities (Park qtd. in Malone).Hostile ExtremistsThe final stereotype linking veganism with Animals Australia was of hostile extremism (cf. Cole and Morgan). This means, for users, being inimical to Australian national values but, also, being akin to terrorists who engage in criminal activities antagonistic to Australia’s democratic society and economic livelihood (see, e.g., Greer; ABC News). It is the broad symbolic threat that “extremism” invokes that makes this stereotype particularly “infectious” (Rosello 19).The latest tag team attacks on our pork industry saw AL giving crash courses in how to become a career criminal for the severely impressionable, after attacks on the RSPCA against the teachings of Peter Singer and trying to bully the RSPCA into vegan functions menu. (Cattle Advocate)The “extremists” want that extended to dairy products, as well. The fact that this will cause the total annihilation of practically all animals, wild and domestic, doesn’t bother them in the least. (Brown)What is interesting about these last two dimensions of stereotyping is their displacement of violence. That is, rather than responding to the charge of animal cruelty, violence and extremism is attributed to those making the charge.Stereotypes and Symbolic Boundary ShiftingWhat is evident throughout these instances is how stereotyping as a “cognitive mechanism” is being used to build boundaries (Cherry 460): in the first instance, between “us” (the meat-eating majority) and “them” (the vegan minority aka animal activists); and secondly between human interest and livestock. This point is that animals may hold instrumental value and receive some protection through such, but any more stringent arguments for their protection at the expense of perceived human interests tend to be seen as wrong-headed (Sorenson; Munro).These boundaries are deeply entrenched in Western culture (Wimmer). They are also deeply problematic in the context of animal activism because they fragment publics, promote restrictive identities, and close down public debate (Lamont and Molnár). Boundary entrenching is clearly evident in the stereotyping work carried out by industry stakeholders where meat-eating and practices of industrialised animal agriculture are valorised and normalised. Challenging Australia’s meat production practices—irrespective of the reason given—is framed and belittled as entailing a vegan agenda, and further as contributing to the demise of farming and rural communities in Australia.More broadly, industry stakeholders are explicitly targeting the activist work by such organisations as Animals Australia as undermining the ‘Australian way of life’. In their reading, there is an irreconcilable boundary between human and animal interests and between an activist minority which is vegan, unreasonable, extremist and hostile to farming and the meat-eating majority which is representative of the Australian community and sustains the Australian economy. As discussed so far, such stereotyping and boundary making—even in their inaccuracies—can be pernicious in the way they entrench identities and divisions, and close the possibility for public debate.Rather than directly contesting the presuppositions and inaccuracies of such stereotyping, however, Animals Australia can be read as cultivating a process of symbolic boundary shifting. That is, rather than responding by simply underlining its own moderate position of challenging only intensive animal agriculture for systemic animal cruelty, Animals Australia uses its campaigns to develop “boundary blurring and crossing” tactics (Cherry 451, 459), specifically to dismantle and shift the symbolic boundaries conventionally in place between humans and non-human animals in the first instance, and between those non-human animals used for companionship and those used for food in the second (see fig. 2). Figure 2: That Ain’t No Way to Treat a Lady (Animals Australia, campaign image on back of taxi)Indeed, the symbolic boundaries between humans and animals left unquestioned in the preceding stereotyping are being profoundly shaken by Animals Australia with campaigns such as Make It Possible making morally relevant likenesses between humans and animals highly visible to mainstream Australians. Namely, the organisation works to interpellate viewers to exercise their own capacities for emotional identification and moral imagination, to identify with animals’ experiences and lives, and to act upon that identification to demand change.So, rather than reactively striving to refute the aforementioned stereotypes, organisations such as Animals Australia are modelling and facilitating symbolic boundary shifting by building broad, emotionally motivated, pathways through which Australians are being encouraged to refocus their own assumptions, practices and identities regarding animal experience, welfare and animal-human relations. Indeed the organisation has explicitly framed itself as speaking on behalf of not only animals but all caring Australians, suggesting thereby the possibility of a reframing of Australian national identity. Although such a tactic does not directly contest this negative stereotyping—direct contestation being, as noted, ineffective given the perniciousness of stereotyping—such work nonetheless dismantles the oppositional charge of such stereotyping in calling for all Australians to proudly be a little bit anti-meat-eating (when that meat is from factory farmed animals), a little bit anti-factory farming, a little bit pro-veg*n, and a little bit proud to consider themselves as caring about animal welfare.For Animals Australia, in other words, appealing to Australians to care about animal welfare and to act in support of that care, not only defuses the stereotypes targeting them but encourages the work of symbolic boundary shifting that is really at the heart of this dispute. 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IntroductionTraditionally, suburbs have been conceived as dormitory – in binary opposition to the inner-city (Powell). Supporting this stereotypical view have been gendered binaries between inner and outer city areas; densely populated vs. sprawl; gentrified terraces and apartment culture vs. new estates and first home buyers; zones of (male) production and creativity against (female) sedate, consumer territory. These binaries have for over a decade been thoroughly criticised by urban researchers, who have traced such representations and demonstrated how they are discriminatory and incorrect (see Powell; Mee; Dowling and Mee). And yet, such binaries persist in popular media commentaries and even in academic research (Gibson and Brennan-Horley). In creative city research, inner-city areas have been bestowed with the supposed correct mix of conditions that may lead to successful creative ventures. In part, this discursive positioning has been borne out of prior attempts to mapthe location of creativity in the city. Existing research on the geography of creativity in the city have relied on proxy data forms: mapping data on firms and/or employment in the creative industry sectors (e.g. Gibson, Murphy and Freestone; Markusen et al.; Watson). In doing so, the focus has rested on “winners” – i.e. headquarters of major arts and cultural institutions located in inner city/CBD locations, or by looking for concentrations of registered creative businesses. Such previous studies are useful because they give some indication of the geographical spread and significance of creative activities in cities, and help answer questions about the locational preferences of creative industries, including their gravitational pull towards each other in an agglomerative sense (Scott). However, such studies rely on (usually) one proxy data source to reveal the presence of creative activities, rather than detail how creativity is itself apparent in everyday working lives, or embedded in the spaces, networks and activities of the city. The latter, more qualitative aspects of the lived experience of creativity can only at best be inferred from proxy data such as employment numbers and firm location. In contrast, other researchers have promoted ethnographic methods (Drake; Shorthose; Felton, Collis and Graham) including interviewing, snowballing through contacts and participant observation, as means to get ‘inside’ creative industries and to better understand their embeddedness in place and networks of social relations. Such methods provide rich explanation of the internal dynamics and social logics of creative production, but having stemmed from text-based recorded interviews, they produce data without geographical co-ordinates necessary to be mapped in the manner of employment or business location data – and thus remain comparatively “aspatial”, with no georeferenced component. Furthermore, in such studies relational interactions with material spaces of home, work and city are at best conveyed in text form only – from recorded interviews – and thus cannot be aggregated easily as a mapped representation of city life. This analysis takes a different tack, by mapping responses from interviews, which were then analysed using methods more common in mapping and analysing proxy data sources. By taking a qualitative route toward data collection, this paper illustrates how suburbs can actually play a major role in creative city economies, expanding understandings of what constitutes a creative workplace and examining the resulting spatial distributions according to their function. Darwin and the Creative Tropical City Project This article draws on fieldwork carried out in Darwin, NT a small but important city in Australia’s tropical north. It is the government and administration capital of the sparsely populated Northern Territory and continues to grapple with its colonial past, a challenging climate, small population base and remoteness from southern centres. The city’s development pattern is relatively new, even in Australian terms, only dating back to the late 1970s. After wholesale destruction by Cyclone Tracy, Darwin was rebuilt displaying the hallmarks of post-1970 planning schemes: wide ring-roads and cul-de-sacs define its layout, its urban form dominated by stout single-story suburban dwellings built to withstand cyclonic activity. More recently, Darwin has experienced growth in residential tower block apartments, catering to the city’s high degree of fly-in, fly-out labour market of mining, military and public service workers. These high rise developments have been focussed unsurprisingly on coastal suburbs with ample sections of foreshore. Further adding to its peculiar layout, the geographic centre is occupied by Darwin Airport (a chief military base for Australia’s northern frontier) splitting the northern suburbs from those closer to its small CBD, itself jutting to the south on a peninsula. Lacking then in Darwin are those attributes so often heralded as the harbingers of a city’s creative success – density, walkability, tracts of ex-industrial brownfields sites ripe for reinvention as creative precincts. Darwin is a city dominated by its harsh tropical climate, decentralised and overtly dependant on private car transport. But, if one cares to look beyond the surface, Darwin is also a city punching above its weight on account of the unique possibilities enabled by transnational Asian proximity and its unique role as an outlet for indigenous creative work from across the top of the continent (Luckman, Gibson and Lea). Against this backdrop, Creative Tropical City: Mapping Darwin’s Creative Industries (CTC), a federally funded ARC project from 2006 to 2009, was envisaged to provide the evidential base needed to posit future directions for Darwin’s creative industries. City and Territory leaders had by 2004 become enchanted by the idea of ‘the creative city’ (Landry) – but it is questionable how well these policy discourses travel when applied to disparate examples such as Darwin (Luckman, Gibson and Lea). To provide an empirical grounding to creative city ideas and to ensure against policy fetishism the project was developed to map the nature, extent and change over time of Darwin’s creative industries and imagine alternate futures for the city based on a critical appraisal of the applicability of national and international creative industry policy frameworks to this remote, tropical location (Lea et al.). Toward a Typology of Darwin’s Creative Workplaces This article takes one data set gathered during the course of the CTC project, based around a participatory mapping exercise, where interviewees responded to questions about where creative industry activities took place in Darwin by drawing on paper maps. Known as mental maps, these were used to gather individual representations of place (Tuan), but in order to extend their applicability for spatial querying, responses were transferred to a Geographic Information System (GIS) for storage, collation and analysis (Matei et al.). During semi-structured interviews with 98 Darwin-based creative industry practitioners, participants were provided with a base map of Darwin displaying Statistical Local Area (SLA) boundaries and roads for mark up in response to specific questions about where creative activities occurred (for more in depth discussion of this method and its varied outputs, refer to Brennan-Horley and Gibson). The analysis discussed here only examines answers to one question: “Where do you work?” This question elicited a total of 473 work locations from 98 respondents – a fourfold increase over statistics gleaned from employment measures alone (Brennan-Horley). Such an increase resulted from participants identifying their everyday work practices which, by necessity, took place across multiple locations. When transferring the spatial location of workplaces into the GIS, each site was coded depending on whether it was cited by the interviewee as their “major” or primary place of work, or if the place being discussed played a secondary or “minor” role in their creative practice. For example, an artist’s studio was categorised as major, but other minor sites also featured in their mental maps, for example, galleries, supply locations and teaching sites. Each worksite was then assigned to one of four categories: Front, Back, Networking and Supply (Table 1). In a similar fashion to McCannell’s work on the “front and back regions” of tourist towns (597), the creative industries, predicated on the production and exchange of texts, objects and ideas also display front spaces of sorts – sites that facilitate interactions between practitioner and audiences, spaces for performance and consumption. Operating behind these front spaces, are sites where creative endeavours take place – perhaps not as so readily seen or engaged with by wider publics. For example, a rehearsal room, artist’s studio or a theatre company’s office may not be key sites of interaction between creator and audience but remain nonetheless important sites of creative work. However, a binary of Front versus Back could not encapsulate the variety of other everyday, prosaic work sites evident in the data. Participants indicated on their maps visits to the post office to send artworks, going to Bunnings to buy paint (and inadvertently networking with others), through to more fleeting spaces such as artist materials fossicked from parklands to photoshoot locations. These supply sites (each themselves positioned along a continuum of “creative” to “mundane”) were typified as supply locations: sites that act as places to gather inputs into the creative process. Finally, sites where meetings and networking took place (more often than not, these were indicated by participants as occurring away from their major work place) were assigned under a heading of networking spaces. Table 1: A typology of creative workplaces Space Definition Coded examples Front A space for consumption/exchange of creative goods, outputs or expertise. Performance space, Market, Gallery, Client Location, Shopfront, Cinema, Exhibition space, Museum, Festival space Back A site of production, practice or business management Office, Studio, Rehearsal Space, Teaching Space, Factory, Recording Studio Networking A space to meet clients or others involved in creative industries Meeting places Supply Spaces where supplies for creative work are sourced Supplier, Photoshoot Location, Story Location, Shoot Location, Storage Coding data into discrete units and formulating a typology is a reductive process, thus a number of caveats apply to this analysis. First there were numerous cases where worksites fell across multiple categories. This was particularly the case with practitioners from the music and performing arts sector whose works are created and consumed at the same location, or a clothing designer whose studio is also their shopfront. To avoid double counting, these cases were assigned to one category only, usually split in favour of the site’s main function (i.e. performance sites to Front spaces). During interviews, participants were asked to locate parts of Darwin they went to for work, rather than detail the exact role or name for each of those spaces. While most participants were forthcoming and descriptive in their responses, in two percent of cases (n=11) the role of that particular space was undefined. These spaces were placed into the “back” category. Additionally, the data was coded to refer to individual location instances aggregated to the SLA level, and does not take into account the role of specific facilities within suburbs, even though certain spaces were referred to regularly in the transcripts. It was often the case that a front space for one creative industry practitioner was a key production site for another, or operated simultaneously as a networking site for both. Future disaggregated analyses will tease out the important roles that individual venues play in Darwin’s creative economy, but are beyond this article’s scope. Finally, this analysis is only a snapshot in time, and captures some of the ephemeral and seasonal aspects of creative workplaces in Darwin that occurred around the time of interviewing. To illustrate, there are instances of photographers indicating photo shoot locations, sites that may only be used once, or may be returned to on multiple occasions. As such, if this exercise were to be carried out at another time, a different geography may result. Results A cross-tabulation of the workplace typology against major and minor locations is given in Table 2. Only 20 per cent of worksites were designated as major worksites with the remaining 80 per cent falling into the minor category. There was a noticeable split between Back and Front spaces and their Major/Minor designation. 77 per cent of back spaces were major locations, while the majority of Front spaces (92 per cent) fell into the minor category. The four most frequently occurring Minor Front spaces – client location, performance space, markets and gallery – collectively comprise one third of all workplaces for participants, pointing to their important role as interfacing spaces between creative output produced or worked on elsewhere, and wider publics/audiences. Understandably, all supply sites and networking places were categorised as minor, with each making up approximately 20 per cent of all workplaces. Table 2: creative workplaces cross tabulated against primary and secondary workplaces and divided by creative workplace typology. Major Minor Grand Total Back Office 44 1 45 Studio 22 - 22 Rehearsal Space 7 11 18 Undefined - 11 11 Teaching Space 3 1 4 Factory 1 - 1 Recording Studio 1 - 1 Leanyer Swamp 1 - 1 Back space total 79 24 103 Front Client Location - 70 70 Performance Space 2 67 69 Market 1 11 12 Gallery 3 8 11 Site - 8 8 Shopfront 1 3 4 Exhibition Space - 3 3 Cinema 2 1 3 Museum 1 1 2 Shop/Studio 1 - 1 Gallery and Office 1 - 1 NightClub 1 - 1 Festival space - 1 1 Library 1 - 1 Front Space total 14 173 187 Networking Meeting Place - 94 94 Networking space total - 94 94 Supply Supplier - 52 52 Photoshoot Location - 14 14 Story Location - 9 9 Shoot Location - 7 7 Storage - 4 4 Bank - 1 1 Printer - 1 1 Supply Space total - 88 88 Grand Total 93 379 472 The maps in Figures 1 through 4 analyse the results spatially, with individual SLA scores provided in Table 3. The maps use location quotients, representing the diversion of each SLA from the city-wide average. Values below one represent a less than average result, values greater than one reflecting higher results. The City-Inner SLA maintains the highest overall percentage of Darwin’s creative worksites (35 per cent of the total) across three categories, Front, Back and especially Networking sites (60 per cent). The concentration of key arts institutions, performance spaces and CBD office space is the primary reason for this finding. Additionally, the volume of hospitality venues in the CBD made it an amenable place to conduct meetings away from major back spaces. Figure 1: Back spaces by Statistical Local Areas Figure 2: Front spaces by Statistical Local Areas Figure 3: Networking sites, by Statistical Local Areas Figure 4: Supply sites by Statistical Local Areas However this should not deter from the fact that the majority of all worksites (65 per cent) indicated by participants actually reside in suburban locations. Numerically, the vast majority (70 per cent) of Darwin’s Front spaces are peppered across the suburbs, with agglomerations occurring in The Gardens, Fannie Bay, Nightcliff and Parap. The Gardens is the location for Darwin’s biggest weekly market (Mindl Beach night market), and a performance space for festivals and events during the city’s long dry season. Mirroring more the cultures of its neighbouring SE Asian counterparts, Darwin sustains a vibrant market culture unlike that of any other Australian capital city. As the top end region is monsoonal, six months of the year is guaranteed to be virtually rain free, allowing for outdoor activities such as markets and festivals to flourish. Markets in Darwin have a distinctly suburban geography with each of the three top suburban SLAs (as measured by Front spaces) hosting a regular market, each acting as temporary sites of networking and encounter for creative producers and audiences. Importantly, over half of the city’s production sites (Back spaces) were dispersed across the suburbs in two visible arcs, one extending from the city taking in Fannie Bay and across to Winnellie via Parap, and through the northern coastal SLAs from Coconut Grove to Brinkin (Figure 1). Interestingly, 85 per cent of all supply points were also in suburban locations. Figure 4 maps this suburban specialisation, with the light industrial suburb of Winnellie being the primary location for Darwin’s creative practitioners to source supplies. Table 3: Top ten suburbs by workplace mentions, tabulated by workplace type* SLA name Front Back Networking Supply Workplace total Inner City/CBD City - Inner 56 (29.9%) 35 (36%) 57 (60.6%) 13 (14.8%) 162 (34.3%) Inner City Total 56 (29.9%) 35 (36%) 57 (60.6%) 13 (14.8%) 162 (34.3%) Top 10 suburban The Gardens 30 (16%) 3 (2.9%) 6 (6.4%) 5 (5.7%) 44 (9.3%) Winnellie 3 (1.6%) 7 (6.8%) 1 (1.1%) 24 (27.3%) 35 (7.4%) Parap 14 (7.5%) 4 (3.9%) 6 (6.4%) 9 (10.2%) 33 (7%) Fannie Bay 17 (9.1%) 5 (4.9%) 4 (4.3%) 2 (2.3%) 28 (5.9%) Nightcliff 14 (7.5%) 7 (6.8%) 2 (2.1%) 4 (4.5%) 27 (5.7%) Stuart Park 4 (2.1%) 8 (7.8%) 4 (4.3%) 4 (4.5%) 20 (4.2%) Brinkin 1 (0.5%) 8 (7.8%) 9 (9.6%) 2 (2.3%) 20 (4.2%) Larrakeyah 5 (2.7%) 5 (4.9%) 1 (1.1%) 3 (3.4%) 14 (3%) City - Remainder 5 (2.7%) 2 (1.9%) 0 (0%) 6 (6.8%) 13 (2.8%) Coconut Grove 3 (1.6%) 4 (3.9%) 1 (1.1%) 4 (4.5%) 12 (2.5%) Rapid Creek 3 (1.6%) 6 (5.8%) 0 (0%) 0 (0%) 9 (1.9%) Suburban Total** 131 (70.1%) 67 (65%) 37 (39.4%) 75 (85%) 310 (65.7%) City-Wide Total 187 103 94 88 472 *All percentages calculated from city- wide total **Suburban total row includes all 27 suburbs, not just top tens Discussion There are two key points to take from this analysis. First, the results show the usefulness of combining in-depth qualitative research with GIS mapping methods. Interviewing creative workers about where activities in their working days (or nights) take place, rather than defaulting to incomplete industry statistics can reveal a more comprehensive view of where creative work manifests in the city. Second, the role that multiple, decentred and often suburban facilities played as sites of supply, production and consumption in Darwin’s creative economy leads theories about the spatiality of creativity in the city in new directions. These results clearly show that the cultural binaries that theorists have assumed shape perceptions of the city and its suburbs do not appear in this instance to be infusing the everyday nature of creative work in the city. What was revealed by this data is that creative work in the city creates a variegated city produced through practitioners’ ordinary daily activities. Creative workers are not necessarily resisting or reinventing ideas of what the suburbs mean, they are getting on with creative work in ways that connect suburbs and the city centre in complex – and yet sometimes quite prosaic – ways. This is not to say that the suburbs do not present challenges for the effective conduct of creative work in Darwin – transport availability and lack of facilities were consistently cited problems by practitioners – but instead what is argued here is that ways of understanding the suburbs (in popular discourse, and in response in critical cultural theory) that emanate from Sydney or Los Angeles do not provide a universal conceptual framework for a city like Darwin. By not presuming that there is a meta-discourse of suburbs and city centres that everyone in every city is bound to, this analysis captured a different geography. In conclusion, the case of Darwin displayed decentred and dispersed sites of creativity as the norm rather than the exception. Accordingly, creative city planning strategies should take into account that decentralised and varied creative work sites exist beyond the purview of flagship institutions and visible creative precincts. References Brennan-Horley, Chris. “Multiple Work Sites and City-Wide Networks: A Topological Approach to Understanding Creative Work.” Australian Geographer 41 (2010): 39-56. ———, and Chris Gibson. “Where Is Creativity in the City? Integrating Qualitative and GIS Methods.” Environment and Planning A 41 (2009): 2295–2614.Collis, Christy, Emma Felton, and Phil Graham. “Beyond the Inner City: Real and Imagined Places in Creative Place Policy and Practice.” The Information Society 26 (2010): 104-112. Dowling, Robyn, and Kathy Mee. “Tales of the City: Western Sydney at the End of the Millennium.” Sydney: The Emergence of a World City. Ed. John Connell. Melbourne: Oxford UP, 2000. Drake, Graham. “‘This Place Gives Me Space’: Place and Creativity in the Creative Industries.” Geoforum 34 (2003): 511–524. Felton, Emma, Christy Collis and Phil Graham. “Making Connections: Creative Industries Networks in Outer-Suburban Locations.” Australian Geographer 41 (2010): 57-70. Gibson, Chris, and Chris Brennan-Horley. “Goodbye Pram City: Beyond Inner/Outer Zone Binaries in Creative City Research.” Urban Policy and Research 24 (2006): 455–71. ———, Peter Murphy, and Robert Freestone. “Employment and Socio-Spatial Relations in Australia's Cultural Economy.” Australian Geographer 33 (2002): 173-189. Landry, Charles. The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. London: Comedia/Earthscan, 2000. Lea, Tess, Susan Luckman, Chris Gibson, Donal Fitzpatrick, Chris Brennan-Horley, Julie Willoughby-Smith, and Karen Hughes. Creative Tropical City: Mapping Darwin’s Creative Industries. Darwin: Charles Darwin University, 2009. Luckman, Sue, Chris Gibson, and Tess Lea. “Mosquitoes in the Mix: How Transferable Is Creative City Thinking?” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography (2009): 30, 47-63. Markusen, Ann, Gregory Wassall, Douglas DeNatale, and Randy Cohen. “Defining the Creative Economy: Industry and Occupational Approaches.” Economic Development Quarterly 22 (2008): 24-45. Matei, Sorin, Sandra Ball-Rokeach, and Jack Qiu. “Fear and Misperception of Los Angeles Urban Space: A Spatial-Statistical Study of Communication-Shaped Mental Maps.” Communication Research 28 (2001): 429-463. McCannell, Dean. “Staged Authenticity: Arrangements of Social Space in Tourist Settings.” The American Journal of Sociology 79 (1973): 589-603. Mee, Kathy. “Dressing Up the Suburbs: Representations of Western Sydney.” Metropolis Now: Planning and the Urban in Contemporary Australia Eds. Katherine Gibson and Sophie Watson. Sydney: Pluto Press, 1994. 60–77. Powell, Diane. Out West: Perceptions of Sydney’s Western Suburbs. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1993. Shorthose, Jim. “Accounting for Independent Creativity in the New Cultural Economy.” Media International Australia 112 (2004): 150-161. Scott, Allen J. The Cultural Economy of Cities. London: Sage, 2000. Tuan, Yi-Fu. “Images and Mental Maps.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 65 (1975): 205-213. Watson, Allan. “Global Music City: Knowledge and Geographical Proximity in London’s Recorded Music Industry.” Area 40 (2008): 12–23.

With the emergence and expansion of post-manufacturing knowledge economies, formerly industrial inner cities in the West have become intensified staging grounds for a range of spatial claims. Among these are processes of residential gentrification, the cultural politics of heritage preservation, the struggles for community development, and the growth of creative industries, such as art, design, architecture, publishing and film, which I focus on here.1 Throughout the last two decades in the UK, inner cities and central city fringe districts have been subject to an assortment of strategies that have endeavored to revitalize them economically and socially. Prominent among these attempts has been the encouragement of new, and the incubation of existing, small-scale creative enterprises. Regeneration executives choose these enterprises for a range of reasons. Creative activities are associated with popular culture that disaffected, unemployed youth find appealing; they are able to occupy and rehabilitate underused existing building stock and to sensitively recycle historic buildings, thereby preserving urban scales; and, as a number of scholars have pointed out, they exhibit transaction-rich, network-intensive organization (Castells 1992; Lash and Urry 1994; Scott 2000). As a result, concerted efforts to design creative industry quarters have sprung up across the UK, including Sheffield, Manchester, Glasgow, and Birmingham. In London, a whole band of formerly industrial, inner-city districts from King's Cross, down through Clerkenwell, Hoxton, Shoreditch and Spitalfields, and along the wharves of the Thames's South Bank, are being or have been revitalized in part through the strategic deployment of creative industries. Certainly, how creative industries and economies develop varies. At King's Cross, nonprofit and commercial creative companies have emerged quietly in a context of protracted struggle over the future of the Railway Lands, which will be reshaped by the coming terminus of the Channel Tunnel Rail Link. At Spitalfields, high-profile conversions of Truman Brewery and the Spitalfields Market site into artisanal stalls, creative businesses, and leisure (café, restaurant, and sport) facilities are generating a new local creative economy, bringing in visitors and creating new customer bases for Spitalfields' Bangladeshi restaurant keepers and garment entrepreneurs.2 Whatever the conditions for growth, creative industries have been aided by the rhetoric of Cool Britannia and New Labour's cultural -- or more accurately --creative industrial policy. I would even put forth that, in the form of the creative quarter, the creative industries represent the urbanist logic of Cool Britannia, threatening to elaborate, following the other logics of BritArt and BritPop, a BritSpace. Now, according to some of Britain's foremost cultural critics, Cool Britannia was born sometime in 1996 in the Sunday Times, and died two years later, soon after a piece in the New Musical Express that showcased young musician discontent with New Labour creative industrial policy (Hewison 1996; McRobbie 1999, 4). Yet, before we close the casket, I want to suggest that Cool Britannia be understood as a symptom of a range of 'causes' that have been transforming the idioms of politics, governance, culture, citizenship, social organization; and, as the creative quarter evokes, the city. An itinerary of these causes would include: the expansion of a consumer-driven service/knowledge economy; the growth and globalization of communication and information technologies; the 'flexibilization' of regimes of production; the mutation of the function of the welfare state and corresponding meaning of citizenship; and, the dominance of intellectual property notions of culture. While these shifts are transforming societies around the world, in the UK, they became closely identified with New Labour and its attempts to institutionalize the rhetoric of the Third Way during the late 1990s (e.g., Blair 1998; Giddens 1998). In imagining itself as a force of change, New Labour capitalized on two events that gave birth to Cool Britannia: (1) the glamorization of British art and young British artists in the mid-1990s; and (2) the emergence of a discourse of 'rebranding' Britain, disseminating from reports from brand specialists Wolff Olins and think tank Demos (Bobby 1999).3 The first, producing the nBA (new British Art) and the yBAs (young British Artists) are media events with their own genealogies that have received copious critical attention (e.g., Ford 1996; McRobbie 1999; Roberts 1996, 1998; Stallabrass 1999; Suchin 1998). This glamorization involved the discovery of the artists by the mainstream media and a focus on artistic entrepreneurship in creating, shaping and responding to an enlarged market for cultural products. In the process, some of these artists effectively became brands, authoring, legitimating and licensing a certain kind of ironic, post-political art that was palatable to the international art market.4 The second cause stems from responses to anxiety over post-imperial Britain's future in a post-manufacturing, globalized, knowledge economy. For both the Demos thinkers and Wolff Olins consultants, these were centered on the need to re-imagine British national subjectivity as if it were a commercial brand. The discourse of branding is tangential to that of intellectual property, in which brands are value codings managed through networks of trademarks, patents, copyrights and royalties. Rosemary Coombe (1998) has written, albeit in a different political context, on the increasing dominance of notions of culture defined through intellectual property, and adjudicated by international trade experts. Indeed, New Labour creative industrial policies, as demonstrated in former Culture Secretary, Chris Smith's, essays that linked creativity, entrepreneurship and economic growth (Smith 1998) and initiatives under the Creative Industries Mapping Document (DCMS 2001) reveal how the relationship between the state and national culture is being renegotiated. Less meaningful is the state that served as sponsor or patron of cultural activities for its citizens. Rather, under New Labour, as Nikolas Rose argues (1999), and critics of New Labour cultural policy interrogate (Greenhalgh 1998; Littler 2000), the state is an enabler, partnering with entrepreneurs, small-scale firms, and multinational enterprises to promote the traffic in cultural property. How such a shift affects the production of urban space, and the future meanings attached to the British city remain to be explored. In the context of the American city, M. Christine Boyer (1995), elaborates how an iterative regime of architectural styles and planning ethics functions as a late capitalist cultural logic of urbanism that discards elements, often in decaying and abandoned sections, that cannot be easily incorporated. Borrowing on Kevin Lynch's (1960) notion of the imageable city, she writes: physically, these spaces are linked imaginatively to each other, to other cities, and to a common history of cultural interpretations (82). Within this scenario, the elements of the creative quarter copy, print, art supply and film developing stores, hip cafes and restaurants, galleries, studios, loft conversions and street furniture are gradually linked together to form a recognizable and potentially iterative matrix, overlaid on the disused former industrial district. Moreover, as a prominent, coordinated technique in the revitalization strategies of British cities, and given the aftermath of Cool Britannia, the creative quarter must be seen also as a symptom of a symptom. For, if Cool Britannia is itself produced through the application of branding discourse to the level of national subjectivity, and to the glamorization of the artist, then it is only a short step to contemplate the urbanist logic of the creative quarter as BritSpaceâ„¢. Notes 1. A creative industry is one that has its origin in individual creativity, skill and talent and which [has] a potential for wealth and job creation through the generation and exploitation of intellectual property. I am following the definition of creative industries used by the UK Department of Culture, Media and Sport. It was first used in the Creative Industries Mapping Document, released in November 1998 and was maintained in the second, more extensive mapping exercise in February 2001. The list of activities designated as creative are: advertising, architecture, art and antiques, crafts, design, designer fashion, film and video, interactive leisure software, music, the performing arts, publishing, software and computer services, television and radio. 2. I discuss the emergence of creative enterprises at King's Cross and Spitalfields at length in my doctoral dissertation (Deckha 2000). 3. As Bobby (1999) reports, the Wolff Olins consultants commented that looking at business attitudes towards national identity and UK industry found that 72% of the world's leading companies believe a national image is important when making purchase decisions. In light of this, and worryingly for British business, only 36% of our respondents felt that a 'made in the UK' label would influence their decision positively. 4. Lash and Urry describe this process of branding in the creative or cultural industries: What (all) the culture industries produce becomes increasingly, not like commodities but advertisements. As with advertising firms, the culture industries sell not themselves but something else and they achieve this through 'packaging'. Also like advertising firms, they sell 'brands' of something else. And they do this through the transfer of value through images (1994, 138). References Blair T. (1998) The Third Way: New Politics for a New Century. The Fabian Society, London. Bobby D. (1999) Original Britain' could succeed where 'Cool Britannia' failed Brand Strategy November 22: 6. Boyer M C. (1995) The Great Frame-Up: Fantastic appearances in contemporary spatial politics, Liggett H., Perry D. C., eds. Spatial Practices. Sage, New York. 81-109. Castells M. (1992) The Rise of the Network Society. Blackwell, Oxford. Coombe R. (1998) The Cultural Life of Intellectual Properties. Duke University Press, Durham, NC. Deckha N. (2000) Repackaging the Inner City: Historic Preservation, Community Development, and the Emergent Cultural Quarter in London. Unpublished MS, Rice University. Department of Culture, Media and Sport [DCMS]. (2001) Creative industries mapping document [http://www.culture.gov.uk/creative/pdf/p...] Ford S. (1996) Myth Making Art Monthly March: 194. Giddens A. (1998) The Third Way. Polity, Cambridge. Greenhalgh L. (1998) From Arts Policy to Creative Economy Media International Australia Incorporating Culture and Policy, 87, May: 84-94. Hewison R. (1996) Cool Britannia Sunday Times, 19 May. Lash S. and Urry J. (1994) Economies of Signs and Space. Sage, London. Littler J. (2000) Creative Accounting: Consumer Culture, The 'Creative Economy' and the Cultural Policies of New Labour in Bewes T. and Gilbert J. eds. Cultural Capitalism. Lawrence & Wishart, London. 203-222. Lynch K. (1960) The Image of the City. MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass. McRobbie A. (1999) In the Culture Society. Routledge, London. Roberts J. (1996) Mad for it!: Philistinism, the everyday and new British art Third Text, 35 (Summer): 29-42. Roberts J. (1998) Pop Art, the Popular and British Art of the 1990s in McCorquodale D. et al, eds. Occupational Hazard. Black Dog, London. 53-78. Rose N. (1999) Inventiveness in politics: review of Anthony Giddens, The Third Way Economy and Society, 28.3: 467-493. Scott A.J. (2000) The Cultural Economy of Cities. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA. Smith C. (1998) Creative Britain. Faber and Faber, London. Stallabrass J. (1999) High Art Lite. Verso, London. Suchin P. (1998) After a Fashion: Regress as Progress in Contemporary British Art in McCorquodale D. et al, eds. Occupational Hazard. Black Dog, London. 95-110. Links http://www.culture.gov.uk/creative/pdf/part1.pdf Citation reference for this article MLA Style Deckha, Nityanand. "Britspaceâ„¢?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/britspace.php>. Chicago Style Deckha, Nityanand, "Britspaceâ„¢?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/britspace.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Deckha, Nityanand. (2002) Britspaceâ„¢?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/britspace.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction One of the ways in which ‘country’ is made to work discursively is in ‘country music’ – defining a genre and sensibility in music production, marketing and consumption. This article seeks to excavate one small niche in the historical geography of country music to explore exactly how discursive antecedents emerged, and crucially, how images associated with ‘country’ surfaced and travelled internationally via one of the new ‘global’ media of the first half of the twentieth century – sheet music. My central arguments are twofold: first, that alongside aural qualities and lyrical content, the visual elements of sheet music were important and thus far have been under-acknowledged. Sheet music diffused the imagery connecting ‘country’ to music, to particular landscapes, and masculinities. In the literature on country music much emphasis has been placed on film, radio and television (Tichi; Peterson). Yet, sheet music was for several decades the most common way people bought personal copies of songs they liked and intended to play at home on piano, guitar or ukulele. This was particularly the case in Australia – geographically distant, and rarely included in international tours by American country music stars. Sheet music is thus a rich text to reveal the historical contours of ‘country’. My second and related argument is that that the possibilities for the globalising of ‘country’ were first explored in music. The idea of transnational discourses associated with ‘country’ and ‘rurality’ is relatively new (Cloke et al; Gorman-Murray et al; McCarthy), but in music we see early evidence of a globalising discourse of ‘country’ well ahead of the time period usually analysed. Accordingly, my focus is on the sheet music of country songs in Australia in the first half of the twentieth century and on how visual representations hybridised travelling themes to create a new vernacular ‘country’ in Australia. Creating ‘Country’ Music Country music, as its name suggests, is perceived as the music of rural areas, “defined in contrast to metropolitan norms” (Smith 301). However, the ‘naturalness’ of associations between country music and rurality belies a history of urban capitalism and the refinement of deliberate methods of marketing music through associated visual imagery. Early groups wore suits and dressed for urban audiences – but then altered appearances later, on the insistence of urban record companies, to emphasise rurality and cowboy heritage. Post-1950, ‘country’ came to replace ‘folk’ music as a marketing label, as the latter was considered to have too many communistic references (Hemphill 5), and the ethnic mixing of earlier folk styles was conveniently forgotten in the marketing of ‘country’ music as distinct from African American ‘race’ and ‘r and b’ music. Now an industry of its own with multinational headquarters in Nashville, country music is a ‘cash cow’ for entertainment corporations, with lower average production costs, considerable profit margins, and marketing advantages that stem from tropes of working class identity and ‘rural’ honesty (see Lewis; Arango). Another of country music’s associations is with American geography – and an imagined heartland in the colonial frontier of the American West. Slippages between ‘country’ and ‘western’ in music, film and dress enhance this. But historical fictions are masked: ‘purists’ argue that western dress and music have nothing to do with ‘country’ (see truewesternmusic.com), while recognition of the Spanish-Mexican, Native American and Hawaiian origins of ‘cowboy’ mythology is meagre (George-Warren and Freedman). Similarly, the highly international diffusion and adaptation of country music as it rose to prominence in the 1940s is frequently downplayed (Connell and Gibson), as are the destructive elements of colonialism and dispossession of indigenous peoples in frontier America (though Johnny Cash’s 1964 album The Ballads Of The American Indian: Bitter Tears was an exception). Adding to the above is the way ‘country’ operates discursively in music as a means to construct particular masculinities. Again, linked to rural imagery and the American frontier, the dominant masculinity is of rugged men wrestling nature, negotiating hardships and the pressures of family life. Country music valorises ‘heroic masculinities’ (Holt and Thompson), with echoes of earlier cowboy identities reverberating into contemporary performance through dress style, lyrical content and marketing imagery. The men of country music mythology live an isolated existence, working hard to earn an income for dependent families. Their music speaks to the triumph of hard work, honest values (meaning in this context a musical style, and lyrical concerns that are ‘down to earth’, ‘straightforward’ and ‘without pretence’) and physical strength, in spite of neglect from national governments and uncaring urban leaders. Country music has often come to be associated with conservative politics, heteronormativity, and whiteness (Gibson and Davidson), echoing the wider politics of ‘country’ – it is no coincidence, for example, that the slogan for the 2008 Republican National Convention in America was ‘country first’. And yet, throughout its history, country music has also enabled more diverse gender performances to emerge – from those emphasising (or bemoaning) domesticity; assertive femininity; creative negotiation of ‘country’ norms by gay men; and ‘alternative’ culture (captured in the marketing tag, ‘alt.country’); to those acknowledging white male victimhood, criminality (‘the outlaw’), vulnerability and cruelty (see Johnson; McCusker and Pecknold; Saucier). Despite dominant tropes of ‘honesty’, country music is far from transparent, standing for certain values and identities, and yet enabling the construction of diverse and contradictory others. Historical analysis is therefore required to trace the emergence of ‘country’ in music, as it travelled beyond America. A Note on Sheet Music as Media Source Sheet music was one of the main modes of distribution of music from the 1930s through to the 1950s – a formative period in which an eclectic group of otherwise distinct ‘hillbilly’ and ‘folk’ styles moved into a single genre identity, and after which vinyl singles and LP records with picture covers dominated. Sheet music was prevalent in everyday life: beyond radio, a hit song was one that was widely purchased as sheet music, while pianos and sheet music collections (stored in a piece of furniture called a ‘music canterbury’) in family homes were commonplace. Sheet music is in many respects preferable to recorded music as a form of evidence for historical analysis of country music. Picture LP covers did not arrive until the late 1950s (by which time rock and roll had surpassed country music). Until then, 78 rpm shellac discs, the main form of pre-recorded music, featured generic brown paper sleeves from the individual record companies, or city retail stores. Also, while radio was clearly central to the consumption of music in this period, it obviously also lacked the pictorial element that sheet music could provide. Sheet music bridged the music and printing industries – the latter already well-equipped with colour printing, graphic design and marketing tools. Sheet music was often literally crammed with information, providing the researcher with musical notation, lyrics, cover art and embedded advertisements – aural and visual texts combined. These multiple dimensions of sheet music proved useful here, for clues to the context of the music/media industries and geography of distribution (for instance, in addresses for publishers and sheet music retail shops). Moreover, most sheet music of the time used rich, sometimes exaggerated, images to convince passing shoppers to buy songs that they had possibly never heard. As sheet music required caricature rather than detail or historical accuracy, it enabled fantasy without distraction. In terms of representations of ‘country’, then, sheet music is perhaps even more evocative than film or television. Hundreds of sheet music items were collected for this research over several years, through deliberate searching (for instance, in library archives and specialist sheet music stores) and with some serendipity (for instance, when buying second hand sheet music in charity shops or garage sales). The collected material is probably not representative of all music available at the time – it is as much a specialised personal collection as a comprehensive survey. However, at least some material from all the major Australian country music performers of the time were found, and the resulting collection appears to be several times larger than that held currently by the National Library of Australia (from which some entries were sourced). All examples here are of songs written by, or cover art designed for Australian country music performers. For brevity’s sake, the following analysis of the sheet music follows a crudely chronological framework. Country Music in Australia Before ‘Country’ Country music did not ‘arrive’ in Australia from America as a fully-finished genre category; nor was Australia at the time without rural mythology or its own folk music traditions. Associations between Australian national identity, rurality and popular culture were entrenched in a period of intense creativity and renewed national pride in the decades prior to and after Federation in 1901. This period saw an outpouring of art, poetry, music and writing in new nationalist idiom, rooted in ‘the bush’ (though drawing heavily on Celtic expressions), and celebrating themes of mateship, rural adversity and ‘battlers’. By the turn of the twentieth century, such myths, invoked through memory and nostalgia, had already been popularised. Australia had a fully-established system of colonies, capital cities and state governments, and was highly urbanised. Yet the poetry, folk music and art, invariably set in rural locales, looked back to the early 1800s, romanticising bush characters and frontier events. The ‘bush ballad’ was a central and recurring motif, one that commentators have argued was distinctly, and essentially ‘Australian’ (Watson; Smith). Sheet music from this early period reflects the nationalistic, bush-orientated popular culture of the time: iconic Australian fauna and flora are prominent, and Australian folk culture is emphasised as ‘native’ (being the first era of cultural expressions from Australian-born residents). Pioneer life and achievements are celebrated. ‘Along the road to Gundagai’, for instance, was about an iconic Australian country town and depicted sheep droving along rustic trails with overhanging eucalypts. Male figures are either absent, or are depicted in situ as lone drovers in the archetypal ‘shepherd’ image, behind their flocks of sheep (Figure 1). Figure 1: No. 1 Magpie Ballads – The Pioneer (c1900) and Along the road to Gundagai (1923). Further colonial ruralities developed in Australia from the 1910s to 1940s, when agrarian values grew in the promotion of Australian agricultural exports. Australia ‘rode on the sheep’s back’ to industrialisation, and governments promoted rural development and inland migration. It was a period in which rural lifestyles were seen as superior to those in the crowded inner city, and government strategies sought to create a landed proletariat through post-war land settlement and farm allotment schemes. National security was said to rely on populating the inland with those of European descent, developing rural industries, and breeding a healthier and yet compliant population (Dufty), from which armies of war-ready men could be recruited in times of conflict. Popular culture served these national interests, and thus during these decades, when ‘hillbilly’ and other North American music forms were imported, they were transformed, adapted and reworked (as in other places such as Canada – see Lehr). There were definite parallels in the frontier narratives of the United States (Whiteoak), and several local adaptations followed: Tex Morton became Australia’s ‘Yodelling boundary rider’ and Gordon Parsons became ‘Australia’s yodelling bushman’. American songs were re-recorded and performed, and new original songs written with Australian lyrics, titles and themes. Visual imagery in sheet music built upon earlier folk/bush frontier themes to re-cast Australian pastoralism in a more settled, modernist and nationalist aesthetic; farms were places for the production of a robust nation. Where male figures were present on sheet music covers in the early twentieth century, they became more prominent in this period, and wore Akubras (Figure 2). The lyrics to John Ashe’s Growin’ the Golden Fleece (1952) exemplify this mix of Australian frontier imagery, new pastoralist/nationalist rhetoric, and the importation of American cowboy masculinity: Go west and take up sheep, man, North Queensland is the shot But if you don’t get rich, man, you’re sure to get dry rot Oh! Growin’ the golden fleece, battlin’ a-way out west Is bound to break your flamin’ heart, or else expand your chest… We westerners are handy, we can’t afford to crack Not while the whole darn’d country is riding on our back Figure 2: Eric Tutin’s Shearers’ Jamboree (1946). As in America, country music struck a chord because it emerged “at a point in history when the project of the creation and settlement of a new society was underway but had been neither completed nor abandoned” (Dyer 33). Governments pressed on with the colonial project of inland expansion in Australia, despite the theft of indigenous country this entailed, and popular culture such as music became a means to normalise and naturalise the process. Again, mutations of American western imagery, and particular iconic male figures were important, as in Roy Darling’s (1945) Overlander Trail (Figure 3): Wagon wheels are rolling on, and the days seem mighty long Clouds of heat-dust in the air, bawling cattle everywhere They’re on the overlander trail Where only sheer determination will prevail Men of Aussie with a job to do, they’ll stick and drive the cattle through And though they sweat they know they surely must Keep on the trail that winds a-head thro’ heat and dust All sons of Aussie and they will not fail. Sheet music depicted silhouetted men in cowboy hats on horses (either riding solo or in small groups), riding into sunsets or before looming mountain ranges. Music – an important part of popular culture in the 1940s – furthered the colonial project of invading, securing and transforming the Australian interior by normalising its agendas and providing it with heroic male characters, stirring tales and catchy tunes. Figure 3: ‘Roy Darling’s (1945) Overlander Trail and Smoky Dawson’s The Overlander’s Song (1946). ‘Country Music’ Becomes a (Globalised) Genre Further growth in Australian country music followed waves of popularity in the United States in the 1940s and 1950s, and was heavily influenced by new cross-media publicity opportunities. Radio shows expanded, and western TV shows such as Bonanza and On the Range fuelled a ‘golden age’. Australian performers such as Slim Dusty and Smokey Dawson rose to fame (see Fitzgerald and Hayward) in an era when rural-urban migration peaked. Sheet music reflected the further diffusion and adoption of American visual imagery: where male figures were present on sheet music covers, they became more prominent than before and wore Stetsons. Some were depicted as chiselled-faced but simple men, with plain clothing and square jaws. Others began to more enthusiastically embrace cowboy looks, with bandana neckerchiefs, rawhide waistcoats, embellished and harnessed tall shaft boots, pipe-edged western shirts with wide collars, smile pockets, snap fasteners and shotgun cuffs, and fringed leather jackets (Figure 4). Landscapes altered further too: cacti replaced eucalypts, and iconic ‘western’ imagery of dusty towns, deserts, mesas and buttes appeared (Figure 5). Any semblance of folk music’s appeal to rustic authenticity was jettisoned in favour of showmanship, as cowboy personas were constructed to maximise cinematic appeal. Figure 4: Al Dexter’s Pistol Packin’ Mama (1943) and Reg Lindsay’s (1954) Country and Western Song Album. Figure 5: Tim McNamara’s Hitching Post (1948) and Smoky Dawson’s Golden West Album (1951). Far from slavish mimicry of American culture, however, hybridisations were common. According to Australian music historian Graeme Smith (300): “Australian place names appear, seeking the same mythological resonance that American localisation evoked: hobos became bagmen […] cowboys become boundary riders.” Thus alongside reproductions of the musical notations of American songs by Lefty Frizzel, Roy Carter and Jimmie Rodgers were songs with localised themes by new Australian stars such as Reg Lindsay and Smoky Dawson: My curlyheaded buckaroo, My home way out back, and On the Murray Valley. On the cover of The square dance by the billabong (Figure 6) – the title of which itself was a conjunction of archetypal ‘country’ images from both America and Australia – a background of eucalypts and windmills frames dancers in classic 1940s western (American) garb. In the case of Tex Morton’s Beautiful Queensland (Figure 7), itself mutated from W. Lee O’Daniel’s Beautiful Texas (c1945), the sheet music instructed those playing the music that the ‘names of other states may be substituted for Queensland’. ‘Country’ music had become an established genre, with normative values, standardised images and themes and yet constituted a stylistic formula with enough polysemy to enable local adaptations and variations. Figure 6: The Square dance by the billabong, Vernon Lisle, 1951. Figure 7: Beautiful Queensland, Tex Morton, c1945 source: http://nla.gov.au/nla.mus-vn1793930. Conclusions In country music images of place and masculinity combine. In music, frontier landscapes are populated by rugged men living ‘on the range’ in neo-colonial attempts to tame the land and convert it to productive uses. This article has considered only one media – sheet music – in only one country (Australia) and in only one time period (1900-1950s). There is much more to say than was possible here about country music, place and gender – particularly recently, since ‘country’ has fragmented into several niches, and marketing of country music via cable television and the internet has ensued (see McCusker and Pecknold). My purpose here has been instead to explore the early origins of ‘country’ mythology in popular culture, through a media source rarely analysed. Images associated with ‘country’ travelled internationally via sheet music, immensely popular in the 1930s and 1940s before the advent of television. The visual elements of sheet music contributed to the popularisation and standardisation of genre expectations and appearances, and yet these too travelled and were adapted and varied in places like Australia which had their own colonial histories and folk music heritages. Evidenced here is how combinations of geographical and gender imagery embraced imported American cowboy imagery and adapted it to local markets and concerns. Australia saw itself as a modern rural utopia with export aspirations and a desire to secure permanence through taming and populating its inland. Sheet music reflected all this. So too, sheet music reveals the historical contours of ‘country’ as a transnational discourse – and the extent to which ‘country’ brought with it a clearly defined set of normative values, a somewhat exaggerated cowboy masculinity, and a remarkable capacity to be moulded to local circumstances. Well before later and more supposedly ‘global’ media such as the internet and television, the humble printed sheet of notated music was steadily shaping ‘country’ imagery, and an emergent international geography of cultural flows. References Arango, Tim. “Cashville USA.” Fortune, Jan 29, 2007. Sept 3, 2008, http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2007/01/22/8397980/index.htm. Cloke, Paul, Marsden, Terry and Mooney, Patrick, eds. Handbook of Rural Studies, London: Sage, 2006. Connell, John and Gibson, Chris. Sound Tracks: Popular Music, Identity and Place, London: Routledge, 2003. Dufty, Rae. Rethinking the politics of distribution: the geographies and governmentalities of housing assistance in rural New South Wales, Australia, PhD thesis, UNSW, 2008. Dyer, Richard. White: Essays on Race and Culture, London: Routledge, 1997. George-Warren, Holly and Freedman, Michelle. How the West was Worn: a History of Western Wear, New York: Abrams, 2000. Fitzgerald, Jon and Hayward, Phil. “At the confluence: Slim Dusty and Australian country music.” Outback and Urban: Australian Country Music. Ed. Phil Hayward. Gympie: Australian Institute of Country Music Press, 2003. 29-54. Gibson, Chris and Davidson, Deborah. “Tamworth, Australia’s ‘country music capital’: place marketing, rural narratives and resident reactions.” Journal of Rural Studies 20 (2004): 387-404. Gorman-Murray, Andrew, Darian-Smith, Kate and Gibson, Chris. “Scaling the rural: reflections on rural cultural studies.” Australian Humanities Review 45 (2008): in press. Hemphill, Paul. The Nashville Sound: Bright Lights and Country Music, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1970. Holt, Douglas B. and Thompson, Craig J. “Man-of-action heroes: the pursuit of heroic masculinity in everyday consumption.” Journal of Consumer Research 31 (2004). Johnson, Corey W. “‘The first step is the two-step’: hegemonic masculinity and dancing in a country western gay bar.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 18 (2004): 445-464. Lehr, John C. “‘Texas (When I die)’: national identity and images of place in Canadian country music broadcasts.” The Canadian Geographer 27 (1983): 361-370. Lewis, George H. “Lap dancer or hillbilly deluxe? The cultural construction of modern country music.” Journal of Popular Culture, 31 (1997): 163-173. McCarthy, James. “Rural geography: globalizing the countryside.” Progress in Human Geography 32 (2008): 132-137. McCusker, Kristine M. and Pecknold, Diane. Eds. A Boy Named Sue: Gender and Country Music. UP of Mississippi, 2004. Peterson, Richard A. Creating Country Music: Fabricating Authenticity. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Saucier, Karen A. “Healers and heartbreakers: images of women and men in country music.” Journal of Popular Culture 20 (1986): 147-166. Smith, Graeme. “Australian country music and the hillbilly yodel.” Popular Music 13 (1994): 297-311. Tichi, Cecelia. Readin’ Country Music. Durham: Duke UP, 1998. truewesternmusic.com “True western music.”, Sept 3, 2008, http://truewesternmusic.com/. Watson, Eric. Country Music in Australia. Sydney: Rodeo Publications, 1984. Whiteoak, John. “Two frontiers: early cowboy music and Australian popular culture.” Outback and Urban: Australian Country Music. Ed. P. Hayward. Gympie: AICMP: 2003. 1-28.

Kangaroo Island has embraced sustainable tourism in the hope that it will maintain its integrity as a close-knit rural community. In the centre of the front cover of the Kangaroo Island 1999 Visitor Guide is a photograph of a group of Australian sea lions on a beach. Between the photograph and the garland of native wildflowers which line the border of the cover is a margin of white space. This, along with the absence of humans, conveys a sense of pristine wilderness. The front cover design with its encompassing wreath and purity of white space simulates an iconographic representation which transforms the sea lion picture into a sacred object. The garland of flowers honours the seal in its natural habitat -- the most appealing aspect of the island for the tourist (Warren, personal communication). However, hovering ambiguously among the wildflowers is the possibility that the front cover's frame represents a funeral wreath -- perhaps in memory of those early days when fur traders turned the South Australian island into a slaughterhouse. Or maybe it is as a foreshadowing of the consequences of a tourist "invasion". Despite the sacralising of the seal, the marine mammal remains a commodity to be "consumed" by those who visit. Kangaroo Islanders are aware that tourism has sounded the death knell for many small communities -- in the 1950s the Gold Coast was a small fishing village, in the 1970s Cairns was a sugar cane town -- and are attempting to impose management practices which will control the amount and type of tourism consumption in order to prevent destruction of the island's native wildlife, its fragile biological systems and the authenticity of the local community. Residents' acceptance of the significance of native fauna and flora in recent years is, to some degree, driven by a pragmatism not dissimilar to that of early fur traders: both view the seal as a commodity, although behaviour towards these protected mammals contrasts strongly with past behaviour when sealing was an especially lucrative industry. Although seal numbers have increased, their classification as an endangered species is a legacy to those days when "fur seals [and Australian sea lions] made a valuable contribution to the economy of the colony of New South Wales" as the sale of the skins enabled the new colony to buy imports (Newnham 34). By the end of the nineteenth century changing market demands and severely depleted sources meant native animal skins were no longer a major source of income. Problems of land and wildlife management increased when sheep farming was introduced. With the allocation of land to farming for soldier/settler communities in the twentieth century, heavy tree clearing and overgrazing resulted in problems of soil erosion and increasing salinity levels, problems which also confront those in mainland rural communities. Following the decline in rural commodity prices for sheep, wool and beef in the 1990s, the local community has targetted tourism as one of the preferred alternative industries. Despite some opposition, the majority of locals feel that with proper management and monitoring, sustainable tourism will offer salvation rather than destruction of their island community. Local views are evident in the high profile given to tourism by the Kangaroo Island Economic Development Board (KIDB), "whose 1998-1999 Annual Plan has identified a number of opportunities to develop the Island's tourism infrastructure, and encourage visitors to stay longer and provide more value to the Island" (Islander 9 July 1998). From 1991 to 1993-1994, 85,000 visits per annum of at least one night stay were recorded with an estimated 50,000 additional annual visitors from day trips (Kangaroo Island Regional Tourism Profile 1). By 1998 over 160,000 visitors arrive on Kangaroo Island each year. KIDB's year long visitor exit survey shows viewing the island's wildlife is the main reason why international and interstate tourists travel to the island and is one of the main reasons why intrastate visitors come (Islander 9 July 1998: 6). However, KIDB is aware of local community concern "to [facilitate] development processes particularly towards sustainable development" (UNCSD, Paper 16 22). Community concerns that tourism must be carefully managed to avoid invasion has led to a number of initiatives including the publication of the Tourism Management and Development on Kangaroo Island Working Party Report in 1984 (KI Tourism Policy 1). The publication in 1991 of the Kangaroo Island Tourism Policy acknowledged a need for the island to "diversify and strengthen its economic base" by aiming to be a "specialised destination that emphasises quality before quantity" (12). Kangaroo Island's increasing importance as an tourism destination is also significant to South Australia's ailing economy -- a fact which could impede rather than aid the island's goal to maintain control tourism management. To date they have successfully prevented large scale development. However, Democrats spokesman on Regional Development and Small Business, and local resident of the island, Ian Gilfillan, is reported to be alarmed at the South Australian government's plan to fast-track tourism development. The government's Kangaroo Island Working Group Report talks of "bypassing normal planning procedures" and claims that tourism developments should not have a maximum size imposed upon them but rather should be "determined by commercial factors". Gilfillan fears that the government's "fast-track" development policies "will not only jeopardise Kangaroo Island's unique environment, but will also ensure that profits from tourism will mostly leave the Island and go to the mainland, interstate or overseas" (Islander 22 January 1998: 1). In 1998 a residents' survey conducted by the KIDB indicated that 89 per cent of islanders felt that tourism was either "good" or "very good" for the island (Islander 14 May 1998: 2), whereas the proposed tuna farm at Penneshaw was least supported with only 17 per cent saying it was "good" or "very good" and 60 per cent saying it was "bad" or "very bad". Residents' opposition to the tuna farm is evident in a number of letters to the editor of the Islander. Newspaper articles express concern about the impact of the industry upon the local Australian sea lion population, the island's major tourist drawcard. Besides discouraging tourism, the industry might lead to the "attraction of sharks, entanglement of marine mammals and waste disposal" problems. Support from "CSIRO experts and marine researchers" also lent weight to the local position (Islander 9 Apr. 1998: 1&3). The Kangaroo Island 1999 Visitor Guide markets the island as "nature's pleasure island" implying that it welcomes low impact tourism for those who want to experience a combination of wilderness and comfort. Words such as "visitor", "guests" and "invited" construct an image of the island as a destination for those who might willingly fit Urry's definition of the Romantic traveller -- those wishing to escape so called mass or intensive tourism (46-7). A number of Letters to the Editor of the Islander reinforce the concept of the island as a supportive and hospitable community, as excerpts from the following letter illustrate: The island is magic, but it is magic because it is what it is, and the locals are unpretentious, fun loving, good hearted and innovative. Tart up the island too much and impact negatively on the natural environment and laid back style, and visitors will find somewhere else to go. Kangaroo Island is one of the last places on earth where we can experience what the planet might have been like if we hadn't wrecked it in the pursuit of wealth and power. And the locals remind us stressed out city folk of the joys of a simpler life style. (Islander 2 April 1998: 9) Trish Edwards has visited the island eight times. She advises the islanders that "visitors want to meet locals and get a feel of what it is like to live in such a magical place" and that tourism "needs the anchor of human interaction to make [a location] memorable". Her enjoyment of the island is based upon the seeming lack of "front stage/backstage" hospitality and tourist performance (MacCannell 92-93). Her letter reinforces the concern some local residents expressed to me in interviews I conducted, namely, that tourism must be contained and kept under the control of the local community so that an "invasion" does not destroy what is at the very heart of the island's appeal: its authenticity as a small rural community in a location of great natural beauty where visitors can view wildlife in its natural habitat with minimum impact to that environment. But is this realistic? Tourism is a massive global industry based on our consumer society with its insatiable demand for new experiences and new places. Travel and tourism is the world's largest industry, directly and indirectly accounting for 11.7 per cent of world's gross domestic product in 1999 (WTTC 1). There were 650 million international travellers in 1998, and predictions are that the number will double in the next decade. An estimated 30 to 40 per cent of tourist demand is for nature-based experiences (WTTC 1). This 21st century threat of invasion will be very difficult for Kangaroo Islanders to contain. References Centre for Tourism and Hotel Management Research, Griffith University, Gold Coast. Kangaroo Island Regional Tourism Profile. Adelaide: South Australian Tourism Commission, 1996. "Commission Hears of KI's Concerns." Islander 9 Apr. 1998: 1&3. Eastick, A.B. "Tourism Key to Island's Continued Growth." Islander 9 July 1998: 6. Edwards, Trish. Islander. 2 Apr. 1998: 9. "Focus is on Tourism." Islander 14 May 1998: 1-2. Kangaroo Island Tourism Commission Survey. Kent Town: Tan Research, 1998. Newnham, W.H. Kangaroo Island Sketchbook. Adelaide: Rigby, 1975. "Report Not Looking at Real Issues." Islander 22 Jan. 1998: 1. Tourism Kangaroo Island. Kangaroo Island South Australia 1999 Visitor Guide. TKI Inc. 1999. United Nations Commission on Sustainable Development. Briefing Papers, 1999. Urry, John. The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London: Sage, 1990. Warren, M. Personal interview. 16 Sep. 1998. World Travel and Tourism Council. Travel and Tourism Economic Impacts: March 1999. London: WTTC, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Sandra Brunet. "Is Sustainable Tourism Really Sustainable? Protecting the Icon in the Commodity at Sites of Invasion." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.2 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/tourism.php>. Chicago style: Sandra Brunet, "Is Sustainable Tourism Really Sustainable? Protecting the Icon in the Commodity at Sites of Invasion," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 2 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/tourism.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Sandra Brunet. (1999) Is sustainable tourism really sustainable? Protecting the icon in the commodity at sites of invasion. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(2). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/tourism.php> ([your date of access]).

IntroductionThis article is about the transformation of coffee, from having no place in the everyday lives of the people of Bangladesh, to a new position as a harbinger of liberal values and Western culture. The context is a group of Australian photojournalism students who embarked on a month-long residency in Bangladesh; the content is a Nescafé advertisement encouraging the young, middle-class Bangladesh audience to consume coffee, in a marketing campaign that promotes “my first cup.” For the Australian students, the marketing positioning of this advertising campaign transformed instant coffee into a strange and unfamiliar commodity. At the same time, the historic association between Bangladesh and tea prompted one of the photographers to undertake her own journey to explore the hidden side of that other Western staple. This paper explores the tradition of tea culture in Bangladesh and the marketing campaign for instant coffee within this culture, combining the authors’ experiences and perspectives. The outline of the Photomedia unit in the Bachelor of Creative Industries degree that the students were working towards at Edith Cowan University (ECU) in Australia states that:students will engage with practices, issues and practicalities of working as a photojournalist in an international, cross cultural context. Students will work in collaboration with students of Pathshala: South Asian Institute of Photography, Dhaka Bangladesh in the research, production and presentation of stories related to Bangladeshi society and culture for distribution to international audiences (ECU). The sixteen students from Perth, living and working in Bangladesh between 5 January and 7 February 2012, exhibited a diverse range of cultures, contexts, and motivations. Young Australians, along with a number of ECU’s international students, including some from Norway, China and Sweden, were required to learn first-hand about life in Bangladesh, one of the world’s poorest and most densely populated countries. Danielle Fusco and ECU lecturer Duncan Barnes collaborated with staff and students of Pathshala, South Asian Media Institute (Pathshala). Their recollections and observations on tea production and the location are central to this article but it is the questions asked by the group about the marketing of instant coffee into this culture that provides its tensions. Fusco completed a week-long induction and then travelled in Bangladesh for a fortnight to research and photograph individual stories on rural and urban life. Barnes here sets the scene for the project, describing the expectations and what actually happened: When we travel to countries that are vastly different to our own it is often to seek out that difference; to go in search of the romanticised ideals that have been portrayed as paradise in films, books and photographs. “The West” has long been fascinated with “The East” (Said) and for the past half century, since the hippie treks to Marrakesh and Afghanistan, people have journeyed overland to the Indian sub-continent, both from Europe and from Australia, yearning for a cultural experience they cannot find at home. Living in Perth, Western Australia, sometimes called the most isolated capital city in the world, that pull to something “different” is like a magnet. Upon arrival in Dhaka, you find yourself deliciously overwhelmed by the heavy traffic, the crowded markets, the spicy foods and the milky lassie drinks. It only takes a few stomach upsets to make your Western appetite start kicking in and you begin craving things you have at home but that are hard to find in Bangladesh. Take coffee for example. I recently completed a month-long visit to Bangladesh, which, like India, is a nation of tea drinkers. Getting any kind of good coffee requires that you be in what expatriates call “the Golden Triangle” of Dhaka city—within the area contained by Gulshan-Banani-Baridhara. Here you find the embassies and a sizeable expatriate community that constitutes a Western bubble unrepresentative of Bangladesh beyond these districts. Coffee World is an example of a Western-style café chain that, as the name suggests, serves coffee beverages. It has trouble making a quality flat white. The baristas are poorly trained, the service is painfully slow, yet the prices are comparable to those in the West. Even with these disadvantages, it is frequented by Westerners who also make use of the free WiFi. In contrast, tea is available at every road junction for around 5 cents Australian. It’s ready in seconds: the kettle is always hot due to a constant turnover of local customers. It was the history of tea growing in Bangladesh, and a desire to know more about a commodity that people in the West take for granted, that most attracted Fusco’s interest. She chose to focus on Bangladesh’s oldest commercial tea garden (plantation) Sylhet, which has been in production since 1857 (Tea Board). As is the case with many tea farms in the Indian sub-continent, the workers at Sylhet are part of Bangladesh’s Hindu minority. Fusco left Dhaka and travelled into the rural areas to investigate tea production: Venturing into these estates from the city is like entering an entirely different world. They are isolated places, and although they are close in distance, they are completely separate from the main city. Spending time in the Khadim tea estate amongst the plantations and the workers’ compounds made me very aware of the strong relationship that exists between them. The Hindu teaching of Samsara refers to the continuous cycle of repeated birth, life, death and rebirth [Hinduism], which became a metaphor for me, for this relationship I was experiencing. It is clear that neither farm [where the tea is grown] nor village [which houses the people] could live without each other. The success and maintenance of the tea farm relies on the workers just as much as the workers rely on the tea gardens for their livelihood and sustenance. Their life cycles are intertwined and in synch. There are many problems in the compounds. The people are extremely poor. Their education opportunities are limited, and they work incredibly hard for very little money for their entire lives. They are bound to stay and work here and as those generations before them, were born, worked and died here, living their whole lives in the community of the tea farm. By documenting the lives of the people, I realised I was documenting the process of the lives of the tea trees at the same time. This is how I met Lolita.Figure 1. Bangladeshi tea worker, Lolita, stands in a small section of the Khadim tea plantation in the early morning. Sylhet, Bangladesh (Danielle Fusco, Jan. 2012). This woman emulated everything I was seeing and feeling about the village and the garden. She spoke about the reliance on the trees, especially because of the money and, therefore, the food, they provide for her and her husband. I became aware of the injustice of this system because the workers are paid so little while this industry is booming. It was obvious that life here is far from perfect, but as Lolita explains, they make do. She has worked on the tea estate for decades. As her husband is no longer working, she is the primary income earner. They are able, however, to live in relative comfort now their children have all married and left and it is just the two of them. Lolita describes that money lies within these trees. Money for her means that she can eat that day. Money for the managers means industrial success. Either way, whether it is in the eyes of the individual or the industry, tea always comes down to Taka [the currency of Bangladesh]. Marketing Coffee in a Culture of Tea and Betel Nut With such a strong culture of tea production and consumption and a coffee culture just existing on the fringe, a campaign by Nescafé to encourage Bangladeshi consumers to have “my first cup” of Nescafé instant coffee at the time of this study captured the imagination of the students. How effective can the marketing of Nescafé instant coffee be in a society that is historically a producer and consumer of tea, and which also still embraces the generations-old use of the betel nut as an everyday stimulant? Although it only employs some 150,000 (Islam et al.) in a nation of 150 million people, tea makes an important contribution to the Bangladesh economy. Shortly after the 1971 civil war, in which East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) became independent from West Pakistan (now Pakistan), the then-Chairman of the Bangladesh Tea Board, writing in World Development, commented:In the highly competitive marketing environment of today it is extremely necessary for the tea industry of Bangladesh to increase production by raising the per acre yield, improve quality by adoption of finer plucking standards and modernization of factories and reduce per unit cost of production so as to be able to sell more of our teas to foreign markets and thereby earn higher amounts of much needed foreign exchange for the country as well as generate additional resources within the industry for ploughing back for further development (Ali 55). In Bangladesh, tea is a cash crop that, even in the 1970s following vicious conflicts, is more than capable of meeting local demand and producing an export dividend. Coffee is imported commodity that, historically, has had little place in Bangladeshi life or culture. However important tea is, it is not the traditional Bangladesh stimulant. Instead, over the years, when people in the West would have had a cup of tea or coffee and/or a cigarette, most Bangladeshis have turned to the betel nut. A 2005 study of 100 citizens from Araihazar, Bangladesh, conducted by researchers from Columbia University, found that coffee consumption is “very low in this population” (Hafeman et al. 567). The purpose of the study was to assess the impact of betel quids (the wad of masticated nut) and the chewing of betel nuts, upon tremor. For this reason, it was important to record the consumption of stimulants in the 98 participants who progressed to the next stage of the study and took a freehand spiral-drawing test. While “26 (27%) participants had chewed betel quids, 23 (23%) had smoked one or more cigarettes, [and] 14 (14%) drank tea; on that day, only 1 (1%) drank caffeinated soda, and none (0%) drank coffee” (Hafeman et al. 568). Given its addictive and carcinogenic properties (Sharma), the people who chewed betel quids were more likely to exhibit tremor in their spiral drawings than the people who did not. As this (albeit small) study suggests, the preferred Bangladeshi stimulant is more likely to be betel or tobacco rather than a beverage. Insofar as hot drinks are consumed, Bangladesh citizens drink tea. This poses a significant challenge for multinational advertisers who seek to promote the consumption of instant coffee as a means of growing the global market for Nescafé. Marketing Nescafé to Bangladesh In Dhaka, in January 2012, the television campaign slogan for Nescafé is “My first cup”, with the tagline, “Time you started.” This Nescafé television commercial (NTC) impressed itself upon the Australian visitors, both in terms of its frequency of broadcast and in its referencing of Western culture and values. (The advertisement can be viewed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2E8mFX43oAM). The NTC’s three stars, Vir Das, Purab Kohli, and leading Bollywood actress Deepika Padukone, are highly-recognisable to young Bangladeshi audiences and the storyline is part of a developing series of advertisements which together form a mini-soap opera, like that used so successfully to advertise the Nescafé Gold Blend brand of instant coffee in the West in the 1980s to 1990s (O’Donohoe 242; Beale). The action takes place in Kohli’s affluent, Western-style apartment. The drama starts with Das challenging Kohli regarding whether he has successfully developed a relationship with his attractive neighbour, Padukone. Using a combination of local language with English words and sub-titles, the first sequence is captioned: “Any progress with Deepika, or are you still mixing coffee?” Suggesting incredulity, and that he could do better, Das asks Kohli, according to the next subtitle, “What are you doing dude?” The use of the word “dude” clearly refers to American youth culture, familiar in such movies as Dude, where’s my car? This is underlined by the immediate transition to the English words of “bikes … biceps … chest … explosion.” Of these four words only “chest” is pronounced in the local tongue, although all four words are included as captions in English. Kohli appears less and less impressed as Das becomes increasingly insistent, with Das going on to express frustration with Kohli through the exclamation “u don’t even have a plan.” The use of the text-speak English “u” here can be constructed as another way of persuading young Bangladeshi viewers that this advertisement is directed at them: the “u” in place of “you” is likely to annoy their English-speaking elders. Das continues speaking in his mother tongue, with the subtitle “Deepika padukone [sic] is your neighbour and you are only drinking coffee,” with the subsequent subtitle emphasising: “Deepika and only coffee.” At this point, Padukone enters the apartment through the open door without knocking and confidently says “Hi.” Kohli explains the situation by responding (in English, and subtitled) “my school friend, Das”. Padukone, in turn, responds in a friendly way to both men (in English, and subtitled) “You guys want to have coffee?” Instead of responding directly to this invitation, Das models to Kohli what it is to take the initiative in this situation: what it is to have a plan. “Hello” (he says, in English and subtitled) “I don’t have coffee but I have a plan. You and me, my bike, right now, hit the town, party!” Kohli looks down at the floor, embarrassed, while Padukone looks quizzically at him over Das’s shoulder. Kohli smiles, and points to himself and Padukone, clearly excluding Das: “I will have coffee” (in English, and subtitle). “Better plan”, exclaims Padukone, “You and me, my place, right now, coffee.” She looks challengingly at Das: “Right?,” a statement rather than a request, and exits, with Kohli following and Das left behind in the apartment. Cue voice-over (not a subtitle, but in-screen speech bubble) “[It’s] time you started” (spoken) “the new Nescafé” (shot change) “My first cup” (with an in-screen price promotion). This commercial associates coffee drinking with Western values of social and personal autonomy. For young women in the traditional Muslim culture of Bangladesh, it suggests a world in which they are at liberty to spend time with the suitors they choose, ignoring those whom they find pushy or inappropriate, and free to invite a man back to “my place, right now” for coffee. The scene setting in this advertisement and the use of English in both the spoken and written text suggests its target is the educated middle class, and indicates that sophisticated, affluent, trend-setters drink coffee as a part of getting to know their neighbours. In line with this, the still which ends the commercial promotes the Facebook page “Know your neighbours.” The flirtatious nature of the actors in the advertisement, the emphasis on each of the male characters spending time alone with the female character, and the female character having both power and choice in this situation is likely to be highly unacceptable to traditional Bangladeshi parental values and, therefore, proportionately more exciting to the target audience. The underlying suggestion of “my first cup” and “time you started” is that the social consumption of that first cup of coffee is the “first step” to becoming more Western. The statement also has overtones of sexual initiation. The advertisement aligns itself with the world portrayed in the Western media consumed in Bangladesh, and the implication is that—even if Western liberal values are not currently a possible choice for all—it is at least feasible to start on the journey towards these values through drinking that first cup of coffee. Unbeknownst to the Bangladesh audience, this Nescafé marketing strategy echoes, in almost all material particulars, the same approach that was so successful in persuading Australians to embrace instant coffee. Khamis, in her essay on Australia and the convenience of instant coffee, argues that, while in 1928 Australia had the highest per capita consumption of tea in the world, this had begun to change by the 1950s. The transformation in the market positioning of coffee was partly achieved through an association between tea and old-fashioned ‘Britishness’ and coffee and the United States: this discovery [of coffee] spoke to changes in Australia’s lifestyle options: the tea habit was tied to Australia’s development as a far-flung colonial outpost, a daily reminder that many still looked to London as the nation’s cultural capital: the growing appeal of instant coffee reflected a widening and more nuanced cultural palate. This was not just ‘another’ example of the United States postwar juggernaut; it marks the transitional phase in Australia’s history, as its cultural identity was informed less by the staid conservativism of Britain than the heady flux of New World glamour (219). Coffee was associated with the USA not simply through advertising but also through cultural exposure. By 1943, notes Khamis, there were 120,000 American service personnel stationed in Australia and she quotes Symons (168) as saying that “when an American got on a friendly footing with an Australian family he was usually found in the kitchen, teaching the Mrs how to make coffee, or washing the dishes” (168, cited in Khamis 220). The chances were that “the Mrs”—the Australian housewife—felt she needed the tuition: an Australian survey conducted by Gallup in March 1950 indicated that 55 per cent of respondents at that time had never tried coffee, while a further 24 per cent said they “seldom” consumed it (Walker and Roberts 133, cited in Khamis 222). In a newspaper article titled, “Overpaid, Oversexed and Over Here”, Munro describes the impact of exposure to the first American troops based in Australia during this time, with a then seven year old recalling: “They were foreign, quite a different culture from us. They spoke more loudly than us. They had strange accents, cute expressions, they were really very exotic.” The American troops caused consternation for Australian fathers and boyfriends. Dulcie Wood was 18 when she was dating an American serviceman: They had more money to spend (than Australian troops). They seemed to have plenty of supplies, they were always bringing you presents—stockings and cartons of cigarettes […] Their uniforms were better. They took you to more places. They were quite good dancers, some of them. They always brought you flowers. They were more polite to women. They charmed the mums because they were very polite. Some dads were a bit more sceptical of them. They weren’t sure if all that charm was genuine (quoted in Munro). Darian-Smith argues that, at that time, Australian understanding of Americans was based on Hollywood films, which led to an impression of American technological superiority and cultural sophistication (215-16, 232). “Against the American-style combination of smart advertising, consumerism, self-expression and popular democracy, the British class system and its buttoned-up royals appeared dull and dour” writes Khamis (226, citing Grant 15)—almost as dull and dour as 1950s tea compared with the postwar sophistication of Nescafé instant coffee. Conclusion The approach Nestlé is using in Bangladesh to market instant coffee is tried and tested: coffee is associated with the new, radical cultural influence while tea and other traditional stimulants are relegated to the choice of an older, more staid generation. Younger consumers are targeted with a romantic story about the love of coffee, reflected in a mini-soap opera about two people becoming a couple over a cup of Nescafé. Hopefully, the Pathshala-Edith Cowan University collaboration is at least as strong. Some of the overseas visitors return to Bangladesh on a regular basis—the student presentations in 2012 were, for instance, attended by two visiting graduates from the 2008 program who were working in Bangladesh. For the Australian participants, the association with Pathshala, South Asian Media Institute, and Drik Photo Agency brings recognition, credibility and opportunity. It also offers a totally new perspective on what to order in the coffee queue once they are home again in Australia. Postscript The final week of the residency in Bangladesh was taken up with presentations and a public exhibition of the students’ work at Drik Picture Agency, Dhaka, 3–7 February 2012. Danielle Fusco’s photographs can be accessed at: http://public-files.apps.ecu.edu.au/SCA_Marketing/coffee/coffee.html References Ali, M. “Commodity Round-up: Problems and Prospects of Bangladesh Tea”, World Development 1.1–2 (1973): 55. Beale, Claire. “Should the Gold Blend Couple Get Back Together?” The Independent 29 Apr 2010. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.independent.co.uk/news/media/advertising/should-the-gold-blend-couple-get-back-together-1957196.html›. Darian-Smith, Kate. On the Home Front: Melbourne in Wartime 1939-1945. 2nd ed. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2009. Dude, Where’s My Car? Dir. Danny Leiner. Twentieth Century Fox, 2000. Edith Cowan University (ECU). “Photomedia Summer School Bangladesh 2012.” 1 May 2012 .Grant, Bruce. The Australian Dilemma: A New Kind of Western Society. Sydney: Macdonald Futura, 1983. Hafeman, D., H. Ashan, T. Islam, and E. Louis. “Betel-quid: Its Tremor-producing Effects in Residents of Araihazar, Bangladesh.” Movement Disorders 21.4 (2006): 567-71. Hinduism. “Reincarnation and Samsara.” Heart of Hinduism. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://hinduism.iskcon.org/concepts/102.htm›. Islam, G., M. Iqbal, K. Quddus, and M. Ali. “Present Status and Future Needs of Tea Industry in Bangladesh (Review).” Proceedings of the Pakistan Academy of Science. 42.4 (2005): 305-14. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.paspk.org/downloads/proc42-4/42-4-p305-314.pdf›. Khamis, Susie. “It Only Takes a Jiffy to Make: Nestlé, Australia and the Convenience of Instant Coffee.” Food, Culture & Society 12.2 (2009): 217-33. Munro, Ian. “Overpaid, Oversexed and Over Here.” The Age 27 Feb. 2002. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2002/02/26/1014704950716.html›. O’Donohoe, Stephanie. “Raiding the Postmodern Pantry: Advertising Intertextuality and the Young Adult Audience.” European Journal of Marketing 31.3/4 (1997): 234-53 Pathshala. Pathshala, South Asian Media Academy. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.pathshala.net/controller.php›. Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books, 1978. Sharma, Dinesh. “Betel Quid and Areca Nut are Carcinogenic without Tobacco.” The Lancet Oncology 4.10 (2003): 587. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.lancet.com/journals/lanonc/article/PIIS1470-2045(03)01229-4/fulltext›. Symons, Michael. One Continuous Picnic: A History of Eating in Australia. Ringwood, Vic: Penguin, 1984. Tea Board. “History of Bangladesh Tea Industry.” Bangladesh Tea Board. 8 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.teaboard.gov.bd/index.php?option=HistoryTeaIndustry›. Walker, Robin and Dave Roberts. From Scarcity to Surfeit: A History of Food and Nutrition in New South Wales. Sydney: NSW UP, 1988.

IntroductionAustralia is at a particular point in its history where there is a noticeable diaspora of artists and creative practitioners away from the major capitals of Sydney and Melbourne (in particular), driven in no small part by ballooning house prices of the last eight years. This has meant big changes for some regional spaces, and in turn, for the face of Australian cultural life. Regional cultural precincts are forming with tourist flows, funding attention and cultural economies. Likewise, there appears to be growing consciousness in the ‘art centres’ of Melbourne and Sydney of interesting and relevant activities outside their limits. This research draws on my experience as an art practitioner, curator and social researcher in one such region (Castlemaine in Central Victoria), and particularly from a recent interview series I have conducted in collaboration with art space in that region, Wide Open Road Art. In this, 23 regional and city-based artists were asked about the social, economic and local conditions that can and have supported their art practices. Drawing from these conversations and Bourdieu’s ideas around cultural production, the article suggests that authentic, diverse, interesting and disruptive creative practices in Australian cultural life involve the increasingly pressing need for security while existing outside the modern imperative of high consumption; of finding alternative ways to live well while entering into the shared space of cultural production. Indeed, it is argued that often it is the capacity to defy key economic paradigms, for example of ‘rational (economic) self-interest’, that allows creative life to flourish (Bourdieu Field; Ley “Artists”). While regional spaces present new opportunities for this, there are pitfalls and nuances worth exploring.Changes in Regional AustraliaAustralia has long been an urbanising nation. Since Federation our cities have increased from a third to now constituting two-thirds of the country’s total population (Gray and Lawrence 6; ABS), making us one of the most urbanised countries in the world. Indeed, as machines replaced manual labour on farms; as Australia’s manufacturing industry began its decline; and as young people in particular left the country for city universities (Gray and Lawrence), the post-war industrial-economic boom drove this widespread demographic and economic shift. In the 1980s closures of regional town facilities like banks, schools and hospitals propelled widespread belief that regional Australia was in crisis and would be increasingly difficult to sustain (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; Gray and Lawrence 2; Barr et al.; ABS). However, the late 1990s and early 21st century saw a turnaround that has been referred to by some as the rise of the ‘sea change’. That is, widespread renewed interest and idealisation of not just coastal areas but anywhere outside the city (Murphy). It was a simultaneous pursuit of “a small ‘a’ alternative lifestyle” and escape from rising living costs in urban areas, especially for the unemployed, single parents and those with disabilities (Murphy). This renewed interest has been sustained. The latest wave, or series of waves, have coincided with the post-GFC house price spike, of cheap credit and lenient lending designed to stimulate the economy. This initiative in part led to Sydney and Melbourne median dwelling prices rising by up to 114% in eight years (Scutt 2017), which alone had a huge influence on who was able to afford to live in city areas and who was not. Rapid population increases and diminished social networks and familial support are also considered drivers that sent a wave of people (a million since 2011) towards the outer fringes of the cities and to ‘commuter belt’ country towns (Docherty; Murphy). While the underprivileged are clearly most disadvantaged in what has actually been a global development process (see Jayne on this, and on the city as a consumer itself), artists and creatives are also a unique category who haven’t fared well with hyper-urbanisation (Ley “Artists”). Despite the class privilege that often accompanies such a career choice, the economic disadvantage art professions often involve has seen a diaspora of artists moving to regional areas, particularly those in the hinterlands around and train lines to major centres. We see the recent ‘rise of a regional bohemia’ (Regional Australia Institute): towns like Toowoomba, Byron Bay, Surf Coast, Gold Coast-Tweed, Kangaroo Valley, Wollongong, Warburton, Bendigo, Tooyday, New Norfolk, and countless more being re-identified as arts towns and precincts. In Australia in 2016–17, 1 in 6 professional artists, and 1 in 4 visual artists, were living in a regional town (Throsby and Petetskaya). Creative arts in regional Australia makes up a quarter of the nation’s creative output and is a $2.8 billion industry; and our regions particularly draw in creative practitioners in their prime productive years (aged 24 to 44) (Regional Australia Institute).WORA Conservation SeriesIn 2018 artist and curator Helen Mathwin and myself received a local shire grant to record a conversation series with 23 artists who were based in the Central Goldfields region of Victoria as well as further afield, but who had a connection to the regional arts space we run, WideOpenRoadArt (WORA). In videoed, in-depth, approximately hour-long, semi-structured interviews conducted throughout 2018, we spoke to artists (16 women and 7 men) about the relocation phenomenon we were witnessing in our own growing arts town. Most were interviewed in WORA’s roving art float, but we seized any ad hoc opportunity we had to have genuine discussions with people. Focal points were around sustainability of practice and the social conditions that supported artists’ professional pursuits. This included accessing an arts community, circles of cultural production, and the ‘art centre’; the capacity to exhibit; but also, social factors such as affordable housing and the ability to live on a low-income while having dependants; and so on. The conversations were rich with lived experiences and insights on these issues.Financial ImperativesIn line with the discussion above, the most prominent factor we noticed in the interviews was the inescapable importance of being able to live cheaply. The consistent message that all of the interviewees, both regional- and city-based, conveyed was that a career in art-making required an important independence from the need to earn a substantial income. One interviewee commented: “I do run my art as a business, I have an ABN […] it makes a healthy loss! I don’t think I’ve ever made a profit […].” Another put it: “now that I’m in [this] town and I have a house and stuff I do feel like there is maybe a bit more security around those daily things that will hopefully give me space to [make artworks].”Much has been said on the pervasive inability to monetise art careers, notably Bourdieu’s observations that art exists on an interdependent field of cultural capital, determining for itself an autonomous conception of value separate to economics (Bourdieu, Field 39). This is somewhat similar to the idea of art as a sacred phenomenon irreducible to dollar terms (Abbing 38; see also Benjamin’s “aura”; “The Work of Art”). Art’s difficult relationship with commodification is part of its heroism that Benjamin described (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79), its potential to sanctify mainstream society by staying separate to the lowly aspirations of commerce (Ley “Artists” 2529). However, it is understood, artists still need to attain professional education and capacities, yet they remain at the bottom of the income ladder not only professionally, but in the case of visual artists, they remain at the bottom of the creative income hierarchies as well. Further to this, within visual arts, only a tiny proportion achieve financially backed success (Menger 277). “Artistic labour markets are characterised by high risk of failure, excess supply of recruits, low artistic income level, skewed income distribution and multiple jobholding” (Mangset, Torvik Heian, Kleppe, and Løyland; Menger). Mangset et al. point to ideas that have long surrounded the “charismatic artist myth,” of a quasi-metaphysical calling to be an artist that can lead one to overlook the profession’s vast pitfalls in terms of economic sustainability. One interviewee described it as follows: “From a very young age I wanted to be an artist […] so there’s never been a time that I’ve thought that’s not what I’m doing.” A 1% rule seems widely acknowledged in how the profession manages the financial winners against those who miss out; the tiny proportion of megastar artists versus a vast struggling remainder.As even successful artists often dip below the poverty line between paid engagements, housing costs can make the difference between being able to live in an area and not (Turnbull and Whitford). One artist described:[the reason we moved here from Melbourne] was financial, yes definitely. We wouldn’t have been able to purchase a property […] in Melbourne, we would not have been able to live in place that we wanted to live, and to do what we wanted to do […]. It was never an option for us to get a big mortgage.Another said:It partly came about as a financial practicality to move out here. My partner […] wanted to be in the bush, but I was resistant at first, we were in Melbourne but we just couldn’t afford Melbourne in the end, we had an apartment, we had a studio. My partner was a cabinet maker then. You know, just every month all our money went to rent and we just couldn’t manage anymore. So we thought, well maybe if we come out to the bush […] It was just by a happy accident that we found a property […] that we could afford, that was off-grid so it cut the bills down for us [...] that had a little studio and already had a little cottage on there that we could rent that out to get money.For a prominent artist we spoke to this issue was starkly reflected. Despite large exhibitions at some of the highest profile galleries in regional Victoria, the commissions offered for these shows were so insubstantial that the artist and their family had to take on staggering sums of personal debt to execute the ambitious and critically acclaimed shows. Another very successful artist we interviewed who had shown widely at ‘A-list’ international arts institutions and received several substantial grants, spoke of their dismay and pessimism at the idea of financial survival. For all artists we spoke to, pursuing their arts practice was in constant tension with economic imperatives, and their lives had all been shaped by the need to make shrewd decisions to continue practising. There were two artists out of the 23 we interviewed who considered their artwork able to provide full-time income, although this still relied on living costs remaining extremely low. “We are very lucky to have bought a very cheap property [in the country] that I can [also] have my workshop on, so I’m not paying for two properties in Melbourne […] So that certainly takes a fair bit of pressure off financially.” Their co-interviewee described this as “pretty luxurious!” Notably, the two who thought they could live off their art practices were both men, mid-career, whose works were large, spectacular festival items, which alongside the artists’ skill and hard work was also a factor in the type of remuneration received.Decongested LivingBeyond more affordable real estate and rental spaces, life outside our cities offers other benefits that have particular relevance to creative practitioners. Opera and festival director Lindy Hume described her move to the NSW South Coast in terms of space to think and be creative. “The abundance of time, space and silence makes living in places like [Hume’s town] ideal for creating new work” (Brown). And certainly, this was a theme that arose frequently in our interviews. Many of our regionally based artists were in part choosing the de-pressurised space of non-metro areas, and also seeking an embedded, daily connection to nature for themselves, their art-making process and their families. In one interview this was described as “dreamtime”. “Some of my more creative moments are out walking in the forest with the dog, that sort of semi-daydreamy thing where your mind is taken away by the place you’re in.”Creative HubsAll of our regional interviewees mentioned the value of the local community, as a general exchange, social support and like-minded connection, but also specifically of an arts community. Whether a tree change by choice or a more reactive move, the diaspora of artists, among others, has led to a type of rural renaissance in certain popular areas. Creative hubs located around the country, often in close proximity to the urban centres, are creating tremendous opportunities to network with other talented people doing interesting things, living in close proximity and often open to cross-fertilisation. One said: “[Castlemaine] is the best place in Australia, it has this insane cultural richness in a tiny town, you can’t go out and not meet people on the street […] For someone who has not had community in their life that is so gorgeous.” Another said:[Being an artist here] is kind of easy! Lots of people around to connect—with […] other artists but also creatively minded people [...] So it means you can just bump into someone from down the street and have an amazing conversation in five minutes about some amazing thing! […] There’s a concentration here that works.With these hubs, regional spaces are entering into a new relevance in the sphere of cultural production. They are generating unique and interesting local creative scenes for people to live amongst or visit, and generating strong local arts economies, tourist economies, and funding opportunities (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans). Victoria in particular has burgeoned, with tourist flows to its regions increasing 13 per cent in 5 years and generating tourism worth $10 billion (Tourism Victoria). Victoria’s Greater Bendigo is Australia’s most popularly searched tourist destination on Trip Advisor, with tourism increasing 52% in 10 years (Boland). Simultaneously, funding flows have increased to regional zones, as governments seek to promote development outside Australia’s urban centres and are confident in the arts as a key strategy in boosting health, economies and overall wellbeing (see Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; see also the 2018 Regional Centre for Culture initiative, Boland). The regions are also an increasingly relevant participant in national cultural life (Turnbull and Whitford; Mitchell; Simpson; Woodhead). Opportunities for an openness to productive exchange between regional and metropolitan sites appear to be growing, with regional festivals and art events gaining importance and unique attributes in the consciousness of the arts ‘centre’ (see for example Fairley; Simpson; Farrelly; Woodhead).Difficulties of Regional LocationDespite this, our interviews still brought to light the difficulties and barriers experienced living as a regional artist. For some, living in regional Victoria was an accepted set-back in their ambitions, something to be concealed and counteracted with education in reputable metropolitan art schools or city-based jobs. For others there was difficulty accessing a sympathetic arts community—although arts towns had vibrant cultures, certain types of creativity were preferred (often craft-based and more community-oriented). Practitioners who were active in maintaining their links to a metropolitan art scene voiced more difficulty in fitting in and successfully exhibiting their (often more conceptual or boundary-pushing) work in regional locations.The Gentrification ProblemThe other increasingly obvious issue in the revivification of some non-metropolitan areas is that they can and are already showing signs of being victims of their own success. That is, some regional arts precincts are attracting so many new residents that they are ceasing to be the low-cost, hospitable environments for artists they once were. Geographer David Ley has given attention to this particular pattern of gentrification that trails behind artists (Ley “Artists”). Ley draws from Florida’s ideas of late capitalism’s ascendency of creativity over the brute utilitarianism of the industrial era. This has got to the point that artists and creative professionals have an increasing capacity to shape and generate value in areas of life that were previous overlooked, especially with built environments (2529). Now more than ever, there is the “urbane middle-class” pursuing ‘the swirling milieu of artists, bohemians and immigrants” (Florida) as they create new, desirable landscapes with the “refuse of society” (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79; Ley New Middle Class). With Australia’s historic shifts in affordability in our major cities, this pattern that Ley identified in urban built environments can be seen across our states and regions as well.But with gentrification comes increased costs of living, as housing, shops and infrastructure all alter for an affluent consumer-resident. This diminishes what Bourdieu describes as “the suspension and removal of economic necessity” fundamental to the avant-garde (Bourdieu Distinction 54). That is to say, its relief from heavy pressure to materially survive is arguably critical to the reflexive, imaginative, and truly new offerings that art can provide. And as argued earlier, there seems an inbuilt economic irrationality in artmaking as a vocation—of dedicating one’s energy, time and resources to a pursuit that is notoriously impoverishing. But this irrationality may at the same time be critical to setting forth new ideas, perspectives, reflections and disruptions of taken-for-granted social assumptions, and why art is so indispensable in the first place (Bourdieu Field 39; Ley New Middle Class 2531; Weber on irrationality and the Enlightenment Project; also Adorno’s the ‘primitive’ in art). Australia’s cities, like those of most developed nations, increasingly demand we busy ourselves with the high-consumption of modern life that makes certain activities that sit outside this almost impossible. As gentrification unfolds from the metropolis to the regions, Australia faces a new level of far-reaching social inequality that has real consequences for who is able to participate in art-making, where these people can live, and ultimately what kind of diversity of ideas and voices participate in the generation of our national cultural life. ConclusionThe revival of some of Australia’s more popular regional towns has brought new life to some regional areas, particularly in reshaping their identities as cultural hubs worth experiencing, living amongst or supporting their development. Our interviews brought to life the significant benefits artists have experienced in relocating to country towns, whether by choice or necessity, as well as some setbacks. It was clear that economics played a major role in the demographic shift that took place in the area being examined; more specifically, that the general reorientation of social life towards consumption activities are having dramatic spatial consequences that we are currently seeing transform our major centres. The ability of art and creative practices to breathe new life into forgotten and devalued ideas and spaces is a foundational attribute but one that also creates a gentrification problem. Indeed, this is possibly the key drawback to the revivification of certain regional areas, alongside other prejudices and clashes between metro and regional cultures. It is argued that the transformative and redemptive actions art can perform need to involve the modern irrationality of not being transfixed by matters of economic materialism, so as to sit outside taken-for-granted value structures. This emphasises the importance of equality and open access in our spaces and landscapes if we are to pursue a vibrant, diverse and progressive national cultural sphere.ReferencesAbbing, Hans. Why Artists Are Poor: The Exceptional Economy of the Arts. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2002.Adorno, Theodor. Aesthetic Theory. London: Routledge, 1983.Australian Bureau of Statistics. “Population Growth: Capital City Growth and Development.” 4102.0—Australian Social Trends. 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New York: Columbia UP, 1993.Brown, Bill. “‘Restless Giant’ Lures Queensland Opera’s Artistic Director Lindy Hume to the Regional Art Movement.” ABC News 13 Sep. 2017. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-09-12/regional-creative-industries-on-the-rise/8895842>.Docherty, Glenn. “Why 5 Million Australians Can’t Get to Work, Home or School on Time.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Feb. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/why-5-million-australians-can-t-get-to-work-home-or-school-on-time-20190215-p50y1x.html>.Fairley, Gina. “Big Hit Exhibitions to See These Summer Holidays.” Arts Hub 14 Dec. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/news/visual-arts/gina-fairley/big-hit-exhibitions-to-see-these-summer-holidays-257016>.Farrelly, Kate. “Bendigo: The Regional City That’s Transformed into a Foodie and Cultural Hub.” Domain 9 Apr. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.domain.com.au/news/bendigo-the-regional-city-you-didnt-expect-to-become-a-foodie-and-cultural-hub-813317/>.Florida, Richard. “A Creative, Dynamic City Is an Open, Tolerant City.” The Globe and Mail 24 Jun. 2002: T8.Gray, Ian, and Geoffrey Lawrence. A Future For Regional Australia: Escaping Global Misfortune. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.Hume, Lindy. Restless Giant: Changing Cultural Values in Regional Australia. Strawberry Hills: Currency House, 2017.Jayne, Mark. Cities and Consumption. London: Routledge, 2005.Ley, David. The New Middle Class and the Remaking of the Central City. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.———. “Artists, Aestheticisation and Gentrification.” Urban Studies 40.12 (2003): 2527–44.Menger, Pierre-Michel. “Artistic Labor Markets: Contingent Works, Excess Supply and Occupational Risk Management.” Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture. Eds. Victor Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. 766–811.Mangset, Per, Mari Torvik Heian, Bard Kleppe and Knut Løyland. “Why Are Artists Getting Poorer: About the Reproduction of Low Income among Artists.” International Journal of Cultural Policy 24.4 (2018): 539-58.Mitchell, Scott. “Want to Start Collecting Art But Don’t Know Where to Begin? Trust Your Own Taste, plus More Tips.” ABC Life, 31 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/life/tips-for-buying-art-starting-collection/10084036>.Murphy, Peter. “Sea Change: Re-Inventing Rural and Regional Australia.” Transformations 2 (March 2002).Regional Australia Institute. “The Rise of the Regional Bohemians.” Regional Australia Institute 24 May. 2017. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://www.regionalaustralia.org.au/home/2017/05/rise-regional-bohemians-painting-new-picture-arts-culture-regional-australia/>.Rentschler, Ruth, Kerrie Bridson, and Jody Evans. Regional Arts Australia Stats and Stories: The Impact of the Arts in Regional Australia. Regional Arts Australia [n.d.]. <https://www.cacwa.org.au/documents/item/477>.Simpson, Andrea. “The Regions: Delivering Exceptional Arts Experiences to the Community.” ArtsHub 11 Apr. 2019. <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/sponsored-content/visual-arts/andrea-simpson/the-regions-delivering-exceptional-arts-experiences-to-the-community-257752>.

Introduction: Bubbles and Sport The ephemeral materiality of bubbles – beautiful, spectacular, and distracting but ultimately fragile – when applied to protect or conserve in the interests of sport-media profit, creates conditions that exacerbate existing inequalities in sport and society. Bubbles are usually something to watch, admire, and chase after in their brief yet shiny lives. There is supposed to be, technically, nothing inside them other than one or more gasses, and yet we constantly refer to people and objects being inside bubbles. The metaphor of the bubble has been used to describe the life of celebrities, politicians in purpose-built capital cities like Canberra, and even leftist, environmentally activist urban dwellers. The metaphorical and material qualities of bubbles are aligned—they cannot be easily captured and are liable to change at any time. In this article we address the metaphorical sporting bubble, which is often evoked in describing life in professional sport. This is a vernacular term used to capture and condemn the conditions of life of elite sportspeople (usually men), most commonly after there has been a sport-related scandal, especially of a sexual nature (Rowe). It is frequently paired with connotatively loaded adjectives like pampered and indulged. The sporting bubble is rarely interrogated in academic literature, the concept largely being left to the media and moral entrepreneurs. It is represented as involving a highly privileged but also pressurised life for those who live inside it. A sporting bubble is a world constructed for its most prized inhabitants that enables them to be protected from insurgents and to set the terms of their encounters with others, especially sport fans and disciplinary agents of the state. The Covid-19 pandemic both reinforced and reconfigured the operational concept of the bubble, re-arranging tensions between safety (protecting athletes) and fragility (short careers, risks of injury, etc.) for those within, while safeguarding those without from bubble contagion. Privilege and Precarity Bubble-induced social isolation, critics argue, encourages a loss of perspective among those under its protection, an entitled disconnection from the usual rules and responsibilities of everyday life. For this reason, the denizens of the sporting bubble are seen as being at risk to themselves and, more troublingly, to those allowed temporarily to penetrate it, especially young women who are first exploited by and then ejected from it (Benedict). There are many well-documented cases of professional male athletes “behaving badly” and trying to rely on institutional status and various versions of the sporting bubble for shelter (Flood and Dyson; Reel and Crouch; Wade). In the age of mobile and social media, it is increasingly difficult to keep misbehaviour in-house, resulting in a slew of media stories about, for example, drunkenness and sexual misconduct, such as when then-Sydney Roosters co-captain Mitchell Pearce was suspended and fined in 2016 after being filmed trying to force an unwanted kiss on a woman and then simulating a lewd act with her dog while drunk. There is contestation between those who condemn such behaviour as aberrant and those who regard it as the conventional expression of youthful masculinity as part of the familiar “boys will be boys” dictum. The latter naturalise an inequitable gender order, frequently treating sportsmen as victims of predatory women, and ignoring asymmetries of power between men and women, especially in homosocial environments (Toffoletti). For those in the sporting bubble (predominantly elite sportsmen and highly paid executives, also mostly men, with an array of service staff of both sexes moving in and out of it), life is reflected for those being protected via an array of screens (small screens in homes and indoor places of entertainment, and even smaller screens on theirs and others’ phones, as well as huge screens at sport events). These male sport stars are paid handsomely to use their skill and strength to perform for the sporting codes, their every facial expression and bodily action watched by the media and relayed to audiences. This is often a precarious existence, the usually brief career of an athlete worker being dependent on health, luck, age, successful competition with rivals, networks, and club and coach preferences. There is a large, aspirational reserve army of athletes vying to play at the elite level, despite risks of injury and invasive, life-changing medical interventions. Responsibility for avoiding performance and image enhancing drugs (PIEDs) also weighs heavily on their shoulders (Connor). Professional sportspeople, in their more reflective moments, know that their time in the limelight will soon be up, meaning that getting a ticket to the sporting bubble, even for a short time, can make all the difference to their post-sport lives and those of their families. The most vulnerable of the small minority of participants in sport who make a good, short-term living from it are those for whom, in the absence of quality education and prior social status, it is their sole likely means of upward social mobility (Spaaij). Elite sport performers are surrounded by minders, doctors, fitness instructors, therapists, coaches, advisors and other service personnel, all supporting athletes to stay focussed on and maximise performance quality to satisfy co-present crowds, broadcasters, sponsors, sports bodies and mass media audiences. The shield offered by the sporting bubble supports the teleological win-at-all-costs mentality of professional sport. The stakes are high, with athlete and executive salaries, sponsorships and broadcasting deals entangled in a complex web of investments in keeping the “talent” pivotal to the “attention economy” (Davenport and Beck)—the players that provide the content for sale—in top form. Yet, the bubble cannot be entirely secured and poor behaviour or performance can have devastating effects, including permanent injury or disability, mental illness and loss of reputation (Rowe, “Scandals and Sport”). Given this fragile materiality of the sporting bubble, it is striking that, in response to the sudden shutdown following the economic and health crisis caused by the 2020 global pandemic, the leaders of professional sport decided to create more of them and seek to seal the metaphorical and material space with unprecedented efficiency. The outcome was a multi-sided tale of mobility, confinement, capital, labour, and the gendering of sport and society. The Covid-19 Gilded Cage Sociologists such as Zygmunt Bauman and John Urry have analysed the socio-politics of mobilities, whereby some people in the world, such as tourists, can traverse the globe at their leisure, while others remain fixed in geographical space because they lack the means to be mobile or, in contrast, are involuntarily displaced by war, so-called “ethnic cleansing”, famine, poverty or environmental degradation. The Covid-19 global pandemic re-framed these matters of mobilities (Rowe, “Subjecting Pandemic Sport”), with conventional moving around—between houses, businesses, cities, regions and countries—suddenly subjected to the imperative to be static and, in perniciously unreflective technocratic discourse, “socially distanced” (when what was actually meant was to be “physically distanced”). The late-twentieth century analysis of the “risk society” by Ulrich Beck, in which the mysterious consequences of humans’ predation on their environment are visited upon them with terrifying force, was dramatically realised with the coming of Covid-19. In another iteration of the metaphor, it burst the bubble of twenty-first century global sport. What we today call sport was formed through the process of sportisation (Maguire), whereby hyper-local, folk physical play was reconfigured as multi-spatial industrialised sport in modernity, becoming increasingly reliant on individual athletes and teams travelling across the landscape and well over the horizon. Co-present crowds were, in turn, overshadowed in the sport economy when sport events were taken to much larger, dispersed audiences via the media, especially in broadcast mode (Nicholson, Kerr, and Sherwood). This lucrative mediation of professional sport, though, came with an unforgiving obligation to generate an uninterrupted supply of spectacular live sport content. The pandemic closed down most sports events and those that did take place lacked the crucial participation of the co-present crowd to provide the requisite event atmosphere demanded by those viewers accustomed to a sense of occasion. Instead, they received a strange spectacle of sport performers operating in empty “cathedrals”, often with a “faked” crowd presence. The mediated sport spectacle under the pandemic involved cardboard cut-out and sex doll spectators, Zoom images of fans on large screens, and sampled sounds of the crowd recycled from sport video games. Confected co-presence produced simulacra of the “real” as Baudrillardian visions came to life. The sporting bubble had become even more remote. For elite sportspeople routinely isolated from the “common people”, the live sport encounter offered some sensory experience of the social – the sounds, sights and even smells of the crowd. Now the sporting bubble closed in on an already insulated and insular existence. It exposed the irony of the bubble as a sign of both privileged mobility and incarcerated athlete work, both refuge and prison. Its logic of contagion also turned a structure intended to protect those inside from those outside into, as already observed, a mechanism to manage the threat of insiders to outsiders. In Australia, as in many other countries, the populace was enjoined by governments and health authorities to help prevent the spread of Covid-19 through isolation and immobility. There were various exceptions, principally those classified as essential workers, a heterogeneous cohort ranging from supermarket shelf stackers to pharmacists. People in the cultural, leisure and sports industries, including musicians, actors, and athletes, were not counted among this crucial labour force. Indeed, the performing arts (including dance, theatre and music) were put on ice with quite devastating effects on the livelihoods and wellbeing of those involved. So, with all major sports shut down (the exception being horse racing, which received the benefit both of government subsidies and expanding online gambling revenue), sport organisations began to represent themselves as essential services that could help sustain collective mental and even spiritual wellbeing. This case was made most aggressively by Australian Rugby League Commission Chairman, Peter V’landys, in contending that “an Australia without rugby league is not Australia”. In similar vein, prominent sport and media figure Phil Gould insisted, when describing rugby league fans in Western Sydney’s Penrith, “they’re lost, because the football’s not on … . It holds their families together. People don’t understand that … . Their life begins in the second week of March, and it ends in October”. Despite misgivings about public safety and equality before the pandemic regime, sporting bubbles were allowed to form, re-form and circulate. The indefinite shutdown of the National Rugby League (NRL) on 23 March 2020 was followed after negotiation between multiple entities by its reopening on 28 May 2020. The competition included a team from another nation-state (the Warriors from Aotearoa/New Zealand) in creating an international sporting bubble on the Central Coast of New South Wales, separating them from their families and friends across the Tasman Sea. Appeals to the mental health of fans and the importance of the NRL to myths of “Australianness” notwithstanding, the league had not prudently maintained a financial reserve and so could not afford to shut down for long. Significant gambling revenue for leagues like the NRL and Australian Football League (AFL) also influenced the push to return to sport business as usual. Sport contests were needed in order to exploit the gambling opportunities – especially online and mobile – stimulated by home “confinement”. During the coronavirus lockdowns, Australians’ weekly spending on gambling went up by 142 per cent, and the NRL earned significantly more than usual from gambling revenue—potentially $10 million above forecasts for 2020. Despite the clear financial imperative at play, including heavy reliance on gambling, sporting bubble-making involved special licence. The state of Queensland, which had pursued a hard-line approach by closing its borders for most of those wishing to cross them for biographical landmark events like family funerals and even for medical treatment in border communities, became “the nation's sporting hub”. Queensland became the home of most teams of the men’s AFL (notably the women’s AFLW season having been cancelled) following a large Covid-19 second wave in Melbourne. The women’s National Netball League was based exclusively in Queensland. This state, which for the first time hosted the AFL Grand Final, deployed sport as a tool in both national sports tourism marketing and internal pre-election politics, sponsoring a documentary, The Sporting Bubble 2020, via its Tourism and Events arm. While Queensland became the larger bubble incorporating many other sporting bubbles, both the AFL and the NRL had versions of the “fly in, fly out” labour rhythms conventionally associated with the mining industry in remote and regional areas. In this instance, though, the bubble experience did not involve long stays in miners’ camps or even the one-night hotel stopovers familiar to the popular music and sport industries. Here, the bubble moved, usually by plane, to fulfil the requirements of a live sport “gig”, whereupon it was immediately returned to its more solid bubble hub or to domestic self-isolation. In the space created between disciplined expectation and deplored non-compliance, the sporting bubble inevitably became the scrutinised object and subject of scandal. Sporting Bubble Scandals While people with a very low risk of spreading Covid-19 (coming from areas with no active cases) were denied entry to Queensland for even the most serious of reasons (for example, the death of a child), images of AFL players and their families socialising and enjoying swimming at the Royal Pines Resort sporting bubble crossed our screens. Yet, despite their (players’, officials’ and families’) relative privilege and freedom of movement under the AFL Covid-Safe Plan, some players and others inside the bubble were involved in “scandals”. Most notable was the case of a drunken brawl outside a Gold Coast strip club which led to two Richmond players being “banished”, suspended for 10 matches, and the club fined $100,000. But it was not only players who breached Covid-19 bubble protocols: Collingwood coaches Nathan Buckley and Brenton Sanderson paid the $50,000 fine imposed on the club for playing tennis in Perth outside their bubble, while Richmond was fined $45,000 after Brooke Cotchin, wife of team captain Trent, posted an image to Instagram of a Gold Coast day spa that she had visited outside the “hub” (the institutionally preferred term for bubble). She was subsequently distressed after being trolled. Also of concern was the lack of physical distancing, and the range of people allowed into the sporting bubble, including babysitters, grandparents, and swimming coaches (for children). There were other cases of players being caught leaving the bubble to attend parties and sharing videos of their “antics” on social media. Biosecurity breaches of bubbles by players occurred relatively frequently, with stern words from both the AFL and NRL leaders (and their clubs) and fines accumulating in the thousands of dollars. Some people were also caught sneaking into bubbles, with Lekahni Pearce, the girlfriend of Swans player Elijah Taylor, stating that it was easy in Perth, “no security, I didn’t see a security guard” (in Barron, Stevens, and Zaczek) (a month later, outside the bubble, they had broken up and he pled guilty to unlawfully assaulting her; Ramsey). Flouting the rules, despite stern threats from government, did not lead to any bubble being popped. The sport-media machine powering sporting bubbles continued to run, the attendant emotional or health risks accepted in the name of national cultural therapy, while sponsorship, advertising and gambling revenue continued to accumulate mostly for the benefit of men. Gendering Sporting Bubbles Designed as biosecurity structures to maintain the supply of media-sport content, keep players and other vital cogs of the machine running smoothly, and to exclude Covid-19, sporting bubbles were, in their most advanced form, exclusive luxury camps that illuminated the elevated socio-cultural status of sportsmen. The ongoing inequalities between men’s and women’s sport in Australia and around the world were clearly in evidence, as well as the politics of gender whereby women are obliged to “care” and men are enabled to be “careless” – or at least to manage carefully their “duty of care”. In Australia, the only sport for women that continued during the height of the Covid-19 lockdown was netball, which operated in a bubble that was one of sacrifice rather than privilege. With minimum salaries of only $30,000 – significantly less than the lowest-paid “rookies” in the AFL – and some being mothers of small children and/or with professional jobs juggled alongside their netball careers, these elite sportswomen wanted to continue to play despite the personal inconvenience or cost (Pavlidis). Not one breach of the netballers out of the bubble was reported, indicating that they took their responsibilities with appropriate seriousness and, perhaps, were subjected to less scrutiny than the sportsmen accustomed to attracting front-page headlines. National Netball League (also known after its Queensland-based naming rights sponsor as Suncorp Super Netball) players could be regarded as fortunate to have the opportunity to be in a bubble and to participate in their competition. The NRL Women’s (NRLW) Premiership season was also completed, but only involved four teams subject to fly in, fly out and bubble arrangements, and being played in so-called curtain-raiser games for the NRL. As noted earlier, the AFLW season was truncated, despite all the prior training and sacrifice required of its players. Similarly, because of their resource advantages, the UK men’s and boy’s top six tiers of association football were allowed to continue during lockdown, compared to only two for women and girls. In the United States, inequalities between men’s and women’s sports were clearly demonstrated by the conditions afforded to those elite sportswomen inside the Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) sport bubble in the IMG Academy in Florida. Players shared photos of rodent traps in their rooms, insect traps under their mattresses, inedible food and blocked plumbing in their bubble accommodation. These conditions were a far cry from the luxury usually afforded elite sportsmen, including in Florida’s Walt Disney World for the men’s NBA, and is just one of the many instances of how gendered inequality was both reproduced and exacerbated by Covid-19. Bursting the Bubble As we have seen, governments and corporate leaders in sport were able to create material and metaphorical bubbles during the Covid-19 lockdown in order to transmit stadium sport contests into home spaces. The rationale was the importance of sport to national identity, belonging and the routines and rhythms of life. But for whom? Many women, who still carry the major responsibilities of “care”, found that Covid-19 intensified the affective relations and gendered inequities of “home” as a leisure site (Fullagar and Pavlidis). Rates of domestic violence surged, and many women experienced significant anxiety and depression related to the stress of home confinement and home schooling. During the pandemic, women were also more likely to experience the stress and trauma of being first responders, witnessing virus-related sickness and death as the majority of nurses and care workers. They also bore the brunt of much of the economic and employment loss during this time. Also, as noted above, livelihoods in the arts and cultural sector did not receive the benefits of the “bubble”, despite having a comparable claim to sport in contributing significantly to societal wellbeing. This sector’s workforce is substantially female, although men dominate its senior roles. Despite these inequalities, after the late March to May hiatus, many elite male sportsmen – and some sportswomen - operated in a bubble. Moving in and out of them was not easy. Life inside could be mentally stressful (especially in long stays of up to 150 days in sports like cricket), and tabloid and social media troll punishment awaited those who were caught going “over the fence”. But, life in the sporting bubble was generally preferable to the daily realities of those afflicted by the trauma arising from forced home confinement, and for whom watching moving sports images was scant compensation for compulsory immobility. The ethical foundation of the sparkly, ephemeral fantasy of the sporting bubble is questionable when it is placed in the service of a voracious “media sports cultural complex” (Rowe, Global Media Sport) that consumes sport labour power and rolls back progress in gender relations as a default response to a global pandemic. Covid-19 dramatically highlighted social inequalities in many areas of life, including medical care, work, and sport. For the small minority of people involved in sport who are elite professionals, the only thing worse than being in a sporting bubble during the pandemic was not being in one, as being outside precluded their participation. Being inside the bubble was a privilege, albeit a dubious one. But, as in wider society, not all sporting bubbles are created equal. Some are more opulent than others, and the experiences of the supporting and the supported can be very different. The surface of the sporting bubble may be impermanent, but when its interior is opened up to scrutiny, it reveals some very durable structures of inequality. Bubbles are made to burst. They are, by nature, temporary, translucent structures created as spectacles. As a form of luminosity, bubbles “allow a thing or object to exist only as a flash, sparkle or shimmer” (Deleuze, 52). In echoing Deleuze, Angela McRobbie (54) argues that luminosity “softens and disguises the regulative dynamics of neoliberal society”. The sporting bubble was designed to discharge that function for those millions rendered immobile by home confinement legislation in Australia and around the world, who were having to deal with the associated trauma, risk and disadvantage. 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Photo by Jo-Anne McArthur on Unsplash ABSTRACT The UK-based campaign group Scrap Factory Farming has launched a legal challenge against industrial animal agriculture; the challenge is in the process of judicial review. While a fringe movement, Scrap Factory Farming has already accrued some serious backers, including the legal team of Michael Mansfield QC. The premise is that factory farming is a danger not just to animals or the environment but also to human health. According to its stated goals, governments should be given until 2025 to phase out industrialized “concentrated animal feeding organizations” (CAFOs) in favor of more sustainable and safer agriculture. This paper will discuss the bioethical issues involved in Scrap Factory Farming’s legal challenge and argue that an overhaul of factory farming is long overdue. INTRODUCTION A CAFO is a subset of animal feeding operations that has a highly concentrated animal population. CAFOs house at least 1000 beef cows, 2500 pigs, or 125,000 chickens for at least 45 days a year. The animals are often confined in pens or cages to use minimal energy, allowing them to put on as much weight as possible in as short a time. The animals are killed early relative to their total lifespans because the return on investment (the amount of meat produced compared to animal feed) is a curve of diminishing returns. CAFOs’ primary goal is efficiency: fifty billion animals are “processed” in CAFOs every year. The bioethical questions raised by CAFOs include whether it is acceptable to kill the animals, and if so, under what circumstances, whether the animals have rights, and what animal welfare standards should apply. While there are laws and standards in place, they tend to reflect the farm lobby and fail to consider broader animal ethics. Another critical issue applicable to industrial animal agriculture is the problem of the just distribution of scarce resources. There is a finite amount of food that the world can produce, which is, for the moment, approximately enough to go around.[1] The issue is how it goes around. Despite there being enough calories and nutrients on the planet to give all a comfortable life, these calories and nutrients are distributed such that there is excess and waste in much of the global North and rampant starvation and malnutrition in the global South. The problem of distribution can be solved in two ways: either by efficient and just distribution or by increasing net production (either increase productivity or decrease waste) so that even an inefficient and unjust distribution system will probably meet the minimum nutritional standards for all humans. This essay explores four bioethical fields (animal ethics, climate ethics, workers’ rights, and just distribution) as they relate to current industrial agriculture and CAFOs. l. Animal Ethics Two central paradigms characterize animal ethics: welfarism and animal rights. These roughly correspond to the classical frameworks of utilitarianism and deontology. Welfarists[2] hold the common-sense position that animals must be treated well and respected as individuals but do not have inalienable rights in the same ways as humans. A typical welfare position might be, “I believe that animals should be given the best life possible, but there is no inherent evil in using animals for food, so long as they are handled and killed humanely.” Animal rights theorists and activists, on the other hand, would say, “I believe non-human animals should be given the best lives possible, but we should also respect certain rights of theirs analogous to human rights: they should never be killed for food, experimented upon, etc.” Jeremy Bentham famously gave an early exposition of the animal rights case: “The question is not Can they reason?, nor Can they talk?, but Can they suffer? Why should the law refuse its protection to any sensitive being?” Those who take an animal welfare stance have grounds to oppose the treatment of animals in CAFOs as opposed to more traditional grass-fed animal agriculture. CAFOs cannot respect the natural behaviors or needs of animals who evolved socially for millions of years in open plains. If more space was allowed per animal or more time for socialization and other positive experiences in the animal’s life, the yield of the farm would drop. This is not commercially viable in a competitive industry like animal agriculture; thus, there is very little incentive for CAFOs to treat animals well. Rampant abuse is documented.[3] Acts of cruelty are routine: pigs often have teeth pulled and tails docked because they often go mad in their conditions and attempt to cannibalize each other; chickens have their beaks clipped to avoid them pecking at each other, causing immense pain; cows and bulls have their horns burned off to avoid them damaging others (as this damages the final meat product, too); male chicks that hatch in the egg industry are ground up in a macerator, un-anaesthetized, in the first 24 hours of their life as they will not go on to lay eggs. These practices vary widely among factory farms and among jurisdictions. Yet, arguably, the welfare of animals cannot be properly respected because all CAFOs fundamentally see animals as mere products-in-the-making instead of the complex, sentient, and emotional individuals science has repeatedly shown them to be.[4] ll. Climate Ethics The climate impact of farming animals is increasingly evident. Around 15-20 percent of human-made emissions come from animal agriculture.[5] and deforestation to create space for livestock grazing or growing crops to feed farm animals. An average quarter-pound hamburger uses up to six kilograms of feed, causes 66 square feet of deforestation, and uses up to 65 liters of water, with around 4kg of carbon emissions to boot – a majority of which come from the cattle themselves (as opposed to food processing or food miles).[6] According to environmentalist George Monbiot, “Even if you shipped bananas six times around the planet, their impact would be lower than local beef and lamb.”[7] The disparity between the impact of animal and plant-based produce is stark. Not all animal products are created equally. Broadly, there are two ways to farm animals: extensive or intensive farming. Extensive animal farming might be considered a “traditional” way of farming: keeping animals in large fields, as naturally as possible, often rotating them between different areas to not overgraze any one pasture. However, its efficiency is much lower than intensive farming – the style CAFOs use. Intensive animal farming is arguably more environmentally efficient. That is, CAFOs produce more output per unit of natural resource input than extensive systems do. However, environmental efficiency is relative rather than absolute, as the level of intensive animal agriculture leads to large-scale deforestation to produce crops for factory-farmed animals. CAFOs are also point-sources of pollution from the massive quantities of animal waste produced – around 1,000,000 tons per day in the US alone, triple the amount of all human waste produced per day – which has significant negative impacts on human health in the surrounding areas.[8] The environmental impacts of CAFOs must be given serious ethical consideration using new frameworks in climate ethics and bioethics. One example of a land ethic to guide thinking in this area is that “[it] is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.”[9] It remains to be seen whether CAFOs can operate in a way that respects and preserves “integrity, stability, and beauty” of their local ecosystem, given the facts above. The pollution CAFOs emit affects the surrounding areas. Hog CAFOs are built disproportionately around predominantly minority communities in North Carolina where poverty rates are high.[10] Animal waste carries heavy metals, infectious diseases, and antibiotic-resistant pathogens into nearby water sources and houses. lll. Workers’ Rights The poor treatment of slaughterhouse workers has been documented in the US during the COVID-19 pandemic, where, despite outbreaks of coronavirus among workers, the White House ordered that they remain open to maintain the supply of meat. The staff of slaughterhouses in the US is almost exclusively people with low socioeconomic status, ethnic minorities, and migrants.[11] Almost half of frontline slaughterhouse workers are Hispanic, and a quarter is Black. Additionally, half are immigrants, and a quarter comes from families with limited English proficiency. An eighth live in poverty, with around 45 percent below 200 percent of the poverty line. Only one-in-forty has a college degree or more, while one-in-six lacks health insurance. Employee turnover rates are around 200 percent per year.[12] Injuries are very common in the fast-moving conveyor belt environment with sharp knives, machinery, and a crowd of workers. OSHA found 17 cases of hospitalizations, two body part amputations per week, and loss of an eye every month in the American industrial meat industry. This is three times the workplace accident rate of the average American worker across all industries. Beef and pork workers are likely to suffer repetitive strain at seven times the rate of the rest of the population. One worker told the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) that “every co-worker I know has been injured at some point… I can attest that the line speeds are already too fast to keep up with. Please, I am asking you not to increase them anymore.”[13] Slaughterhouses pose a major risk to public health from zoonotic disease transmission. 20 percent of slaughterhouse workers interviewed in Kenya admit to slaughtering sick animals, which greatly increases the risk of transmitting disease either to a worker further down the production line or a consumer at the supermarket.[14] Moreover, due to poor hygienic conditions and high population density, animals in CAFOs are overfed with antibiotics. Over two-thirds of all antibiotics globally are given to animals in agriculture, predicted to increase by 66 percent by 2030.[15] The majority of these animals do not require antibiotics; their overuse creates a strong and consistent selection pressure on any present bacterial pathogens that leads to antibiotic resistance that could create devastating cross-species disease affecting even humans. The World Health Organization predicts that around 10 million humans per year could die of antibiotic-resistant diseases by 2050.[16] Many of these antibiotics are also necessary for human medical interventions, so antibiotics in animals have a tremendous opportunity cost. The final concern is that of zoonosis itself. A zoonotic disease is any disease that crosses the species boundary from animals to humans. According to the United Nations, 60 percent of all known infections and 75 percent of all emerging infections are zoonotic.[17] Many potential zoonoses are harbored in wild animals (particularly when wild animals are hunted and sold in wet markets) because of the natural biodiversity. However, around a third of zoonoses originate in domesticated animals, which is a huge proportion given the relative lack of diversity of the animals we choose to eat. Q fever, or “query fever,” is an example of a slaughterhouse-borne disease. Q fever has a high fatality rate when untreated that decreases to “just” 2 percent with appropriate treatment.[18] H1N1 (swine flu) and H5N1 (bird flu) are perhaps the most famous examples of zoonoses associated with factory farming. lV. Unjust Distribution The global distribution of food can cause suffering. According to research commissioned by the BBC, the average Ethiopian eats around seven kilograms of meat per year, and the average Rwandan eats eight.[19] This is a factor of ten smaller than the average European, while the average American clocks in at around 115 kilograms of meat per year. In terms of calories, Eritreans average around 1600kcal per day while most Europeans ingest double that. Despite enough calories on the planet to sustain its population, 25,000 people worldwide starve to death each day, 40 percent of whom are children. There are two ways to address the unjust distribution: efficient redistribution and greater net production, which are not mutually exclusive. Some argue that redistribution will lead to lower net productivity because it disincentivizes labor;[20] others argue that redistribution is necessary to respect human rights of survival and equality.[21] Instead of arguing this point, I will focus on people’s food choices and their effect on both the efficiency and total yield of global agriculture, as these are usually less discussed. Regardless of the metric used, animals always produce far fewer calories and nutrients (protein, iron, zinc, and all the others) than we feed them. This is true because of the conservation of mass. They cannot feasibly produce more, as they burn off and excrete much of what they ingest. The exact measurement of the loss varies based on the metric used. When compared to live weight, cows consume somewhere around ten times their weight. When it comes to actual edible weight, they consume up to 25 times more than we can get out of them. Cows are only around one percent efficient in terms of calorific production and four percent efficient in protein production. Poultry is more efficient, but we still lose half of all crops we put into them by weight and get out only a fifth of the protein and a tenth of the calories fed to them.[22] Most other animals lie somewhere in the middle of these two in terms of efficiency, but no animal is ever as efficient as eating plants before they are filtered through animals in terms of the nutritional value available to the world. Due to this inefficiency, it takes over 100 square meters to produce 1000 calories of beef or lamb compared to just 1.3 square meters to produce the same calories from tofu.[23] The food choices in the Western world, where we eat so much more meat than people eat elsewhere, are directly related to a reduction in the amount of food and nutrition in the rest of the world. The most influential theory of justice in recent times is John Rawls’ Original Position wherein stakeholders in an idealized future society meet behind a “veil of ignorance” to negotiate policy, not knowing the role they will play in that society. There is an equal chance of each policymaker ending up poverty-stricken or incredibly privileged; therefore, each should negotiate to maximize the outcome of all citizens, especially those worst-off in society, known as the “maximin” strategy. In this hypothetical scenario, resource distribution would be devised to be as just as possible and should therefore sway away from animal consumption. CONCLUSION Evidence is growing that animals of all sorts, including fish and certain invertebrates, feel pain in ways that people are increasingly inclined to respect, though still, climate science is more developed and often inspires more public passion than animal rights do. Workers’ rights and welfare in slaughterhouses have become mainstream topics of conversation because of the outbreaks of COVID-19 in such settings. Environmentalists note overconsumption in high-income countries, also shining a light on the starvation of much of the low-income population of the world. At the intersection of these bioethical issues lies the modern CAFO, significantly contributing to animal suffering, climate change, poor working conditions conducive to disease, and unjust distribution of finite global resources (physical space and crops). It is certainly time to move away from the CAFO model of agriculture to at least a healthy mixture of extensive agriculture and alternative (non-animal) proteins. - [1] Berners-Lee M, Kennelly C, Watson R, Hewitt CN; Current global food production is sufficient to meet human nutritional needs in 2050 provided there is radical societal adaptation. Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene. 6:52, 2018. 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