Journal articles on the topic 'Gregory National Park'

Few data are available concerning contemporary fire regimes and the responses of fire interval-sensitive vegetation types in semiarid woodland savanna landscapes of northern Australia. For a 10 300 km2 semiarid portion of Gregory National Park, in the present paper we describe (1) components of the contemporary fire regime for 1998–2008, on the basis of assessments derived from Landsat and MODIS imagery, (2) for the same period, the population dynamics, and characteristic fine-fuel loads associated with Acacia shirleyi Maiden (lancewood), an obligate seeder tree species occurring in dense monodominant stands, and (3) the fire responses of woody species, and fine-fuel dynamics, sampled in 41 plots comprising shrubby open-woodland over spinifex hummock grassland. While rain-year (July–June) rainfall was consistently reliable over the study period, annual fire extent fluctuated markedly, with an average of 29% being fire affected, mostly in the latter part of the year under relatively harsh fire-climate conditions. Collectively, such conditions facilitated short fire-return intervals, with 30% of the study area experiencing a repeat fire within 1 year, and 80% experiencing a repeat fire within 3 years. Fine fuels associated with the interior of lancewood thickets were characteristically small (<1 t ha–1). Fine fuels dominated by spinifex (Triodia spp.) were found to accumulate at rates equivalent to those observed under higher-rainfall conditions. Stand boundaries of A. shirleyi faired poorly under prevailing fire regimes over the study period; in 16 plots, juvenile density declined 62%, and adult stem density and basal area declined by 53% and 40%, respectively. Although the maturation (primary juvenile) period of A. shirleyi is incompletely known, assembled growth rate and phenology data indicated that it is typically >10 years. Of 133 woody species sampled, all trees (n = 26), with the exception of A. shirleyi, were resprouters, and 58% of all shrub species (n = 105) were obligate seeders, with observed primary juvenile periods <5 years. Assembled data generally supported observations made from other northern Australian studies concerning the responses of fire-sensitive woody taxa in rugged, sandstone-derived landscapes, and illustrated the enormous challenges facing ecologically sustainable fire management in such settings. Contemporary fire regimes of Gregory National Park are not ecologically sustainable.

Targeted searches of approximately 150 km of cliff lines for two rare sandstone shrubs, Melaleuca triumphalis Craven and Stenostegia congesta A.R.Bean, thought to be restricted to the Victoria River gorge system within Gregory National Park, increased the number of known populations from 3 and 6 to 31 and 37, respectively. Both species occur predominantly in rocky and often fire-protected niches on sandstone cliffs and scree slopes, and are frequently associated with permanent drip-lines and seepage areas. Although their broad habitat requirements are similar, the two species do occur in slightly different niches. The data presented here suggest that M. triumphalis is reasonably fire tolerant, whereas S. congesta appears to be more fire sensitive. Weeds and introduced animals are not thought to pose a threat to these rare species. Models developed using remotely sensed and landscape-scale data (digital elevation models, radiometrics, geology and distance to rivers and streams) suggest that these species may also occur outside Gregory National Park in other areas of the Northern Territory such as on Bullo River and Bradshaw stations and in Keep River National Park. It is suggested that both species be regarded as Vulnerable under the IUCN guidelines.

A new species of functionally dioecious bush tomato of Solanum subgenus Leptostemonum is described. Solanum scalarium Martine & T.M.Williams, sp. nov., is a member of the taxonomically challenging “Kimberley dioecious clade” in Australia and differs from other species in the group in its spreading decumbent habit and conspicuously prickly male floral rachis. The species is so far known from one site in Judbarra/Gregory National Park in the Northern Territory. Ex situ crosses and confirmation of inaperturate pollen grains produced in morphologically cosexual flowers indicate that these flowers are functionally female and the species is functionally dioecious. The scientific name reflects the ladder-like appearance of the inflorescence rachis armature of male individuals, the stone staircase that provides access to the type locality at the Escarpment Lookout Walk, and the importance of maintaining equitable and safe access to outdoor spaces. The common name Garrarnawun Bush Tomato is proposed in recognition of the lookout point at this site, a traditional meeting place of the Wardaman and Nungali-Ngaliwurru peoples whose lands overlap in this area.

Eradication of an invasive species is a holy grail sought by land managers, scientists and policy makers alike. This prize is particularly attractive to funding bodies that foresee a one-off investment to solve a problem. We evaluate a 20-year eradication project on the annual weed Martynia annua L. from remote Gregory (Jutburra) National Park in northern Australia. M. annua was regionally introduced in the 1860s and has since become naturalised and locally abundant on some pastoral properties. When land use changed from grazing to national park in the mid 1980s, M. annua was thought to be a serious problem. An eradication project was started in the late 1980s. Eradication of all individuals from within the National Park has not been successful but there have been other benefits of the project. We analysed operational, biological, social and economic criteria to find that the principal barriers to eradication were: occasional inaccessibility during the crucial seed production window; many widely dispersed small infestations; a perennial seed bank; and long-distance dispersal mechanisms. The two successes of the project were control of the weed to a level where ecological impact was negligible; and extensive community engagement. A novel approach adopted by the National Park, a biannual event called the Devil’s Claw Festival, has trained and educated hundreds of local, national and international people about biological invasions and conservation issues in remote northern Australia. Long-term institutional leadership and investment have been crucial for this project. We offer recommendations to policy makers embarking on eradication projects of widespread rangeland weeds.

The Australian species of the water beetle genus Hydraena Kugelann, 1794, are revised, based on the study of 7,654 specimens. The 29 previously named species are redescribed, and 56 new species are described. The species are placed in 24 species groups. High resolution digital images of all primary types are presented (online version in color), and geographic distributions are mapped. Male genitalia, representative female terminal abdominal segments and representative spermathecae are illustrated. Australian Hydraena are typically found in sandy/gravelly stream margins, often in association with streamside litter; some species are primarily pond dwelling, a few species are humicolous, and one species may be subterranean. The areas of endemicity and species richness coincide quite closely with the Bassian, Torresian, and Timorian biogeographic subregions. Eleven species are shared between the Bassian and Torresian subregions, and twelve are shared between the Torresian and Timorian subregions. Only one species, H. impercepta Zwick, is known to be found in both Australia and Papua New Guinea. One Australian species, H. ambiflagellata, is also known from New Zealand. New species of Hydraena are: H. affirmata (Queensland, Palmerston National Park, Learmouth Creek), H. ambiosina (Queensland, 7 km NE of Tolga), H. antaria (New South Wales, Bruxner Flora Reserve), H. appetita (New South Wales, 14 km W Delagate), H. arcta (Western Australia, Synnot Creek), H. ascensa (Queensland, Rocky Creek, Kennedy Hwy.), H. athertonica (Queensland, Davies Creek), H. australula (Western Australia, Synnot Creek), H. bidefensa (New South Wales, Bruxner Flora Reserve), H. biimpressa (Queensland, 19.5 km ESE Mareeba), H. capacis (New South Wales, Unumgar State Forest, near Grevillia), H. capetribensis (Queensland, Cape Tribulation area), H. converga (Northern Territory, Roderick Creek, Gregory National Park), H. cubista (Western Australia, Mining Camp, Mitchell Plateau), H. cultrata (New South Wales, Bruxner Flora Reserve), H. cunninghamensis (Queensland, Main Range National Park, Cunningham's Gap, Gap Creek), H. darwini (Northern Territory, Darwin), H. deliquesca (Queensland, 5 km E Wallaman Falls), H. disparamera (Queensland, Cape Hillsborough), H. dorrigoensis (New South Wales, Dorrigo National Park, Rosewood Creek, upstream from Coachwood Falls), H. ferethula (Northern Territory, Cooper Creek, 19 km E by S of Mt. Borradaile), H. finniganensis (Queensland, Gap Creek, 5 km ESE Mt. Finnigan), H. forticollis (Western Australia, 4 km W of King Cascade), H. fundaequalis (Victoria, Simpson Creek, 12 km SW Orbost), H. fundata (Queensland, Hann Tableland, 13 km WNW Mareeba), H. hypipamee (Queensland, Mt. Hypipamee National Park, 14 km SW Malanda), H. inancala (Queensland, Girraween National Park, Bald Rock Creek at "Under-ground Creek"), H. innuda (Western Australia, Mitchell Plateau, 16 mi. N Amax Camp), H. intraangulata (Queensland, Leo Creek Mine, McIlwrath Range, E of Coen), H. invicta (New South Wales, Sydney), H. kakadu (Northern Territory, Kakadu National Park, Gubara), H. larsoni (Queensland, Windsor Tablelands), H. latisoror (Queensland, Lamington National Park, stream at head of Moran's Falls), H. luminicollis (Queensland, Lamington National Park, stream at head of Moran's Falls), H. metzeni (Queensland, 15 km NE Mareeba), H. millerorum (Victoria, Traralgon Creek, 0.2 km N 'Hogg Bridge', 5.0 km NNW Balook), H. miniretia (Queensland, Mt. Hypipamee National Park, 14 km SW Malanda), H. mitchellensis (Western Australia, 4 km SbyW Mining Camp, Mitchell Plateau), H. monteithi (Queensland, Thornton Peak, 11 km NE Daintree), H. parciplumea (Northern Territory, McArthur River, 80 km SW of Borroloola), H. porchi (Victoria, Kangaroo Creek on Springhill Rd., 5.8 km E Glenlyon), H. pugillista (Queensland, 7 km N Mt. Spurgeon), H. queenslandica (Queensland, Laceys Creek, 10 km SE El Arish), H. reticuloides (Queensland, 3 km ENE of Mt. Tozer), H. reticulositis (Western Australia, Mining Camp, Mitchell Plateau), H. revelovela (Northern Territory, Kakadu National Park, GungurulLookout), H. spinissima (Queensland, Main Range National Park, Cunningham's Gap, Gap Creek), H. storeyi (Queensland, Cow Bay, N of Daintree River), H. tenuisella (Queensland, 3 km W of Batavia Downs), H. tenuisoror (Australian Capital Territory, Wombat Creek, 6 km NE of Piccadilly Circus), H. textila (Queensland, Laceys Creek, 10 km SE El Arish), H. tridisca (Queensland, Mt. Hemmant), H. triloba (Queensland, Mulgrave River, Goldsborough Road Crossing), H. wattsi (Northern Territory, Holmes Jungle, 11 km NE by E of Darwin), H. weiri (Western Australia, 14 km SbyE Kalumburu Mission), H. zwicki (Queensland, Clacherty Road, via Julatten).

We describe a new species of velvet gecko (Diplodactylidae: Oedura) from the sandstone ranges of central-north Queensland, Australia. Oedura argentea sp. nov. is a medium-sized (SVL 61–80 mm) gecko that is distinguished from its congeners by a combination of its relatively small size, a pattern of 5–6 dark-edged pale transverse bands from neck to pelvis, a silvery iris, a slender tail, a single cloacal spur, and in possessing 14–22 pre-cloacal pores in males. Oedura argentea sp. nov. is a sandstone specialist currently known only from the Gregory Range and nearby sandstone outcropping at Bulleringa National Park. Further surveys are required to determine the limits of distribution through this region. Oedura argentea sp. nov. is the fifth described species of Oedura in north-eastern Queensland. We also assess the name O. fracticolor De Vis, 1884 because it is an unresolved name pertaining to this general region. Based on colour-pattern and locality in the original description, we conclude that O. fracticolor is a senior synonym of O. castelnaui (Thominot, 1889); however, we propose that priority be overturned under Articles 23.9.1.1 and 23.9.1.2 of the ICZN (1999) and that the name O. fracticolor be regarded as nomen oblitum and O. castelnaui a nomen protectum.

A study of the size-class distributions of the Australian boab, Adansonia gibbosa (A.Cunn.) Guymer ex D.Baum, a tree endemic to north-western Australia, was conducted in Gregory National Park and Keep River National Park, in the Northern Territory. It was found that populations of A. gibbosa on alluvial plains had high densities of small, immature stems < 10 cm dbh (diameter at breast height), and that the density of immature stems decreased with increasing distance from a river. By contrast, there was an absence of small size classes in a population growing on a sandstone escarpment. On limestone substrates, high densities of small size-class stems were observed at a site topographically protected from wildfire, but there was an absence of small size classes at a site exposed to wildfires. Differences in gross allocation patterns, as inferred from relationships between tree height, trunk diameter and height of the swollen trunk, were observed between alluvial, sandstone and limestone substrates. These differences suggest growth rates also differ on distinct substrates. There was a highly significant negative association between the presence of fruit and evidence of recent fire damage for stems greater than 10 cm dbh. This pattern may be related to the destruction of reproductive structures by late dry season fire. However, additional factors appear to control fruit production, as 36% of the unburnt stems > 10 cm dbh also lacked fruit. Juvenile plants resprout from swollen tap roots after wildfire, thus frequent fires would be required to have a long-term impact on stands of A. gibbosa heavily stocked with juveniles that possess swollen tap roots. However, it is unknown at what age juveniles develop swollen tap roots and if all juveniles with swollen tap roots resprout following fire damage. It is hypothesised that the local distribution of A. gibbosa is controlled by fire history, and that changes in fire regimes associated with cattle grazing are causing changes in the distribution of this species. More research is required to critically evaluate this conjecture.

The Australian and Papua New Guinean species of the water beetle genus Gymnochthebius Orchymont, 1943, are revised, based on the study of 4,904 specimens. The genus is redescribed, and redescriptions are provided for G. australis (Blackburn), G. brisbanensis (Blackburn), G. clarki (Deane), G. levis (Deane), G. lividus (Deane), G. notalis (Deane), and G. tenebricosus (Deane). Lectotypes are designated for Ochthebius australis Blackburn, 1888, and Ochthebius tenebricosus Deane, 1931. Ochthebius fischeri Deane, 1931, and Ochthebius leai Deane, 1931, are synonymized with Ochthebius australis Blackburn, 1888; Ochthebius flavocinctus Deane 1933, is synonymized with Ochthebius lividus Deane, 1933; and Ochthebius angustipennis Deane, 1931, is synonymized with Ochthebius clarki Deane, 1931. Twenty-nine new species are described, and a key to the 36 species known from Australia and Papua New Guinea is given. High resolution digital images of all primary types are presented (online version in color), the male genitalia are illustrated, and Australian geographic distributions are mapped. Only one species, G. clarki, inhabits both Australia and Papua New Guinea; two species, G. bacchusi n. sp. and G. papua n. sp. are endemic to Papua New Guinea; 33 species are endemic to Australia. Members of Gymnochthebius are found at the gravelly/sandy/silty margins of flowing and standing water. A preliminary grouping of species according to microhabitat substrate is presented. Correspondences between ventral morphology and microhabitat preferences suggest that a few species are evolving toward humicolous habits. New species of Gymnochthebius are: G. angulonotus (Queensland, Tinaroo Creek Road via Mareeba), G. bacchusi (Papua New Guinea, Morobe District, c. 7 miles Lae Bulolo Road), G. benesculptus (South Australia, Warburton River, 1 km N White Bull Yard Kalamurina Stn.), G. coruscus (South Australia, Warburton River, 1 km N White Bull Yard Kalamurina Stn.), G. fontinalis (South Australia, Elizabeth (Mound) Springs, 7 km NW Coward Springs R.S.), G. fumosus (New South Wales, Sydney), G. hesperius (Western Australia, Lyndon River Bridge), G. inlineatus (Western Australia, Millstream, creek near Deep Reach), G. lustrosulcus (Queensland, Cloncurry), G. minipunctus (Northern Territory, Palm Valley), G. nanosetus (Northern Territory, Roderick Creek, Gregory National Park), G. nicki (Victoria, Possum Hollow falls, West branch Tarwin River, 5.6 km SSW Allambee), G. nigriceps (South Australia, Mound Spring near Coward Springs), G. papua (Papua New Guinea, Morobe District, ca. 10 km S Garaina Saureri), G. perpunctus (South Australia, Somme Creek, between Angaston and Sedan), G. pluvipennis (South Australia, Warburton

Abstract Five cave planarians collected from Gregory’s Cave, Blount Co., TN, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, were analyzed using stained serial sections and two are identified as Sphalloplana percoeca (Packard 1879). Notes on specimen characteristics and habitat are given, two photographs are provided, and the species’ taxonomy and distribution are discussed.

La disposición que puede adoptar un tercer molar mandibular resulta en la mayoría de los casos impredecible. Para facilitar el análisis de la posición e inclinación de los terceros molares autores como Pell-Gregory y Winter, establecieron una clasificación de esas piezas dentarias para guiar la técnica operatoria más adecuada para cada situación. El objetivo fue determinar la frecuencia de la posición, inclinación y grado de dificultad quirúrgica en terceros molares mandibulares. El estudio fue observacional descriptivo, retrospectivo de corte transversal. Formaron parte del estudio radiografías panorámicas de pacientes que acudieron a la Facultad de Odontología UNA entre el 2018 y 2020. Un total de 220 radiografías panorámicas fueron incluidas en el estudio, 120 (54,5%) correspondían al sexo femenino y 100 (45,4%) al sexo masculino, la franja etaria de 18 a 28 años fue la de más participación con 134 (61%) radiografías. Se evidenció una frecuencia en la posición A clase II de 141 (36,6%), en cuanto a la inclinación de las piezas dentarias, la más frecuente fue la mesioangular 174 (45,5%) y en cuanto al grado de dificultad quirúrgica se observó una dificultad mínima a moderada. Se evidenció una frecuencia alta de la posición A clase II e inclinación mesial del total de las radiografías analizadas.

Metoposaurids are temnospondyl amphibians that are commonly recovered from the Chinle Formation deposits of North America. Two species, Koskinonodon perfectus and Apachesaurus gregorii, are known from Petrified Forest National Park (PEFO), AZ. Small, elongate intercentra are the single diagnostic postcranial characteristic of the smaller A. gregorii. However, a poor understanding of the earliest life stages of Koskinonodon perfectus and other large metoposaurids makes it unclear whether the proportions of the intercentra are a diagnostic feature for species discrimination or whether they are influenced by ontogeny. Previous work on metoposaurid intercentra has shown that ontogenetic information can be extrapolated from histological analyses. Here, we perform an analysis of the microanatomy and the histology of metoposaurid intercentra from PEFO to determine their ontogenetic maturity and in turn whether elongate intercentra are a reliable taxonomic feature for distinguishing North American metoposaurids. Our findings suggest that the elongate intercentra are the result of ontogenetic variation within a single large-bodied metoposaurid taxon rather than interspecific variation between two metoposaurids of vastly different adult sizes. These findings have significant implications for the taxonomy of North American metoposaurids and subsequently for interpretations of the Chinle Basin paleoenvironment. Furthermore, this study provides the first histological characterization of North American metoposaurid intercentra, thereby improving the understanding of vertebral ontogeny within Metoposauridae and offering new insights into the ecology of large metoposaurids.

AbstractMetoposaurids are temnospondyl amphibians that are well known from Upper Triassic deposits in North America, Europe, India, and Africa. Two species of metoposaurids, Koskinonodon perfectus and Apachesaurus gregorii, are among the most common fossils found in the Petrified Forest National Park (PEFO) of the southwestern United States. The two are distinguished on the basis of several cranial traits and the morphology of their intercentra, and are more informally distinguished by their overall size and biostratigraphic range. While material of adult metoposaurids is extremely common in Upper Triassic deposits, described material of juveniles is very rare, which limits the study of ontogenetic trajectories that would assist in assessing whether diagnostic traits of the smaller A. gregorii are also ontogenetically influenced traits in juveniles of K. perfectus. Here we report on material from a juvenile specimen of K. perfectus from the Petrified Forest Member (Norian) of the Chinle Formation in the PEFO. This specimen is significant because it represents the highest known occurrence of the species within the PEFO, documents a rare occurrence of a juvenile specimen of a North American metoposaurid, and records a rare North American metoposaurid specimen that includes associated cranial and postcranial material. Additionally, the combination of cranial features diagnostic of K. perfectus and intercentra of proportions intermediate between K. perfectus and A. gregorii in this specimen raises questions about the utility of several characters for species discrimination in North American metoposaurids.

El vocablo política se refiere a una actividad humana orientada, de forma ideológica (ideas sobre la realidad, compartidas y asumidas), a la toma de posición (implica decisiones y acciones) de un grupo, con el fin de alcanzar objetivos o metas comunes que beneficien a la sociedad, tal como lo señalaron Oszlak y O’Donnell (1976). Esta toma de decisiones representa una fuente de poder, debido a la existencia implícita de un cambio en la dinámica y en el accionar de una organización, según Gregorio Gorigoitia (2006). Las políticas universitarias son el referente de toda acción a ejecutar por parte de la comunidad en un periodo determinado; esto favorece el consenso acerca del área o de las áreas de acción que se expresan, la meta que se espera alcanzar y la orientación o guía para alcanzarla. Esta Política de Calidad procura orientar el proceso continuo de calidad académica e institucional en las universidades costarricenses, como parte fundamental de su compromiso en la formación de profesionales “con sentido humano y social de su existencia” (Siguán, 1982, p. 37), quienes en el ejercicio de su profesión son copartícipes en el desarrollo sostenible del país. También mantiene activa la acción propia que se desarrolla a lo interno de cada universidad e incorpora las diversas formas institucionales de atenderla; un compromiso de las autoridades y los actores universitarios de asumir, como tarea conjunta, la calidad de la educación universitaria nacional relacionada con el tema de la calidad académica-administrativa universitaria. La Política de Calidad presenta un marco conceptual: fines, principios, objetivos y alcances, así como los lineamientos y la ruta hacia el cumplimiento de la misma, con el interés de delimitarla y respaldar una gestión de la calidad adecuada para la autonomía universitaria y acorde con las disposiciones nacionales e internacionales. Esta Política de Calidad se elaboró con la participación de las diferentes universidades asociadas a la Unión de Rectores de Universidades Privadas (UNIRE) y las integrantes del Consejo Nacional de Rectores (CONARE), cuyo punto de partida fue un diagnóstico acerca de la realidad vinculada a la calidad académica que viven las instituciones de educación superior universitaria en el país, una propuesta de parte de los representantes de las diferentes universidades y la revisión de un primer borrador por parte de algunas de las autoridades universitarias.Palabras clave: Universidades de Costa Rica, política de calidad, CONARE, UNIRE.AbstractWhen referring to the word politics, expressed a human activity oriented ideological form (ideas about reality, shared and suffered) to the position (involves decisions and actions) of a group, mentioned Oszlak and O'Donnell (1976), towards achieving common objectives or goals that benefit society. This decision at last is a source of power, because there is an implicit change in the dynamics and in the actions of an organization, says Gregorio Gorigoitia (2006). So, university policies constitute the reference of all action to be executed by the community, in a given period, which favors consensus on the area or areas of action expressing the goal to be achieved and an orientation or guidance on how to achieve it. This Quality Policy guidance seeks to develop a continuum of academic and institutional quality in universities in Costa Rica, as a fundamental part of its commitment to the training of professionals, " with human and social meaning of their existence, "says Siguán (1982), p.37) who in the exercise of their profession are partners in the sustainable development of the country. This remains active quality policy action that unfolds itself internally in each university and incorporates the different institutional attend to, as a commitment of the authorities and university actors to assume, as a joint effort, the quality of nationally university education, with the focus of academic and administrative quality university. The Quality Policy is presented with a conceptual framework: objectives, principles, objectives and scope, as well as guidelines and the path to the fulfillment of the same, with the interest to delimit and support an appropriate quality management for university autonomy and accordance with national and international. This Quality Policy has been prepared with the participation of the different universities associated with the Union of Rectors of Private Universities (UNIRE) and members of the National Council of Rectors (CONARE), whose point of departure was diagnosed about reality linked to academic quality experienced by university higher education institutions in the country, a proposal from representatives of different universities and revision of a first draft by some of the university authorities.Keywords: Costa Rica Universities, Quality Policies, CONARE, UNIRE.

BackgroundRetifanlimab (INCMGA00012) is a humanized, hinge-stabilized immunoglobulin G4 kappa (IgG4κ), anti-programmed cell death protein (PD)-1 monoclonal antibody with safety and clinical pharmacology that are characteristic for the class. Evaluation of retifanlimab in solid tumors is under investigation in phase 2 and 3 studies. POD1UM-201 is an open-label, single-arm, multicenter, phase 2 study evaluating the efficacy and safety of retifanlimab in patients with chemotherapy-naïve or chemotherapy-refractory advanced/metastatic Merkel cell carcinoma (MCC). Updated results from the chemotherapy-naïve cohort are reported here.MethodsEligible patients were ≥18 years of age, had metastatic or recurrent unresectable loco-regional MCC, Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group performance status ≤1, measurable disease per Response Evaluation Criteria in Solid Tumors (RECIST) v1.1, and had not received prior systemic treatment for MCC. Retifanlimab 500 mg IV every 4 weeks (Q4W) was administered for up to 2 years. The primary endpoint was overall response rate (ORR) assessed by independent central review per RECIST v1.1. Secondary endpoints included duration of response, disease control rate (DCR; defined as proportion of patients with either an objective response or stable disease lasting at least 6 months), progression-free survival, overall survival, safety, and pharmacokinetics.ResultsAs of April 16, 2021, 87 patients with chemotherapy-naïve advanced/metastatic MCC had received retifanlimab. Per protocol, the primary efficacy analyses are based on the first 65 patients assessed. At the data cutoff, 34 of these 65 patients (52.3%) were on treatment; 4 (6.2%) had completed treatment; and 27 (41.5%) had discontinued treatment for reasons including disease progression (18 [27.7%]), adverse event (AE; 7 [10.8%]), death (1 [1.5%]), and physician decision (1 [1.5%]). The ORR in these patients was 46.2% (n=30: complete response, 8 [12.3%]; partial response, 22 [33.8%]). The DCR was 53.8% (n=35). Other secondary efficacy results are not yet mature. Among all treated patients (n=87), 66 (75.9%) had a treatment-emergent AE (TEAE), 25 (28.7%) had a grade ≥3 TEAE, and 12 (13.8%) had a grade ≥3 treatment-related AE. Twenty-three patients (26.4%) had an immune-related AE (irAE), and 8 (9.2%) had a grade ≥3 irAE. Four patients (4.6%) discontinued treatment due to irAEs (peripheral sensorimotor neuropathy, pancreatitis, eosinophilic fasciitis, and polyarthritis [each n=1]). One patient (1.1%) had a grade 3 infusion reaction.ConclusionsThese data from the POD1UM-201 trial show that retifanlimab monotherapy at 500 mg Q4W continues to demonstrate promising clinical activity and safety in patients with advanced/metastatic chemotherapy-naïve MCC. Updated results will be presented at the meeting.AcknowledgementsThe study is sponsored by Incyte Corporation (Wilmington, DE). Statistical support was provided by Xiaohan Xu of Incyte Corporation. Editorial assistance was provided by Matthew Bidgood of Envision Pharma Group (Philadelphia, PA, USA).Trial RegistrationClinicaltrials.gov NCT03599713; EudraCT 2018-001627-39Ethics ApprovalThe study was approved by institutional review boards or independent ethics committees in Canada (McGill University Health Center-Research Ethics Board [MP-37-2019-5103, MEO-37-2019-1616]; Ontario Cancer Research Ethics Board [1728]; Health Research Ethics Board of Alberta – Cancer Committee [HREBA.CC-19-0004, HREBA.CC-19-0020]); Czech Republic (Eticka komise Fakultni nemocnice Kralovske Vinohrady, Eticka komise IKEM a FTNsP, Eticka komise Nemocnice Na Bulovce, Statni ustav pro kontrolu leciv, Eticka komise FN a LF UP Olomouc [169/18MEK24, LEK/04/07/2018, (L-18-85) 8522/23.3.2021, 22.3.2021/9965/EK-Z]); France (Comité de Protection des Personnes Ile de France X [CNRIPH : 18.11.19.49212/Id. 2043]; Agence Nationale de Sécurité du Médicament et des Produits de Santé); Germany (Ethik-Kommission der Medizinischen Fakultaet der Universitaet Duisburg-Essen [18-8371-AF]; Bundesamt fuer Strahlenschutz; Paul-Ehrlich Institute); Hungary (Egeszsegugyi Tudomanyos Tanacs Klinikai Farmakologiai Etikai Bizottsaga [IV/2407-0/2021-EKL, OGYÉI/11697-2/2021]; Orszagos Gyogyszereszeti es Elelmezes-egeszsegugyi Intezet); Italy (Comitato Etico IRCCS Pascale Napoli [116/21 E - 87/18]; Comitato Etico IRCCS di Candiolo [232/2021]; Istituto Tumori Giovanni Paolo II IRCCS Ospedale Oncologico Bari [736/CE]; Comitato Etico Locale per la Sperim. Clin. dei Medicinali dell’Az. Osp.ra Univ.ria Senese di Siena [14107]; Comitato Etico dell’IRCCS Istituto Nazionale per la Ricerca sul Cancro di Genova [389/2018 - 24/05/2021]; Comitato etico degli IRCCS Istituto Europeo di Oncologia e Centro Cardiologico Monzino [IEO 948 - RE3065/IB Edition 7 dated 10Nov2020 (SA7)]; Comitato Etico, Fondazione IRCCS Istituto Nazionale dei Tumori, .c. Medicina Oncologica 1 – Fondazio [INT 01/19]; Comitato Etico IRCCS Istituto Oncologico Veneto di Padova [EM 109/2021]; Comitato Etico dell’IRCCS Istituto Dermopatico dell’Immacolata Ospedale Generale S. 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RESUMENLa pretensión de este artículo es ofrecer una serie de reflexiones y valoraciones metodológicas sobre la historia medieval de la Iglesia y la religiosidad partiendo de algunos aspectos destacados de la producción historiográfica reciente y esbozar ciertas propuestas en la misma clave metodológica. Este ensayo reflexiona sobre temas, enfoques y perspectivas, sobre los niveles de estudio de lo religioso y sobre la integración de la historia de la Iglesia y la historia social, y aboga por una historiasocial de la Iglesia.PALABRAS CLAVE: Historia Medieval, Historia de la Iglesia y la vida religiosa en la Edad Media, Metodología histórica, Liturgia y sociedad, Tendencias historiográficas.ABSTRACTThe aim of this article is to offer a series of reflections and methodological evaluations on the medieval history of the Church and religiosity based on some outstanding aspects of recent historiographical production, and to outline certain proposals in the same methodological vein. 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Cardiovascular disease is the leading cause of death in the world. Cardiovascular risk assessment is an important step in preventing and treating the disease. The current study assesses the 10-year risk of cardiovascular disease in 306 VNU’s office workers in 2016-2017 based on the 2008 Framingham Risk Score. The study results show that the average risk score was 4.05 ± 4.76%; low risk was 90.52%; moderate risk: 7.85 %; and high to very high risk was 1.63%. Men have a higher risk score than women (p <0.001). The ten-year cardiovascular risk score shows that age and systolic blood pressure correlated with the risk at a medium level, and cholesterol and HDL correlated with it at a low level. Keywords Framingham Risk Score 2008, 10-year cardiovascular risk score, hypertension, blood cholesterol, blood HDL. References [1] Cardiovasculardiseases, http://www.who.int/en/newsroom/factsheets/detail/cardiovascular diseases-(cvds), (truy cập ngày 22/03/2019).[2] A.R. 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Do et al, Cardiovascular disease risk factor patterns and their implications for intervention strategies in Vietnam, Int J Hypertens, ID. 560397, (2012), 1-11.[19] M. Nakhaie, B. Koor, S. Salehiet al, Prediction of cardiovascular disease risk using framingham risk score among office workers, Iran, 2017, Saudi journal of kidney diseases and transplantation. 29(3) (2018) 608-614. [20] Trịnh Xuân Thắng, Nghiên cứu các yếu tố nguy cơ bệnh tim mạch ở người >25 tuổi tại 2 quận huyện Hà Nội, Luận văn thạc sỹ, Đại học Y Hà Nội, (2013). [21] Nguyễn Hoàng Liên, Văn Thế Trung, Xác định nguy cơ tim mạch theo thang điểm Framingham trên bệnh nhân vẩy nến tại bệnh viện da liễu TP. Hồ Chí Minh, Y Học TP. Hồ Chí Minh, 18(1), (2014), 79-85. [22] R. Gupta, V. Kaul, A. Agrawalet et al, Cardiovascular risk according to educational status in India, Preventive medicine. 51(5) (2010) 408–411.[23] C.A. Jones, L. Ross, N. 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Our daily environment is surrounded by a paradoxically silent and invisible flow: the coming and going of data through our network cables, routers and wireless devices. This data is not just 1s and 0s, but bits of the conversations, images, sounds, thoughts and other forms of information that result from our interaction with the world around us. If we can speak of a global ambience, it is certainly derived from this constant flow of data. It is an endless murmur that speaks to our machines and gives us a sense of awareness of a certain form of surrounding that is independent from our actual, physical location. The constant “presence” of data around us is something that we have become largely aware of. Already in 1994, Phil Agre stated in an article in WIRED Magazine: “We're so accustomed to data that hardly anyone questions it” (1). Agre indicated that this data is in fact a representation of the world, the discrete bits of information that form the reality we are immersed in. He also proposed that it should be “brought to life” by exploring its relationships with other data and the world itself. A decade later, these relationships had become the core of the new paradigm of the World Wide Web and our interaction with cyberspace. As Mitchell Whitelaw puts it: “The web is increasingly a set of interfaces to datasets ... . On the contemporary web the data pour has become the rule, rather than the exception. The so-called ‘web 2.0’ paradigm further abstracts web content into feeds, real-time flows of XML data” ("Art against Information"). These feeds and flows have been used by artists and researchers in the creation of different forms of dynamic visualisations, in which data is mapped according to a set of parameters in order to summarise it in a single image or structure. Lev Manovich distinguishes in these visualisations those made by artists, to which he refers as “data art”. Unlike other forms of mapping, according to Manovich data art has a precise goal: “The more interesting and at the end maybe more important challenge is how to represent the personal subjective experience of a person living in a data society” (15). Therefore, data artists extract from the bits of information available in cyberspace a dynamic representation of our contemporary environment, the ambience of our digital culture, our shared, intimate and at the same time anonymous, subjectivity. In this article I intend to present some of the ways in which artists have dealt with the murmur of data creatively, exploring the immense amounts of user generated content in forms that interrogate our relationship with the virtual environment and the global community. I will discuss several artistic projects that have shaped the data flow on the Internet in order to take the user back to a state of contemplation, as a listener, an observer, and finally encountering the virtual in a physical form. Listening The concept of ambience particularly evokes an auditory experience related to a given location: in filmmaking, it refers to the sounds of the surrounding space and is the opposite of silence; as a musical genre, ambient music contributes to create a certain atmosphere. In relation to flows of data, it can be said that the applications that analyze Internet traffic and information are “listening” to it, as if someone stands in a public place, overhearing other people's conversations. The act of listening also implies a reception, not an emission, which is a substantial distinction given the fact that data art projects work with given data instead of generating it. As Mitchell Whitelaw states: “Data here is first of all indexical of reality. Yet it is also found, or to put it another way, given. ... Data's creation — in the sense of making a measurement, framing and abstracting something from the flux of the real — is left out” (3). One of the most interesting artistic projects to initially address this sort of “listening” is Carnivore (2001) by the Radical Software Group. Inspired by DCS1000, an e-mail surveillance software developed by the FBI, Carnivore (which was actually the original name of the FBI's program) listens to Internet traffic and serves this data to interfaces (clients) designed by artists, which interpret the provided information in several ways. The data packets can be transformed into an animated graphic, as in amalgamatmosphere (2001) by Joshua Davis, or drive a fleet of radio controlled cars, as in Police State (2003) by Jonah Brucker-Cohen. Yet most of these clients treat data as a more or less abstract value (expressed in numbers) that serves to trigger the reactions in each client. Carnivore clients provide an initial sense of the concept of ambience as reflected in the data circulating the Internet, yet other projects will address this subject more eloquently. Fig. 1: Ben Rubin, Mark Hansen, Listening Post (2001-03). Multimedia installation. Photo: David Allison.Listening Post (2001-04) by Mark Hansen and Ben Rubin is an installation consisting of 231 small electronic screens distributed in a semicircular grid [fig.1: Listening Post]. The screens display texts culled from thousands of Internet chat rooms, which are read by a voice synthesiser and arranged synchronically across the grid. The installation thus becomes a sort of large panel, somewhere between a videowall and an altarpiece, which invites the viewer to engage in a meditative contemplation, seduced by the visual arrangement of the flickering texts scrolling on each screen, appearing and disappearing, whilst sedated by the soft, monotonous voice of the machine and an atmospheric musical soundtrack. The viewer is immersed in a particular ambience generated by the fragmented narratives of the anonymous conversations extracted from the Internet. The setting of the piece, isolated in a dark room, invites contemplation and silence, as the viewer concentrates on seeing and listening. The artists clearly state that their goal in creating this installation was to recreate a sense of ambience that is usually absent in electronic communications: “A participant in a chat room has limited sensory access to the collective 'buzz' of that room or of others nearby – the murmur of human contact that we hear naturally in a park, a plaza or a coffee shop is absent from the online experience. The goal of Listening Post is to collect this buzz and render it at a human scale” (Hansen 114-15). The "buzz", as Hansen and Rubin describe it, is in fact nonexistent in the sense that it does not take place in any physical environment, but is rather the imagined output of the circulation of a myriad blocks of data through the Net. This flow of data is translated into audible and visible signals, thus creating a "murmur" that the viewer can relate to her experience in interacting with other humans. The ambience of a room full of people engaged in conversation is artificially recreated and expanded beyond the boundaries of a real space. By extracting chats from the Internet, the murmur becomes global, reflecting the topics that are being shared by users around the world, in an improvised, ever-changing embodiment of the Zeitgeist, the spirit of the time, or even a certain stream of consciousness on a planetary scale. Fig. 2: Gregory Chatonsky, L'Attente - The Waiting (2007). Net artwork. Photo: Gregory Chatonsky.The idea of contemplation and receptiveness is also present in another artwork that elaborates on the concept of the Zeitgeist. L'Attente [The Waiting] (2007) by Gregory Chatonsky is a net art piece that feeds from the data on the Internet to create an open, never-ending fiction in real time [Fig.2: The Waiting]. In this case, the viewer experiences the artwork on her personal computer, as a sort of film in which words, images and sounds are displayed in a continuous sequence, driven by a slow paced soundtrack that confers a sense of unity to the fragmented nature of the work. The data is extracted in real time from several popular sites (photos from Flickr, posts from Twitter, sound effects from Odeo), the connection between image and text being generated by the network itself: the program extracts text from the posts that users write in Twitter, then selects some words to perform a search on the Flickr database and retrieve photos with matching keywords. The viewer is induced to make sense of this concatenation of visual and audible content and thus creates a story by mentally linking all the elements into what Chatonsky defines as "a fiction without narration" (Chatonsky, Flußgeist). The murmur here becomes a story, but without the guiding voice of a narrator. As with Listening Post, the viewer is placed in the role of a witness or a voyeur, subject to an endless flow of information which is not made of the usual contents distributed by mainstream media, but the personal and intimate statements of her peers, along with the images they have collected and the portraits that identify them in the social networks. In contrast to the overdetermination of History suggested by the term Zeitgeist, Chatonsky proposes a different concept, the spirit of the flow or Flußgeist, which derives not from a single idea expressed by multiple voices but from a "voice" that is generated by listening to all the different voices on the Net (Chatonsky, Zeitgeist). Again, the ambience is conceived as the combination of a myriad of fragments, which requires attentive contemplation. The artist describes this form of interacting with the contents of the piece by making a reference to the character of the angel Damiel in Wim Wenders’s film Wings of Desire (Der Himmel über Berlin, 1987): “to listen as an angel distant and proximate the inner voice of people, to place the hand on their insensible shoulder, to hold without being able to hold back” (Chatonsky, Flußgeist). The act of listening as described in Wenders's character illustrates several key aspects of the above mentioned artworks: there is, on the one hand, a receptiveness, carried out by the applications that extract data from the Internet, which cannot be “hold back” by the user, unable to control the flow that is evolving in front of her. On the other hand, the information she receives is always fragmentary, made up of disconnected parts which are, in the words of the artist Lisa Jevbratt, “rubbings ... indexical traces of reality” (1). Observing The observation of our environment takes us to consider the concept of landscape. Landscape, in its turn, acquires a double nature when we compare our relationship with the physical environment and the digital realm. In this sense, Mitchell Whitelaw stresses that while data moves at superhuman speed, the real world seems slow and persistent (Landscape). The overlapping of dynamic, fast-paced, virtual information on a physical reality that seems static in comparison is one of the distinctive traits of the following projects, in which the ambience is influenced by realtime data in a visual form that is particularly subtle, or even invisible to the naked eye. Fig. 3: Carlo Zanni, The Fifth Day (2009). Net artwork. Screenshot retrieved on 4/4/2009. Photo: Carlo Zanni. The Fifth Day (2009) by Carlo Zanni is a net art piece in which the artist has created a narration by displaying a sequence of ten pictures showing a taxi ride in the city of Alexandria [Fig.3: The Fifth Day]. Although still, the images are dynamic in the sense that they are transformed according to data retrieved from the Internet describing the political and cultural status of Egypt, along with data extracted from the user's own identity on the Net, such as her IP or city of residence. Every time a user accesses the website where the artwork is hosted, this data is collected and its values are applied to the photos by cloning or modifying particular elements in them. For instance, a photograph of a street will show as many passersby as the proportion of seats held by women in national parliament, while the reflection in the taxi driver's mirror in another photo will be replaced by a picture taken from Al-Jazeera's website. Zanni addresses the viewer's perception of the Middle East by inserting small bits of additional information and also elements from the viewer's location and culture into the images of the Egyptian city. The sequence is rendered as the trailer of a political thriller, enhanced by a dramatic soundtrack and concluded with the artwork's credits. As with the abovementioned projects, the viewer must adopt a passive role, contemplating the images before her and eventually observing the minute modifications inserted by the data retrieved in real time. Yet, in this case, the ambience is not made manifest by a constant buzz to which one must listen, but quite more subtly it is suggested by the fact that not even a still image is always the same. As if observing a landscape, the overall impression is that nothing has changed while there are minor transformations that denote a constant evolution. Zanni has explored this idea in previous works such as eBayLandscape (2004), in which he creates a landscape image by combining data extracted from several websites, or My Temporary Visiting Position from the Sunset Terrace Bar (2007), in which a view of the city of Ahlen (Germany) is combined with a real time webcam image of the sky in Naples (Italy). Although they may seem self-enclosed, these online, data-driven compositions also reflect the global ambience, the Zeitgeist, in different forms. As Carlo Giordano puts it: "Aesthetically, the work aims to a nearly seamless integration of mixed fragments. The contents of these parts, reflecting political and economical issues ... thematize actuality and centrality, amplifying the author's interest in what everybody is talking about, what happens hic et nunc, what is in the fore of the media and social discourse" (16-17). A landscape made of data, such as Zanni's eBayLandscape, is the most eloquent image of how an invisible layer of information is superimposed over our physical environment. Fig. 4: Clara Boj and Diego Díaz, Red Libre, Red Visible (2004-06). Intervention in the urban space. Photo: Lalalab.Artists Clara Boj and Diego Díaz, moreover, have developed a visualisation of the actual flows of data that permeate the spaces we inhabit. In Red Libre, Red Visible [Free Network, Visible Network] (2004-06), Boj and Díaz used Augmented Reality (AR) technology to display the flows of data in a local wireless network by creating AR marker tags that were placed on the street. A Carnivore client developed by the artists enabled anyone with a webcam pointing towards the marker tag and connected to the Wi-Fi network to see in real time the data packets flowing from their computer towards the tag [Fig.4: Red Libre]. The marker tags therefore served both as a tool for the visualisation of network activity as well as a visual sign of the existence of an open network in a particular urban area. Later on, they added the possibility of inserting custom made messages, 3D shapes and images that would appear when a particular AR marker tag was seen through the lens of the webcam. With this project, Boj and Díaz give the user the ability to observe and interact with a layer of her environment that was previously invisible and in some senses, out of reach. The artists developed this idea further in Observatorio [Observatory] (2008), a sightseeing telescope that reveals the existence of Wi-Fi networks in an urban area. In both projects, an important yet unnoticed aspect of our surroundings is brought into focus. As with Carlo Zanni's projects, we are invited to observe what usually escapes our perception. The ambience in our urban environment has also been explored by Julian Oliver, Clara Boj, Diego Díaz and Damian Stewart in The Artvertiser (2009-10), a hand-held augmented reality (AR) device that allows to substitute advertising billboards with custom made images. As Naomi Klein states in her book No Logo, the public spaces in most cities have been dominated by corporate advertising, allowing little or no space for freedom of expression (Klein 399). Oliver's project faces this situation by enabling a form of virtual culture jamming which converts any billboard-crowded plaza into an unparalleled exhibition space. Using AR technology, the artists have developed a system that enables anyone with a camera phone, smartphone or the customised "artvertiser binoculars" to record and substitute any billboard advertisement with a modified image. The user can therefore interact with her environment, first by observing and being aware of the presence of these commercial spaces and later on by inserting her own creations or those of other artists. By establishing a connection to the Internet, the modified billboard can be posted on sites like Flickr or YouTube, generating a constant feedback between the real location and the Net. Gregory Chatonsky's concept of the Flußgeist, which I mentioned earlier, is also present in these works, visually displaying the data on top of a real environment. Again, the user is placed in a passive situation, as a receptor of the information that is displayed in front of her, but in this case the connection with reality is made more evident. Furthermore, the perception of the environment minimises the awareness of the fragmentary nature of the information generated by the flow of data. Embodying In her introduction to the data visualisation section of her book Digital Art, Christiane Paul stresses the fact that data is “intrinsically virtual” and therefore lacking a particular form of manifestation: “Information itself to a large extent seems to have lost its 'body', becoming an abstract 'quality' that can make a fluid transition between different states of materiality” (Paul 174). Although data has no “body”, we can consider, as Paul suggests, any object containing a particular set of information to be a dataspace in its own. In this sense, a tendency in working with the Internet dataflow is to create a connection between the data and a physical object, either as the end result of a process in which the data has been collected and then transferred to a physical form, or providing a means of physically reshaping the object through the variable input of data. The objectification of data thus establishes a link between the virtual and the real, but in the context of an artwork it also implies a particular meaning, as the following examples will show.Fig. 5: Gregory Chatonsky, Le Registre - The Register (2007). Book shelf and books. Photo: Pau Waelder. In Le Registre [The Register] (2007), Gregory Chatonsky developed a software application that gathers sentences related to feelings found on blogs. These sentences are recorded and put together in the form a 500-page book every hour. Every day, the books are gathered in sets of 24 and incorporated to an infinite library. Chatonsky has created a series of bookshelves to collect the books for one day, therefore turning an abstract process into an object and providing a physical embodiment of the murmur of data that I have described earlier [Fig.5: Le Registre]. As with L'Attente, in this work Chatonsky elaborates on the concept of Flußgeist, by “listening” to a specific set of data (in a similar way as in Hansen and Rubin's Listening Post) and bringing it into salience. The end product of this process is not just a meaningless object but actually what makes this work profoundly ironic: printing the books is a futile effort, but also constitutes a borgesque attempt at creating an endless library of something as ephemeral as feelings. In a similar way, but with different intentions, Jens Wunderling brings the online world to the physical world in Default to Public (2009). A series of objects are located in several public spaces in order to display information extracted from users of the Twitter network. Wunderling's installation projects the tweets on a window or prints them in adhesive labels, while informing the users that their messages have been taken for this purpose. The materialisation of information meant for a virtual environment implies a new approach to the concept of ambiance as described previously, and in this case also questions the intimacy of those participating in social networks. As the artist puts it: "In times of rapid change concerning communication behavior, media access and competence, the project Default to Public aims to raise awareness of the possible effects on our lives and our privacy" (Wunderling 155). Fig. 6: Moisés Mañas, Stock (2009). Networked installation. Photo: Moisés Mañas. Finally, in Stock (2009), Moisés Mañas embodies the flow of data from stock markets in an installation consisting of several trench coats hanging from automated coat hangers which oscillate when the stock values of a certain company rise. The resulting movement of the respective trench coat simulates a person laughing. In this work, Mañas translates the abstract flow of data into a clearly understandable gesture, providing at the same time a comment on the dynamics of stock markets [Fig.6: Stock]. Mañas´s project does not therefore simply create a physical output of a specific information (such as the stock value of a company at any given moment), but instead creates a dynamic sculpture which suggests a different perception of an otherwise abstract data. On the one hand, the trenchcoats have a ghostly presence and, as they move with unnatural spams, they remind us of the Freudian concept of the Uncanny (Das Umheimliche) so frequently associated with robots and artificial intelligence. On the other hand, the image of a person laughing, in the context of stock markets and the current economical crisis, becomes an ironic symbol of the morality of some stockbrokers. In these projects, the ambience is brought into attention by generating a physical output of a particular set of data that is extracted from certain channels and piped into a system that creates an embodiment of this immaterial flow. Yet, as the example of Mañas's project clearly shows, objects have particular meanings that are incorporated into the artwork's concept and remind us that the visualisation of information in data art is always discretionary, shaped in a particular form in order to convey the artist's intentions. Beyond the Buzz The artworks presented in this article revealt that, beyond the murmur of sentences culled from chats and blogs, the flow of data on the Internet can be used to express our difficult relationship with the vast amount of information that surrounds us. As Mitchell Whitelaw puts it: “Data art reflects a contemporary worldview informed by data excess; ungraspable quantity, wide distribution, mobility, heterogeneity, flux. Orienting ourselves in this domain is a constant challenge; the network exceeds any overview or synopsis” (Information). This excess is compared by Lev Manovich with the Romantic concept of the Sublime, that which goes beyond the limits of human measure and perception, and suggests an interpretation of data art as the Anti-Sublime (Manovich 11). Yet, in the projects that I have presented, rather than making sense of the constant flow of data there is a sort of dialogue, a framing of the information under a particular interpretation. Data is channeled through the artworks's interfaces but remains as a raw material, unprocessed to some extent, retrieved from its original context. These works explore the possibility of presenting us with constantly renewed content that will develop and, if the artwork is preserved, reflect the thoughts and visions of the next generations. A work constantly evolving in the present continuous, yet also depending on the uncertain future of social network companies and the ever-changing nature of the Internet. The flow of data will nevertheless remain unstoppable, our ambience defined by the countless interactions that take place every day between our divided self and the growing number of machines that share information with us. References Agre, Phil. “Living Data.” Wired 2.11 (Nov. 1994). 30 April 2010 ‹http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/2.11/agre.if.html›. Chatonsky, Gregory. “Flußgeist, une fiction sans narration.” Gregory Chatonsky, Notes et Fragments 13 Feb. 2007. 28 Feb. 2010 ‹http://incident.net/users/gregory/wordpress/13-flusgeist-une-fiction-sans-narration/›. ———. “Le Zeitgeist et l'esprit de 'nôtre' temps.” Gregory Chatonsky, Notes et Fragments 21 Jan. 2007. 28 Feb. 2010 ‹http://incident.net/users/gregory/wordpress/21-le-zeigeist-et-lesprit-de-notre-temps/›. Giordano, Carlo. Carlo Zanni. Vitalogy. A Study of a Contemporary Presence. London: Institute of Contemporary Arts, 2005. Hansen, Mark, and Ben Rubin. “Listening Post.” Cyberarts 2004. International Compendium – Prix Ars Electronica 2004. Ed. Hannes Leopoldseder and Christine Schöpf. Ostfildern: Hate Cantz, 2004. 112-17. ———. “Babble Online: Applying Statistics and Design to Sonify the Internet.” Proceedings of the 2001 International Conference on Auditory Display, Espoo, Finland. 30 April 2010 ‹http://www.acoustics.hut.fi/icad2001/proceedings/papers/hansen.pdf›. Jevbratt, Lisa. “Projects.” A::minima 15 (2003). 30 April 2010 ‹http://aminima.net/wp/?p=93&language=en›. Klein, Naomi. No Logo. [El poder de las marcas]. Barcelona: Paidós, 2007. Manovich, Lev. “Data Visualization as New Abstraction and Anti-Sublime.” Manovich.net Aug. 2002. 30 April 2010 ‹http://www.manovich.net/DOCS/data_art_2.doc›. Paul, Christiane. Digital Art. London: Thames & Hudson, 2003. Whitelaw, Mitchell. “Landscape, Slow Data and Self-Revelation.” Kerb 17 (May 2009). 30 April 2010 ‹http://teemingvoid.blogspot.com/2009/05/landscape-slow-data-and-self-revelation.html›. ———. “Art against Information: Case Studies in Data Practice.” Fibreculture 11 (Jan. 2008). 30 April 2010 ‹http://journal.fibreculture.org/issue11/issue11_whitelaw.html›. Wunderling, Jens. "Default to Public." Cyberarts 2009. International Compendium – Prix Ars Electronica 2004. Ed. Hannes Leopoldseder, Christine Schöpf and Gerfried Stocker. Ostfildern: Hate Cantz, 2009. 154-55.

The following article is in response to a research project that took the form of a road trip from Perth to Lombadina re-enacting the journey undertaken by the characters in the play Bran Nue Dae by playwright Jimmy Chi and Broome band Kuckles. This project was facilitated by the assistance of a Creative and Research Publication Grant from the Faculty of Communications and Creative Industries, Edith Cowan University, Western Australia. The project was carried out by researchers Kara Jacob and Margaret Hair. One thing is plainly clear. Aboriginal art expresses the possibility of human intimacy with landscapes. This is the key to its power: it makes available a rich tradition of human ethics and relationships with place and other species to a worldwide audience. For the settler Australian audience, caught ambiguously between old and new lands, their appreciation of this art embodies at least a striving for the kind of citizenship that republicans wanted: to belong to this place rather than to another (Marcia Langton in Watson 191). Marcia Langton is talking here about painting. My question is whether this “kind of citizenship” can also be accessed through appreciation of indigenous theatre, and specifically through the play Bran Nue Dae, by playwright Jimmy Chi and Broome band Kuckles, a play closely linked to the Western Australian landscape through its appropriation of the road trip genre. The physical journey taken by the characters metaphorically takes them also through the contact history of black and white Australians in Western Australia. Significantly, the non-indigenous characters experience the redemptive power of “human intimacy with landscapes” through travelling to the traditional country of their road trip companions. The road trip genre typically places its characters on a quest for knowledge. American poet Gary Snyder says that the two sources of human knowledge are symbols and sense-impressions (vii). Bran Nue Dae abounds with symbols, from the priest’s cassock and mitre to Roebourne prison; however, the sense impressions, which are so strong in the performance of the play, are missing from the written text, apart from ironic comments on the weather. In my efforts to understand Bran Nue Dae, I undertook the road trip from Perth to the Kimberley myself in order to discover those missing sense-impressions, as they form part of the “back story” of the play. In the play there is a void between the time the characters leave Perth and reach first Roebourne, where they are locked up, and then Roebuck Plains, not far from Broome, yet in the “real world” they would have travelled more than two thousand kilometres. What would they have seen and experienced on this journey? I took note of Krim Benterrak, Paddy Roe and Stephen Muecke’s Reading the Country, a cross-cultural and cross-textual study on Roebuck Plains, near Broome. Muecke talks about “stories being contingent upon place … Aboriginal storytellers have a similar policy. If one is not prepared to take the trouble to go to the place, then its story can only be given as a short version” (72). In preparing for the trip, I collected tourist brochures and maps. The use of maps, seemingly essential on any road trip as guides to “having a look at” country (Muecke ibid.), was instantly problematic in itself, in that maps represent country as colonised space. In Saltwater People, Nonie Sharp discusses the “distinction between mapping and personal journeying”: Maps and mapping describe space in a way that depersonalises it. Mapping removes the footprints of named creatures – animal, human, ancestral – who belong to this place or that place. A map can be anywhere. ‘Itineraries’, however, are actions and movements within a named and footprinted land (Sharp 199-200). The country journeyed through in Bran Nue Dae, which privileges indigenous experience, could be designated as the potentially dangerous liminal space between the “map” and the “itinerary”. This “space between” resonates with untold stories, with invisibilities. One of the most telling discoveries on the research trip was the thoroughness with which indigenous people have been made to disappear from the “mapped” zones through various colonial policies. It was very evident that indigenous people are still relegated to the fringes of town, as in Onslow and Port Hedland, in housing situations closely resembling the old missions and reserves. Although my travelling companion and I made an effort in every place we visited to pay our respects by at least finding out the language group of the traditional owners, it became clear that a major challenge in travelling through post-colonial space is in avoiding becoming complicit in the disappearance of indigenous people. We wanted our focus to be “on the people whose bodies, territories, beliefs and values have been travelled though” (Tuhiwai Smith 78) but our experience was that finding even written guides into the “footprinted land” is not easy when few tourist pamphlets acknowledge the traditional owners of the country. Even when “local Aboriginal” words are quoted, as in the CALM brochure for Nambung National Park (i.e., the Pinnacles), the actual language or language group is not mentioned. In many interpretive brochures and facilities, traditional owners are represented as absent, as victims or as prisoners. The fate of the “original inhabitants of the Greenough Flats”, the Yabbaroo people, is alluded to in the Greenough River Nature Walk Trail Guide, under the title, “A short history of Greenough River from the Rivermouth to Westbank Road”: The Gregory brothers, exploring for pastoral land in 1848, peacefully met with a large group of Aborigines camped beside a freshwater spring in a dense Melaleuca thicket. They named the spring Bootenal, from the Nyungar word Boolungal, meaning pelican. Gregory’s glowing reports of good grazing prompted pastoralists to move their flocks to Greenough, and by 1852 William Criddle was watering cattle for the Cattle Company at the Bootenal Spring. The Aborigines soon resented this intrusion and in 1854, large numbers with many from surrounding tribes, gathered in the relative safety of the Bootenal thicket. Making forays at night, they killed cattle and sheep and attacked homesteads. The pastoralists retaliated by forming a posse at Glengarry under the command of the Resident Magistrate. On the night of the 4th/5th July they rode to Bootenal and drove the Aborigines from the thicket. No arrests were made and no official report given of casualties. Aboriginal resistance in the area was finished. The fact that the extract actually describes a massacre while purporting to be a “history of Greenough River” subverts the notion that the land can ever really be “depersonalised”. At the very heart of the difference lie different ways of being human: in Aboriginal classical tradition the person dwells within a personified landscape which is alive, named, inscribed by spiritual and human agents. It is a ‘Thou’ not an ‘It’, and I and Thou belong together (Sharp 199-200). Peter Read’s book Belonging: Australians, Place and Aboriginal Ownership contains a section titled “The Past Embedded in the Landscape” in which Read discusses whether the land holds the memory of events enacted upon it, so forming a tangible link between the dispossessed and the possessors. While discussing Judith Wright’s poem Bora Ring, Read states: “The unlaid violence of dispossession lingers at the sites of evil or old magic”, bringing to mind Wright’s notion of Australia as “a haunted country” (14). It is not surprising that the “unlaid violence of dispossession lingers” at the sites of old prisons and lock-ups, since it is built into the very architecture. The visitor pamphlet states that the 1890s design by George Temple Poole of the third Roebourne gaol, further up the great Northern Highway from Greenough and beautifully constructed from stone, “represents a way in which the state ideology of control of a remote and potentially dangerous population could be expressed in buildings”. The current Roebourne prison, still holding a majority of Aboriginal inmates, does away with any pretence of architectural elegance but expresses the same state ideology with its fence topped with razor wire. Without a guide like Bran Nue Dae’s Uncle Tadpole to keep us “off the track”, non-indigenous visitors to these old gaols, now largely museums, may be quickly led by the interpretation into the “mapped zone” – the narrative of imperialist expansion. However, we can follow Paul Carter’s injunction to “deepen grooves” and start with John Pat’s story at the Roebourne police lock-up, or the story of any indigenous inmate of the present Roebuck prison, spiralling back a century to the first Roebuck prison in settler John Withnell’s woolshed (Weightman 4). Then we gain a sense of the contact experience of the local indigenous peoples. John Withnell and his wife Emma are represented as particularly resourceful by the interpretation at the old Roebourne gaol (now Roebourne Visitors Centre and Museum). The museum has a replica of a whalebone armchair that John Withnell built for his wife with vertebrae as the seat and other bones as the back and armrests. The family also invented the canvas waterbag. The interpretation fails to mention that the same John Withnell beat an Aboriginal woman named Talarong so severely for refusing to care for sheep at Withnell’s Hillside Station that “she retreated into the bush and died of her injuries two days later”. No charges were brought against Withnell because, according to the Acting Government Resident, of the “great provocation” by Talarong in the incident (Hunt 99-100). Such omissions and silences in the official record force indigenous people into a parallel “invisible country” and leave us stranded on the highways of the “mapped zone”, bereft of our rights and responsibilities to connect either to the country or to its traditional owners. Roebourne, and its coastal port Cossack, stand on the hauntingly beautiful country of the Ngarluma and seaside Yapurarra peoples. Settlers first arrived in the 1860s and Aboriginal people began to be officially imprisoned soon after, primarily as a result of their resistance to being “blackbirded” and exploited as labour for the pearling and pastoral industries. Prisoners were chained by the neck, day and night, and forced to build roads and tramlines, ostensibly a “civilising” practice. As the history pamphlet for The Old Roebourne Gaol reads: “It was widely believed that the Roebourne Gaol was where the ‘benefit’ of white civilisation could be shown to the ‘savage’ Aboriginal” (Weightman 2). The “back story” I discovered on this research trip was one of disappearance – indigenous people being made to disappear from their countries, from non-indigenous view and from the written record. The symbols I surprisingly most engaged with and which most affected me were the gaols and prisons which the imperialists used as tools of their trade in disappearance. The sense impressions I experienced – extreme beauty, isolation, heat and sandflies – reinforced the complexity of Western Australian contact history. I began to see the central achievement of Bran Nue Dae as being the return of indigenous people to country and to story. This return, so beautifully realised in when the characters finally reach Lombadina and a state of acceptance, is critical to healing the country and to the attainment of an equitable “kind of citizenship” that denotes belonging for all. References Aboriginal Tourism Australia. Welcome to Country: Respecting Indigenous Culture for Travellers in Australia. 2004. Benterrak, Krim, Stephen Muecke, and Paddy Roe. Reading the Country. Perth: Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 1984. Carter, Paul. The Lie of the Land. London: Faber & Faber, 1996. Dalton, Peter. “Broome: A Multiracial Community. A Study of Social and Cultural Relationships in a Town in the West Kimberleys, Western Australia”. Thesis for Master of Arts in Anthropology. Perth: University of Western Australia, 1964. Hunt, Susan Jane. Spinifex and Hessian: Women’s Lives in North-Western Australia 1860–1900. Nedlands, WA: U of Western Australia P, 1986. Read, Peter. Belonging: Australians, Place and Aboriginal Ownership. UK: Cambridge UP, 2000. Reynolds, Henry. North of Capricorn: The Untold History of Australia’s North. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2003. Reynolds, Henry. Why Weren’t We Told? Ringwood, Victoria: Penguin Books Australia, 1999. Sharp, Nonie. Saltwater People: The Waves of Memory. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2002. Shire of Greenough. Greenough River Nature Walk Trail Guide. 2005. Tuhiwai Smith, Linda. Decolonizing Methodologies. Dunedin, New Zealand: U of Otago P, 1999. Watson, Christine. Piercing the Ground. Perth: Fremantle Arts Centre P, 2003. Weightman, Llyrus. The Old Roebourne Gaol: A History. Pilbara Classies & Printing Service. Wright, Judith. The Cry for the Dead. 1981. 277-80. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Hair, Margaret. "Invisible Country." M/C Journal 8.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/09-hair.php>. APA Style Hair, M. (Dec. 2005) "Invisible Country," M/C Journal, 8(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/09-hair.php>.

Introduction Ngarrindjeri futures depend on the survival of the land, waters, and other interconnected living things. The Murray-Darling Basin is recognised nationally and internationally as a system under stress. Ngarrindjeri have long understood the profound and intricate connection of land, water, humans, and non-humans (Trevorrow and Hemming). In an effort to secure environmental sustainability the Ngarrindjeri Regional Authority (NRA) have engaged in political negotiations with the State, primarily with the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR), to transform natural resource management arrangements that engage with an ethics of justice, redistribution, and recognition (Hattam, Rigney and Hemming). In 1987, prior to the formation of the NRA, Camp Coorong: Race Relations and Cultural Education Centre was established by the Ngarrindjeri Lands and Progress Association in partnership with the South Australian Museum and the South Australian Education Department (Hemming) as a place for all citizens to engage with the values of a land ethic of care. The complex includes a cultural museum, accommodation, conference facilities, and workshop facilities for primary, secondary, and tertiary education students; it also serves as a base for research and course development on Indigenous and Ngarrindjeri culture and history (Hattam, Rigney and Hemming). Camp Coorong seeks to share Ngarrindjeri cultural values, knowledges, and histories with students and visitors in order to “improve relations between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people with a broader strategy aimed at securing a future for themselves in their own ‘Country’” (Hemming 37). The Centre is adjacent to the Coorong National Park and 200 km South-East of Adelaide. The establishment of Camp Coorong on Ngarrindjeri Ruwe/Ruwar (land/body/spirit) occurred when Ngarrindjeri Elders negotiated with the Department of Education and Children’s Services (DECS) to establish the race relations and cultural education centre. This negotiation was the beginning of many subsequent negotiations between Ngarrindjeri, local, State, and Federal governments about reclaiming ownership, management, and control of Ngarrindjeri lands, waters, and knowledge systems for a healthy Country and by implication healthy people (Hemming, Trevorrow and Rigney). As Elder Tom Trevorrow states: The waters and the seas, the waters of the Kurangh (Coorong), the waters of the rivers and lakes are all spiritual waters…The land and waters is a living body…We the Ngarrindjeri people are a part of its existence…The land and waters must be healthy for the Ngarrindjeri people to be healthy…We say that if Yarluwar-Ruwe dies, the water dies, our Ngartjis die, the Ngarrindjeri will surely die (Ngarrindjeri Nation Yarluwar-Ruwe Plan 13). Ruwe/Ruwar is an important aspect of the public pedagogy practiced at Camp Coorong and by the Ngarrindjeri Regional Authority (NRA). The NRA’s nation building activities arise from negotiated contractual agreements called KNYs: Kungan Ngarrindjeri Yunnan (Listen to Ngarrindjeri people talking). KNYs establish a vital aspect of the NRA’s strategic platform for political negotiations. However, the focus of this paper is concerned with local Indigenous experience of teaching and experience with the education system rather than the broader Ngarrindjeri educational objectives in the area. The specific concerns of this paper are the performance of storytelling and the dialectic relationship between the listener/learner (Tur and Tur). The pedagogy and place of Camp Coorong seeks to engage non-Indigenous people with Indigenous epistemologies through storytelling as a pedagogy of experience and a “pedagogy of discomfort” (Boler and Zembylas). Before detailing the relationship of these with one another, it is necessary to grasp the importance of the interconnectedness of Ruwe/Ruwar articulated in the opening statement of Ngarrindjeri Nations Yarluwar-Ruwe Plan: Caring for Ngarrindjeri Sea, Country and Culture: Our Lands, Our Waters, Our People, All Living Things are connected. We implore people to respect our Ruwe (Country) as it was created in the Kaldowinyeri (the Creation). We long for sparkling, clean waters, healthy land and people and all living things. We long for the Yarluwar-Ruwe (Sea Country) of our ancestors. Our vision is all people Caring, Sharing, Knowing and Respecting the lands, the waters, and all living things. Caring for Country The Lakes and the Coorong are dying as irrigation, over grazing, and pollution have left their toll on the Murray-Darling Basin. Camp Coorong delivers a key message (Hemming, 38) concerning the on-going obligation of Ngarrindjeri’s Ruwe/Ruwar to heal damaged sites both emotionally and environmentally. Couched as a civic responsibility, caring for County augments environmental action. However, there are epistemological distinctions between Natural Resources Management and Ngarrindjeri Ruwe/Ruwar. Ngarrindjeri conceive of the River Murray as one system that cannot be demarcated along state lines. Ngarrrindjeri Elder Uncle Matt Rigney, who recently passed away, argued that the River Murray and the Darling is embodied and that when the river is sick it impacts directly on Ngarrindjeri personhood and wellbeing (Hemming, Trevorrow and Rigney). Therefore, Ngarrindjeri have a responsibility to care for Ngarrindjeri Country and Ngarrindjeri governance systems are informed by cultural and ethical obligations to Ruwe/Ruwar of the lower Murray River, Lakes and Coorong. Transmitting knowledge of Country is imperative as Aunty Ellen Trevorrow states: We have to keep our culture alive. We want access to our special places, our lands and our waters. We need to be able to protect our places, our ngatji [totems], our Old People and restore damaged sites. We want respect for our land and our water and we want to pass down knowledge (cited in Bell, Women and Indigenous Religions 3). Ruwe/Ruwar is an ethic of care where men and women hold distinctive cultural and environmental knowledge and are responsible for passing knowledge to future generations. Knowledge is not codified into a “canon” but is “living knowledge” connected to how to live and how to understand the connection between material, spiritual, human, and non-human realms. Elders at Camp Coorong facilitate understandings of this ontology by sharing stories that evoke questions in children and adults alike. For settler Australians, the first phase of this understanding begins with an engagement with the discomfort of the colonial history of Indigenous dispossession. It also requires learning new modes of “re/inhabition” through a pedagogy informed by “place-consciousness” that centralises Indigenous connection to Country (Gruenewald Both Worlds). Many settler communities embody a dualist western epistemology that is necessarily disrupted when there is acknowledgment from whence one came (Carter 2009). The activities and stories at Camp Coorong provide a positive transformative pedagogy that transforms a possessive white logic (Moreton-Robinson) to one of shared cultural heritage. Ngarrindjeri epistemologies of connection to Country are expressed through a pedagogy of storytelling at Camp Coorong. This often occurs during weaving, making feather flowers, or walking on Ngarrindjeri Country with visitors and students. Enactments such as weaving are not simply occupational or functional. Weaving has deep cultural and metaphorical significance as Aunty Ellen Trevorrow states: There is a whole ritual in weaving. From where we actually start, the centre part of a piece, you’re creating loops to weave into, then you move into the circle. You keep going round and round creating the loops and once the children do those stages they’re talking, actually having a conversation, just like our Old People. It’s sharing time. And that’s where our stories were told (cited in Bell, Ngarrindjeri Wurruwarrin 44). At Camp Coorong learning involves listening to stories while engaging with activities such as weaving or walking on Country. The ecological changes and the history of dispossession are woven into narrative on Country and students see the impact of the desecration of the Coorong, Lower Murray and Lakes and lands. In this way the relatively recent history of colonial race relations and contemporary struggles with government bureaucracies and legislation also comprise the warp and weave of Ngarrindjeri knowledge and connection to Country. Pedagogy of Experience A pedagogy of experience involves telling the story of Indigenous peoples’ sense of “placelessness” within the nation (Watson) as a story of survival and resistance. It is through such pedagogies that Ngarrindjeri Elders at Camp Coorong reconstruct their lives and create agency in the face of settler colonialism. The experiences of growing up in Australia during the assimilation era, fighting against the State on policies that endorsed child theft, being forced to live at fringe camps, experiencing violent racisms, and, for some, living as part of a diaspora in one’s own Country is embedded in the stories of survival, resilience and agency. “Camp Coorong began as an experiment in alternative teaching methods developed largely by George Trevorrow, a local Ngarrindjeri man” (Hemming 38). Classroom malaise was experienced by Ngarrindjeri Elders from Camp Coorong, such as Uncle Tom and Aunty Ellen Trevorrow and the late Uncle George Trevorrow, Aunty Alice Abdulla, and others when interacting or employed in schools as Aboriginal Education Workers (AEWs). It was the invisibility of these Elders’ knowledges inside schools that generated the impetus to establish Camp Coorong as a counter-institution. The spatial dimension of situationality, and its attention to social transformation, connects critical pedagogy to a pedagogy of place at Camp Coorong. Both discourses are concerned with the contextual, geographical conditions that shape people, and the actions people take to shape these conditions (Gruenewald, Both Worlds). Place-based education at Camp Coorong advocates a new localism in order to stimulate community revitalisation and resistance to globalisation and commodity capitalism. It provides the space and opportunity to develop the capacity for inventiveness and adaptation to changing environments and resistance to ecological destruction. Of concern to the growing field of place-based education are how to promote care for people and places (Gruenewald and Smith, xix). For Gruenewald and Smith this requires decolonisation and developing sensitivity to forms of thought that injure and exploit people and places, and re/inhabitation by identifying, conserving, and creating knowledge that nurtures and protects people and places. Engaging in a land ethic of care on Country informs the educational paradigm at Camp Coorong that does not begin in front of bulldozers or under police batons at anti-globalisation rallies, but in the contact zones (Somerville 342) where “a material and metaphysical in-between space for the intersection of multiple and contested stories” (Somerville 342) emerge. Ngarrindjeri knowledge, environmental knowledge, scientific knowledge, colonial histories, and media representations all circulate in the contact zone and are held in productive tension (Carter). Decolonising Pedagogy and Pedagogies of Discomfort The critical and transformative aspects of decolonising pedagogies emerge from storytelling and involve the gift of narrative and the enactment of reciprocity that occurs between the listener and the storyteller. Reciprocity is based on the principles of interconnectedness, balance, and the idea that actions create corresponding action through the gift of story (Stewart-Harawira). Camp Coorong is a place for inter-cultural dialogue through storytelling. Being located on Ngarrindjeri Country the non-Indigenous listener is more able to “hear” and at the same time move along a continuum of a) disbelief and anger about the dispossession of Indigenous peoples; b) emotional confusion about their own sense of belonging in Australia; c) shock at the ways in which liberal western society’s structural privilege is built on Indigenous inequality on the grounds of race and habitus (Bordieu and Passeron); then, d) towards empathy that is framed as race cognisance (Aveling). Stories are not represented through a sanguine vision of the past, but are told of colonisation, dispossession, as well as of hope for the healing of Ngarrinjderi Country. The listener is gifted with stories at Camp Coorong. However, there is an ethical obligation to the gifting that learners may not understand until later and which concern the rights and obligations fundamental to notions of deep connection to Country. It is often in the recount of one’s experience at Camp Coorong, such as in reflective journals or in conversation, that recognition of the importance of history, social justice, and sovereignty are brought to light. In the first phase of learning, non-Indigenous students and teachers may move from uncomfortable silence, to a space where they can hear the stories and thereby become engaged listeners. They may go through a process of grappling with a range of issues and emotions. There is frustration, anger, and blame that knowledge has been omitted from their education, and they routinely ask: “How did we not know this history?” In the second stage learners tend to remain outside of the story until they are hooked by an aspect that draws them into it. They have the choice of engagement and this requires empathy. At this stage learners are grappling with the antithetical feelings of guilt and innocence; these feelings emerge when those advantaged and challenged by their complicity with settler colonialism, racism, and the structural privilege of whiteness start to understand the benefits they gain from Indigenous dispossession and ask “was it my fault?” Thirdly, learners enter a space which may disavow and dismiss the newly encountered knowledge and move back into resistance, silence, and reluctance to hear. However, it is at this point that a choice emerges. The choice to engage in the emotional labour required to acknowledge the gift of the story and thereby unsettle white Australian identity (Bignall; Boler and Zembylas). In this process “inscribed habits of attention,” as described by Boler and Zembylas (127), are challenged. These habits have been enabled by the emotional binaries of “us” and “them”. The colonial legacy of Indigenous dispossession is an emotive subject that disrupts national pride that is built on this binary. At Camp Coorong, discomfort is created during the reiteration of stories and engagement in various activities. Uncertainty and discomfort are necessary parts of restructuring the emotional habitus and reconstructing identity. The primary ethical aim of a pedagogy of discomfort is the creation of contestability. The learner comes to understand the rights and obligations of caring for Country and has to decide how to carry the story. Ngarrindjeri ethics of care inspire the learner to undertake the emotional labour necessary to relocate their understanding of identity. As a zone of cultural contestation, Camp Coorong also enables pedagogies that allow for critical reflection on common educational practices undertaken by educators and students. Conclusion The aim of the camp was to overturn racism and provide employment for Ngarrindjeri on Country (Hemming, 38). Students and teachers from around the state come to Camp Coorong and learn to weave, make feather flowers, and listen to stories about Ngarrindjeri Country whilst walking on Country (Hemming 38). Camp Coorong fosters understanding of Ngarrindjeri Ruwe/Ruwar and at the same time overturns essentialist notions developed by deficit theories that routinely remain embedded in the school curriculum. Camp Coorong’s anti-racist epistemology mobilises an Indigenous pedagogy of storytelling and experience as a decolonising methodology. Learning Ngarrindjeri history, cultural heritage, and land ethic of care deepens students’ understanding of connecting to Country through reflection on situations, histories, and shared spaces of human and non-human actors. Pedagogies of discomfort also inform practice at Camp Coorong and the intersections of theory and practice in this context disrupts identity formations that have been grounded in a white colonial construction of nationhood. Education is a means of social and cultural reproduction, as well as a key site of resistance and vehicle for social change. Although the analysis of domination is a feature of critical pedagogy, what is urgently required is a language of hope and transformation understood from a Ngarrindjeri standpoint; something that is achieved at Camp Coorong. Acknowledgments I would like to acknowledge the process of collaboration that occurred at Camp Coorong with Aunty Ellen Trevorrow, Aunty Alice Abdulla, and Deborah Rankine. The key ideas were established in conversation and the article was revised on subsequent occasions whilst at Camp Coorong with the aforementioned authors. This paper was produced as part of the Australian Research Council Discovery Project, ‘Negotiating a Space in the Nation: The Case of Ngarrindjeri’ (DP1094869). The Chief Investigators are Robert Hattam, Peter Bishop, Pal Ahluwalia, Julie Matthews, Daryle Rigney, Steve Hemming and Robin Boast, working with Simone Bignall and Bindi MacGill. References Aveling, Nado. “Critical whiteness studies and the challenges of learning to be a 'White Ally'.” Borderlands e-journal 3. 2 (2004). 12 Dec 2006 ‹www.borderlandsejournal.adelaide.edu.au› Bell, Diane. Ngarrindjeri Wurruwarrin: A World That Is, Was, and Will Be. North Melbourne: Spinifex Press, 1998. ——-. Kungun Ngarrindjeri Miminar Yunnan. Listen to Ngarrindjeri Women Speaking. Melbourne: Spinifex, 2008. ——-. “Ngarrindjeri Women’s Stories: Kungun and Yunnan.” Women and Indigenous Religions. Ed. Sylvia Marcos. California: Greenwood, 2010: 3-20. Bignall, Simone. Postcolonial Agency: Critique and Constructivism. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010. Boler, Megan and Michalinos Zembylas. “Discomforting Truths: The Emotional Terrain of Understanding Difference.” Pedagogies of Difference: Rethinking Education for Social Change. Ed. P. Trifonas. New York: Routledge Falmer, 2003: 110-36. Bourdieu, Pierre and Jean-Claude Passeron. Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. London: Sage Publications, 1990. Carter, Paul. “Care at a Distance: Affiliations to Country in a Global Context.” Lanscapes and learning. Place Studies for a Global Village. Ed. Margaret. Somerville, Kerith Power and Phoenix de Carteret. Rotterdam: Sense. 2, 2009. 1-33. Gruenewald, David. “The Best of Both Worlds: A Critical Pedagogy of Place.” Educational Researcher 43.4 (2003): 3-12. ——-. “Foundations of Place: A Multidisciplinary Framework for Place-Conscious Education.” American Educational Research Journal, 40.3 (2003): 619-54. Gruenewald, David and Gregory Smith. “Making Room for the Local.” Place-Based Education in the Global Age: Local Diversity. Ed. David Gruenewald & Gregory Smith. New York: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2008. Hattam, Rob., Daryle Rigney and Steve Hemming. “Reconciliation? Culture and Nature and the Murray River.” Fresh Water: New Perspectives on Water in Australia. Ed. Emily Potter, Alison Mackinnon, McKenzie, Stephen & Jenny McKay. Carlton: Melbourne University Press, 2007:105-22. Hemming, Steve., Tom Trevorrow and Matt, Rigney. “Ngarrindjeri Culture.” The Murray Mouth: Exploring the Implications of Closure or Restricted Flow. Ed. M Goodwin and S Bennett. Department of Water, Land and Biodiversity Conservation, Adelaide (2002): 13–19. Hemming, Steve. “Camp Coorong—Combining Race Relations and Cultural Education.” Social Alternatives 12.1 (1993): 37-40. MacGill, Bindi. Aboriginal Education Workers: Towards Equality of Recognition of Indigenous Ethics of Care Practices in South Australian School (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Adelaide: Finders University, 2008. Stewart-Harawira, Makere. “Cultural Studies, Indigenous Knowledge and Pedagogies of Hope.” Policy Futures in Education 3.2 (2005):153-63. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “The Possessive Logic of Patriarchal White Sovereignty: the High Court and the Yorta Yorta Decision.” Taking up the Challenge: Critical Whiteness Studies in a Postcolonising Nation. Ed. Damien Riggs. Belair: Crawford House, 2007:109-24. Ngarrindjeri Nation. Ngarrindjeri Nation Yarluwar-Ruwe Plan: Caring for Ngarrindjeri Sea Country and Culture. Ngarrindjeri Tendi, Ngarrindjeri Heritage Committee, Ngarrindjeri Native Title Management Committee. Camp Coorong: Ngarrindjeri Land and Progress Association, 2006. Somerville, Margaret. “A Place Pedagogy for ‘Global Contemporaneity.” Educational Philosophy and Theory 42 (2010): 326–44. Trevorrow, Tom and Steve Hemming. “Conversation: Kunggun Ngarrindjeri Yunnan, Listen to Ngarrindjeri People Talking”. Sharing Spaces, Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Responses, to Story, Country and Rights. Ed. Gus Worby and. Lester Irabinna Rigney. Perth: API Network, 2006. 295-304. Tur, Mona & Simone Tur. “Conversation: Wapar munu Mamtali Nintiringanyi-Learning about the Dreaming and Land.” Sharing Spaces, Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Responses, to Story, Country and Rights. Ed. Gus Worby and. Lester Irabinna Rigney. Perth: API Network, 2006: 160-70. Watson, Irene. "Sovereign Spaces, Caring for Country, and the Homeless Position of Aboriginal Peoples." South Atlantic Quaterly 108.1 (2009): 27-51.

Discussions of the economic theory of planned obsolescence—the purposeful embedding of redundancy into the functionality or other aspect of a product—in the 1980s and 1990s often focused on the impact of such a design strategy on manufacturers, consumers, the market, and, ultimately, profits (see, for example, Bulow; Lee and Lee; Waldman). More recently, assessments of such shortened product life cycles have included calculations of the environmental and other costs of such waste (Claudio; Kondoh; Unruh). Commonly utilised examples are consumer products such as cars, whitegoods and small appliances, fashion clothing and accessories, and, more recently, new technologies and their constituent components. This discourse has been adopted by those who configure workers as human resources, and who speak both of skills (Janßen and Backes-Gellner) and human capital itself (Chauhan and Chauhan) being made obsolete by market forces in both predictable and unplanned ways. This includes debate over whether formal education can assist in developing the skills that make their possessors less liable to become obsolete in the workforce (Dubin; Holtmann; Borghans and de Grip; Gould, Moav and Weinberg). However, aside from periodic expressions of disciplinary angst (as in questions such as whether the Liberal Arts and other disciplines are becoming obsolete) are rarely found in discussions regarding higher education. Yet, higher education has been subsumed into a culture of commercial service provision as driven by markets and profit as the industries that design and deliver consumer goods. McKelvey and Holmén characterise this as a shift “from social institution to knowledge business” in the subtitle of their 2009 volume on European universities, and the recent decade has seen many higher educational institutions openly striving to be entrepreneurial. Despite some debate over the functioning of market or market-like mechanisms in higher education (see, for instance, Texeira et al), the corporatisation of higher education has led inevitably to market segmentation in the products the sector delivers. Such market segmentation results in what are called over-differentiated products, seemingly endless variations in the same product to attempt to increase consumption and attendant sales. Milk is a commonly cited example, with supermarkets today stocking full cream, semi-skimmed, skimmed, lactose-free, soy, rice, goat, GM-free and ‘smart’ (enriched with various vitamins, minerals and proteins) varieties; and many of these available in fresh, UHT, dehydrated and/or organic versions. In the education market, this practice has resulted in a large number of often minutely differentiated, but differently named, degrees and other programs. Where there were once a small number of undergraduate degrees with discipline variety within them (including the Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Science awards), students can now graduate with a named qualification in a myriad of discipline and professional areas. The attempt to secure a larger percentage of the potential client pool (who are themselves often seeking to update their own skills and knowledges to avoid workforce obsolescence) has also resulted in a significant increase in the number of postgraduate coursework certificates, diplomas and other qualifications across the sector. The Masters degree has fractured from a research program into a range of coursework, coursework plus research, and research only programs. Such proliferation has also affected one of the foundations of the quality and integrity of the higher education system, and one of the last bastions of conventional practice, the doctoral degree. The PhD as ‘Gold-Standard’ Market Leader? The Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) is usually understood as a largely independent discipline-based research project that results in a substantial piece of reporting, the thesis, that makes a “substantial original contribution to knowledge in the form of new knowledge or significant and original adaptation, application and interpretation of existing knowledge” (AQF). As the highest level of degree conferred by most universities, the PhD is commonly understood as indicating the height of formal educational attainment, and has, until relatively recently, been above reproach and alteration. Yet, whereas universities internationally once offered a single doctorate named the PhD, many now offer a number of doctoral level degrees. In Australia, for example, candidates can also complete PhDs by Publication and by Project, as well as practice-led doctorates in, and named Doctorates of/in, Creative Arts, Creative Industries, Laws, Performance and other ‘new’ discipline areas. The Professional Doctorate, introduced into Australia in the early 1990s, has achieved such longevity that it now has it’s own “first generation” incarnations in (and about) disciplines such as Education, Business, Psychology and Journalism, as well as a contemporary “second generation” version which features professionally-practice-led Mode 2 knowledge production (Maxwell; also discussed in Lee, Brennan and Green 281). The uniquely Australian PhD by Project in the disciplines of architecture, design, business, engineering and education also includes coursework, and is practice and particularly workplace (or community) focused, but unlike the above, does not have to include a research element—although this is not precluded (Usher). A significant number of Australian universities also currently offer a PhD by Publication, known also as the PhD by Published Papers and PhD by Published Works. Introduced in the 1960s in the UK, the PhD by Publication there is today almost exclusively undertaken by academic staff at their own institutions, and usually consists of published work(s), a critical appraisal of that work within the research context, and an oral examination. The named degree is rare in the USA, although the practice of granting PhDs on the basis of prior publications is not unknown. In Australia, an examination of a number of universities that offer the degree reveals no consistency in terms of the framing policies except for the generic Australian Qualifications Framework accreditation statement (AQF), entry requirements and conditions of candidature, or resulting form and examination guidelines. Some Australian universities, for instance, require all externally peer-refereed publications, while others will count works that are self-published. Some require actual publications or works in press, but others count works that are still at submission stage. The UK PhD by Publication shows similar variation, with no consensus on purpose, length or format of this degree (Draper). Across Australia and the UK, some institutions accept previously published work and require little or no campus participation, while others have a significant minimum enrolment period and count only work generated during candidature (see Brien for more detail). Despite the plethora of named degrees at doctoral level, many academics continue to support the PhD’s claim to rigor and intellectual attainment. Most often, however, these arguments cite tradition rather than any real assessment of quality. The archaic trappings of conferral—the caps, gowns and various other instruments of distinction—emphasise a narrative in which it is often noted that doctorates were first conferred by the University of Paris in the 12th century and then elsewhere in medieval Europe. However, challenges to this account note that today’s largely independently researched thesis is a relatively recent arrival to educational history, being only introduced into Germany in the early nineteenth century (Bourner, Bowden and Laing; Park 4), the USA in a modified form in the mid-nineteenth century and the UK in 1917 (Jolley 227). The Australian PhD is even more recent, with the first only awarded in 1948 and still relatively rare until the 1970s (Nelson 3; Valadkhani and Ville). Additionally, PhDs in the USA, Canada and Denmark today almost always incorporate a significant taught coursework element (Noble). This is unlike the ‘traditional’ PhD in the UK and Australia, although the UK also currently offers a number of what are known there as ‘taught doctorates’. Somewhat confusingly, while these do incorporate coursework, they still include a significant research component (UKCGE). However, the UK is also adopting what has been identified as an American-inflected model which consists mostly, or largely, of coursework, and which is becoming known as the ‘New Route British PhD’ (Jolley 228). It could be posited that, within such a competitive market environment, which appears to be driven by both a drive for novelty and a desire to meet consumer demand, obsolescence therefore, and necessarily, threatens the very existence of the ‘traditional’ PhD. This obsolescence could be seen as especially likely as, alongside the existence of the above mentioned ‘new’ degrees, the ‘traditional’ research-based PhD at some universities in Australia and the UK in particular is, itself, also in the process of becoming ‘professionalised’, with some (still traditionally-framed) programs nevertheless incorporating workplace-oriented frameworks and/or experiences (Jolley 229; Kroll and Brien) to meet professionally-focused objectives that it is acknowledged cannot be met by producing a research thesis alone. While this emphasis can be seen as operating at the expense of specific disciplinary knowledge (Pole 107; Ball; Laing and Brabazon 265), and criticised for that, this workplace focus has arisen, internationally, as an institutional response to requests from both governments and industry for training in generic skills in university programs at all levels (Manathunga and Wissler). At the same time, the acknowledged unpredictability of the future workplace is driving a cognate move from discipline specific knowledge to what have been described as “problem solving and knowledge management approaches” across all disciplines (Gilbert; Valadkhani and Ville 2). While few query a link between university-level learning and the needs of the workplace, or the motivating belief that the overarching role of higher education is the provision of professional training for its client-students (see Laing and Brabazon for an exception), it also should be noted that a lack of relevance is one of the contributors to dysfunction, and thence to obsolescence. The PhD as Dysfunctional Degree? Perhaps, however, it is not competition that threatens the traditional PhD but, rather, its own design flaws. A report in The New York Times in 2007 alerted readers to what many supervisors, candidates, and researchers internationally have recognised for some time: that the PhD may be dysfunctional (Berger). In Australia and elsewhere, attention has focused on the uneven quality of doctoral-level degrees across institutions, especially in relation to their content, rigor, entry and assessment standards, and this has not precluded questions regarding the PhD (AVCC; Carey, Webb, Brien; Neumann; Jolley; McWilliam et al., "Silly"). It should be noted that this important examination of standards has, however, been accompanied by an increase in the awarding of Honorary Doctorates. This practice ranges from the most reputable universities’ recognising individuals’ significant contributions to knowledge, culture and/or society, to wholly disreputable institutions offering such qualifications in return for payment (Starrs). While generally contested in terms of their status, Honorary Doctorates granted to sports, show business and political figures are the most controversial and include an award conferred on puppet Kermit the Frog in 1996 (Jeffries), and some leading institutions including MIT, Cornell University and the London School of Economics and Political Science are distinctive in not awarding Honorary Doctorates. However, while distracting, the Honorary Doctorate itself does not answer all the questions regarding the quality of doctoral programs in general, or the Doctor of Philosophy in particular. The PhD also has high attrition rates: 50 per cent or more across Australia, the USA and Canada (Halse 322; Lovitts and Nelson). For those who remain in the programs, lengthy completion times (known internationally as ‘time-to-degree’) are common in many countries, with averages of 10.5 years to completion in Canada, and from 8.2 to more than 13 years (depending on discipline) in the USA (Berger). The current government performance-based funding model for Australian research higher degrees focuses attention on timely completion, and there is no doubt that, under this system—where universities only receive funding for a minimum period of candidature when those candidates have completed their degrees—more candidates are completing within the required time periods (Cuthbert). Yet, such a focus has distracted from assessment of the quality and outcomes of such programs of study. A detailed survey, based on the theses lodged in Australian libraries, has estimated that at least 51,000 PhD theses were completed in Australia to 2003 (Evans et al. 7). However, little attention has been paid to the consequences of this work, that is, the effects that the generation of these theses has had on either candidates or the nation. There has been no assessment, for instance, of the impact on candidates of undertaking and completing a doctorate on such facets of their lives as their employment opportunities, professional choices and salary levels, nor any effect on their personal happiness or levels of creativity. Nor has there been any real evaluation of the effect of these degrees on GDP, rates of the commercialisation of research, the generation of intellectual property, meeting national agendas in areas such as innovation, productivity or creativity, and/or the quality of the Australian creative and performing arts. Government-funded and other Australian studies have, however, noted for at least a decade both that the high numbers of graduates are mismatched to a lack of market demand for doctoral qualifications outside of academia (Kemp), and that an oversupply of doctorally qualified job seekers is driving wages down in some sectors (Jones 26). Even academia is demanding more than a PhD. Within the USA, doctoral graduates of some disciplines (English is an often-cited example) are undertaking second PhDs in their quest to secure an academic position. In Australia, entry-level academic positions increasingly require a scholarly publishing history alongside a doctoral-level qualification and, in common with other quantitative exercises in the UK and in New Zealand, the current Excellence in Research for Australia research evaluation exercise values scholarly publications more than higher degree qualifications. Concluding Remarks: The PhD as Obsolete or Retro-Chic? Disciplines and fields are reacting to this situation in various ways, but the trend appears to be towards increased market segmentation. Despite these charges of PhD dysfunction, there are also dangers in the over-differentiation of higher degrees as a practice. If universities do not adequately resource the professional development and other support for supervisors and all those involved in the delivery of all these degrees, those institutions may find that they have spread the existing skills, knowledge and other institutional assets too thinly to sustain some or even any of these degrees. This could lead to the diminishing quality (and an attendant diminishing perception of the value) of all the higher degrees available in those institutions as well as the reputation of the hosting country’s entire higher education system. As works in progress, the various ‘new’ doctoral degrees can also promote a sense of working on unstable ground for both candidates and supervisors (McWilliam et al., Research Training), and higher degree examiners will necessarily be unfamiliar with expected standards. Candidates are attempting to discern the advantages and disadvantages of each form in order to choose the degree that they believe is right for them (see, for example, Robins and Kanowski), but such assessment is difficult without the benefit of hindsight. Furthermore, not every form may fit the unpredictable future aspirations of candidates or the volatile future needs of the workplace. The rate with which everything once new descends from stylish popularity through stages of unfashionableness to become outdated and, eventually, discarded is increasing. This escalation may result in the discipline-based research PhD becoming seen as archaic and, eventually, obsolete. Perhaps, alternatively, it will lead to newer and more fashionable forms of doctoral study being discarded instead. 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The UP Manila Health Policy Development Hub recognizes the invaluable contribution of the participants in theseries of roundtable discussions listed below: RTD: Beyond Hospital Beds: Equity,quality, and service1. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, UP Manila2. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, UP Manila3. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, UP Manila4. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, UP Manila HealthPolicy Development Hub; Director, Institute of HealthPolicy and Development Studies, University of thePhilippines Manila5. Irma L. Asuncion, MHA, CESO III, Director IV,Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health6. Renely Pangilinan-Tungol, MD, CFP, MPM-HSD,Municipal Health Officer, San Fernando, Pampanga7. Salome F. Arinduque, MD, Galing-Pook AwardeeRepresentative, Municipal Health Officer, San Felipe,Zambales8. Carmelita C. Canila, MD, MPH, Faculty, College ofPublic Health, University of the Philippines Manila9. Lester M. Tan, MD, MPH, Division Chief, Bureau ofLocal Health System Development, Department ofHealth10. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation (ZFF)11. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization12. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, AssociateDirector, Medical and Regulatory Affairs, AsianHospital and Medical Center13. Christian Edward L. Nuevo, Health Policy and SystemsResearch Fellow, Health Policy Development andPlanning Bureau, Department of Health14. Paolo Victor N. Medina, MD, Assistant Professor 4,College of Medicine, University of the PhilippinesManila15. Jose Rafael A. Marfori, MD, Special Assistant to theDirector, Philippine General Hospital16. Maria Teresa U. Bagaman, Committee Chair, PhilippineSociety for Quality, Inc.17. Maria Theresa G. Vera, MSc, MHA, CESO III, DirectorIV, Health Facility Development Bureau, Departmentof Health18. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila19. Fevi Rose C. Paro, Faculty, Department of Communityand Environmental Resource Planning, University ofthe Philippines Los Baños20. Maria Rosa C. Abad, MD, Medical Specialist III,Standard Development Division, Health Facilities andServices Regulation21. Yolanda R. Robles, RPh, PhD, Faculty, College ofPharmacy, University of the Philippines Manila22. Jaya P. Ebuen, RN, Development Manager Officer,CHDMM, Department of Health23. Josephine E. Cariaso, MA, RN, Assistant Professor,College of Nursing, University of the Philippines Manila24. Diana Van Daele, Programme Manager, CooperationSection, European Union25. Maria Paz de Sagun, Project Management Specialist,USAID26. Christopher Muñoz, Member, Yellow Warriors SocietyPhilippinesRTD: Health services and financingroles: Population based- andindividual-based1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Mario C. Villaverde, Undersecretary, Health Policyand Development Systems and Development Team,Department of Health6. Jaime Z. Galvez Tan, MD, Former Secretary, Department of Health7. Marvin C. Galvez, MD, OIC Division Chief, BenefitsDevelopment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation8. Alvin B. Caballes, MD, MPE, MPP, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila9. Carlos D. Da Silva, Executive Director, Association ofMunicipal Health Maintenance Organization of thePhilippines, Inc.10. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation (ZFF) 11. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization12. Salome F. Arinduque, MD, Galing-Pook AwardeeRepresentative, Municipal Health Officer, San Felipe,Zambales13. Michael Ralph M. Abrigo, PhD, Research Fellow,Philippine Institute for Developmental Studies14. Oscar D. Tinio, MD, Committee Chair, Legislation,Philippine Medical Association15. Rogelio V. Dazo, Jr., MD, FPCOM, Legislation,Philippine Medical Association16. Ligaya V. Catadman, MM, Officer-in-charge, HealthPolicy Development and Planning Bureau, Department of Health17. Maria Fatima Garcia-Lorenzo, President, PhilippineAlliance of Patients Organization18. Tomasito P. Javate, Jr, Supervising Economic DevelopmentSpecialist, Health Nutrition and Population Division,National Economic and Development Authority19. Josefina Isidro-Lapena, MD, National Board ofDirector, Philippine Academy of Family Physicians20. Maria Eliza Ruiz-Aguila, MPhty, PhD, Dean, Collegeof Allied Medical Professions, University of thePhilippines Manila21. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila22. Maria Paz P. Corrales, MD, MHA, MPA, Director III,Department of Health-National Capital Region23. Karin Estepa Garcia, MD, Executive Secretary, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians24. Adeline A. Mesina, MD, Medical Specialist III,Philippine Health Insurance Corporation25. Glorey Ann P. Alde, RN, MPH, Research Fellow,Department of HealthRTD: Moving towards provincelevel integration throughUniversal Health Care Act1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Mario C. Villaverde, Undersecretary of Health, HealthPolicy and Development Systems and DevelopmentTeam, Department of Health6. Ferdinand A. Pecson, Undersecretary and ExecutiveDirector, Public Private Partnership Center7. Rosanna M. Buccahan, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Bataan Provincial Office8. Lester M. Tan, MD, Division Chief, Bureau of LocalHealth System Development, Department of Health9. Ernesto O. Domingo, MD, FPCP, FPSF, FormerChancellor, University of the Philippines Manila10. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization11. Leslie Ann L. Luces, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Aklan12. Rene C. Catan, MD, Provincial Health Officer, Cebu13. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation14. Jose Rafael A. Marfori, MD, Special Assistant to theDirector, Philippine General Hospital15. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, Consultant,Asian Hospital and Medical Center16. Ramon Paterno, MD, Member, Universal Health CareStudy Group, University of the Philippines Manila17. Mayor Eunice U. Babalcon, Mayor, Paranas, Samar18. Zorayda E. Leopando, MD, Former President,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians19. Madeleine de Rosas-Valera, MD, MScIH, SeniorTechnical Consultant, World Bank20. Arlene C. Sebastian, MD, Municipal Health Officer,Sta. Monica, Siargao Island, Mindanao21. Rizza Majella L. Herrera, MD, Acting Senior Manager,Accreditation Department, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation22. Alvin B. Caballes, MD, MPE, MPP, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila23. Pres. Policarpio B. Joves, MD, MPH, MOH, FPAFP,President, Philippine Academy of Family Physicians24. Leilanie A. Nicodemus, MD, Board of Director,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians25. Maria Paz P. Corrales, MD, MHA, MPA, Director III,National Capital Region Office, Department of Health26. Dir. Irma L. Asuncion, MD, MHA, CESO III, DirectorIV, Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health27. Bernard B. Argamosa, MD, Mental Health Representative, National Center for Mental Health28. Flerida Chan, Chief, Poverty Reduction Section, JapanInternational Cooperation Agency29. Raul R. Alamis, Chief Health Program Officer, ServiceDelivery Network, Department of Health30. Mary Anne Milliscent B. Castro, Supervising HealthProgram Officer, Department of Health 31. Marikris Florenz N. Garcia, Project Manager, PublicPrivate Partnership Center32. Mary Grace G. Darunday, Supervising Budget andManagement Specialist, Budget and Management Bureaufor the Human Development Sector, Department ofBudget and Management33. Belinda Cater, Senior Budget and Management Specialist,Department of Budget and Management34. Sheryl N. Macalipay, LGU Officer IV, Bureau of LocalGovernment and Development, Department of Interiorand Local Government35. Kristel Faye M. Roderos, OTRP, Representative,College of Allied Medical Professions, University ofthe Philippines Manila36. Jeffrey I. Manalo, Director III, Policy Formulation,Project Evaluation and Monitoring Service, PublicPrivate Partnership Center37. Atty. Phebean Belle A. Ramos-Lacuna, Division Chief,Policy Formulation Division, Public Private PartnershipCenter38. Ricardo Benjamin D. Osorio, Planning Officer, PolicyFormulation, Project Evaluation and MonitoringService, Public Private Partnership Center39. Gladys Rabacal, Program Officer, Japan InternationalCooperation Agency40. Michael Angelo Baluyot, Nurse, Bataan Provincial Office41. Jonna Jane Javier Austria, Nurse, Bataan Provincial Office42. Heidee Buenaventura, MD, Associate Director, ZuelligFamily Foundation43. Dominique L. Monido, Policy Associate, Zuellig FamilyFoundation44. Rosa Nene De Lima-Estellana, RN, MD, Medical OfficerIII, Department of Interior and Local Government45. Ma Lourdes Sangalang-Yap, MD, FPCR, Medical OfficerIV, Department of Interior and Local Government46. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila47. Colleen T. Francisco, Representative, Department ofBudget and Management48. Kristine Galamgam, Representative, Department ofHealth49. Fides S. Basco, Officer-in-charge, Chief Budget andManagement Specialist, Development of Budget andManagementRTD: Health financing: Co-paymentsand Personnel1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the Philippines Manila5. Ernesto O. Domingo, MD, Professor Emeritus,University of the Philippines Manila6. Irma L. Asuncion, MHA, CESO III, Director IV,Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health7. Lester M. Tan, MD, MPH, Division Chief, Bureau ofLocal Health System Development, Department ofHealth8. Marvin C. Galvez, MD, OIC Division Chief, BenefitsDevelopment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation9. Adeline A. Mesina, MD, Medical Specialist III, BenefitsDepartment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation10. Carlos D. Da Silva, Executive Director, Association ofHealth Maintenance Organization of the Philippines,Inc.11. Ma. Margarita Lat-Luna, MD, Deputy Director, FiscalServices, Philippine General Hospital12. Waldemar V. Galindo, MD, Chief of Clinics, Ospital ngMaynila13. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization14. Rogelio V. Dazo, Jr., MD, Member, Commission onLegislation, Philippine Medical Association15. Aileen R. Espina, MD, Board Member, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians16. Anthony R. Faraon, MD, Vice President, Zuellig FamilyFoundation17. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, Associate Director, Medical andRegulatory Affairs, Asian Hospital and Medical Center18. Jared Martin Clarianes, Technical Officer, Union of LocalAuthorities of the Philippines19. Leslie Ann L. Luces, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Aklan20. Rosa Nene De Lima-Estellana, MD, Medical OfficerIII, Department of the Interior and Local Government21. Ma. Lourdes Sangalang-Yap, MD, Medical Officer V,Department of the Interior and Local Government 22. Dominique L. Monido, Policy Associate, Zuellig FamilyFoundation23. Krisch Trine D. Ramos, MD, Medical Officer, PhilippineCharity Sweepstakes Office24. Larry R. Cedro, MD, Assistant General Manager, CharitySector, Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office25. Margarita V. Hing, Officer in Charge, ManagementDivision, Financial Management Service Sector,Department of Health26. Dr. Carlo Irwin Panelo, Associate Professor, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila27. Dr. Angelita V. Larin, Faculty, College of Public Health,University of the Philippines Manila28. Dr. Abdel Jeffri A. Abdulla, Chair, RegionalizationProgram, University of the Philippines Manila29. Christopher S. Muñoz, Member, Philippine Alliance ofPatients Organization30. Gemma R. Macatangay, LGOO V, Department ofInterior and Local Government – Bureau of LocalGovernment Development31. Dr. Narisa Portia J. Sugay, Acting Vice President, QualityAssurance Group, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation32. Maria Eliza R. Aguila, Dean, College of Allied MedicalProfessions, University of the Philippines Manila33. Angeli A. Comia, Manager, Zuellig Family Foundation34. Leo Alcantara, Union of Local Authorities of thePhilippines35. Dr. Zorayda E. Leopando, Former President, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians36. Dr. Emerito Jose Faraon, Faculty, College of PublicHealth, University of the Philippines Manila37. Dr. Carmelita C. Canila, Faculty, College of PublicHealth, University of the Philippines ManilaRTD: Moving towards third partyaccreditation for health facilities1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Rizza Majella L. Herrera, MD, Acting SeniorManager, Accreditation Department, Philippine HealthInsurance Corporation6. Bernadette C. Hogar-Manlapat, MD, FPBA, FPSA,FPSQua, MMPA, President and Board of Trustee,Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare, Inc.7. Waldemar V. Galindo, MD, Chief of Clinics, Ospital ngMaynila8. Amor. F. Lahoz, Division Chief, Promotion andDocumentation Division, Department of Trade andIndustry – Philippine Accreditation Bureau9. Jenebert P. Opinion, Development Specialist, Department of Trade and Industry – Philippine AccreditationBureau10. Maria Linda G. Buhat, President, Association ofNursing Service Administrators of the Philippines, Inc.11. Bernardino A. Vicente, MD, FPPA, MHA, CESOIV, President, Philippine Tripartite Accreditation forHealth Facilities, Inc.12. Atty. Bu C. Castro, MD, Board Member, PhilippineHospital Association13. Cristina Lagao-Caalim, RN, MAN, MHA, ImmediatePast President and Board of Trustee, Philippine Societyfor Quality in Healthcare, Inc.14. Manuel E. Villegas Jr., MD, Vice Treasurer and Board ofTrustee, Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare,Inc.15. Michelle A. Arban, Treasurer and Board of Trustee,Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare, Inc.16. Joselito R. Chavez, MD, FPCP, FPCCP, FACCP,CESE, Deputy Executive Director, Medical Services,National Kidney and Transplant Institute17. Blesilda A. Gutierrez, CPA, MBA, Deputy ExecutiveDirector, Administrative Services, National Kidney andTransplant Institute18. Eulalia C. Magpusao, MD, Associate Director, Qualityand Patient Safety, St. Luke’s Medical Centre GlobalCity19. Clemencia D. Bondoc, MD, Auditor, Association ofMunicipal Health Officers of the Philippines20. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, AssociateDirector, Medical and Regulatory Affairs, Asian Hospitaland Medical Center21. Maria Fatima Garcia-Lorenzo, President, PhilippineAlliance of Patient Organizations22. Leilanie A. Nicodemus, MD, Board of Directors,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians23. Policarpio B. Joves Jr., MD, President, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians24. Kristel Faye Roderos, Faculty, College of Allied MedicalProfessions, University of the Philippines Manila25. Ana Melissa Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean, College of Medicine, University of thePhilippines Manila26. Christopher Malorre Calaquian, MD, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila27. Emerito Jose C. Faraon, MD, Faculty, College ofPublic Health, University of the Philippines Manila 28. Carmelita Canila, Faculty, College of Public Health,University of the Philippines Manila29. Oscar D. Tinio, MD, Representative, Philippine MedicalAssociation30. Farrah Rocamora, Member, Philippine Society forQuality in Healthcare, IncRTD: RA 11036 (Mental Health Act):Addressing Mental Health Needs ofOverseas Filipino Workers1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, UPManila Health Policy Development Hub; College ofArts and Sciences, UP Manila3. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD, UPManila Health Policy Development Hub; College ofPublic Health, UP Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, UP ManilaHealth Policy Development Hub; College of Dentistry,UP Manila5. Frances Prescilla L. Cuevas, RN, MAN, Director,Essential Non-Communicable Diseases Division,Department of Health6. Maria Teresa D. De los Santos, Workers Education andMonitoring Division, Philippine Overseas EmploymentAdministration7. Andrelyn R. Gregorio, Policy Program and Development Office,Overseas Workers Welfare Administration8. Sally D. Bongalonta, MA, Institute of Family Life &Children Studies, Philippine Women’s University9. Consul Ferdinand P. Flores, Department of ForeignAffairs10. Jerome Alcantara, BLAS OPLE Policy Center andTraining Institute11. Andrea Luisa C. Anolin, Commission on FilipinoOverseas12. Bernard B. Argamosa, MD, DSBPP, National Centerfor Mental Health13. Agnes Joy L. Casino, MD, DSBPP, National Centerfor Mental Health14. Ryan Roberto E. Delos Reyes, Employment Promotionand Workers Welfare Division, Department of Laborand Employment15. Sheralee Bondad, Legal and International AffairsCluster, Department of Labor and Employment16. Rhodora A. Abano, Center for Migrant Advocacy17. Nina Evita Q. Guzman, Ugnayan at Tulong para saMaralitang Pamilya (UGAT) Foundation, Inc.18. Katrina S. Ching, Ugnayan at Tulong para sa MaralitangPamilya (UGAT) Foundation, Inc.RTD: (Bitter) Sweet Smile of Filipinos1. Dr. Hilton Y. Lam, Institute of Health Policy andDevelopment Studies, NIH2. Dr. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., College of Arts andSciences, UP Manila3. Dr. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, College of Public Health,UP Manila4. Dr. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, College of Dentistry,UP Manila5. Dr. Ma. Susan T. Yanga-Mabunga, Department ofHealth Policy & Administration, UP Manila6. Dr. Danilo L. Magtanong, College of Dentistry, UPManila7. Dr. Alvin Munoz Laxamana, Philippine DentalAssociation8. Dr. Fina Lopez, Philippine Pediatric Dental Society, Inc9. Dr. Artemio Licos, Jr.,Department of Health NationalAssociation of Dentists10. Dr. Maria Jona D. Godoy, Professional RegulationCommission11. Ms. Anna Liza De Leon, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation12. Ms. Nicole Sigmuend, GIZ Fit for School13. Ms. Lita Orbillo, Disease Prevention and Control Bureau14. Mr. Raymond Oxcena Akap sa Bata Philippines15. Dr. Jessica Rebueno-Santos, Department of CommunityDentistry, UP Manila16. Ms. Maria Olivine M. Contreras, Bureau of LocalGovernment Supervision, DILG17. Ms. Janel Christine Mendoza, Philippine DentalStudents Association18. Mr. Eric Raymund Yu, UP College of DentistryStudent Council19. Dr. Joy Memorando, Philippine Pediatric Society20. Dr. Sharon Alvarez, Philippine Association of DentalColleges

The Leichhardt Highway is a six hundred-kilometre stretch of sealed inland road that joins the Australian Queensland border town of Goondiwindi with the Capricorn Highway, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Named after the young Prussian naturalist Ludwig Leichhardt, part of this roadway follows the route his party took as they crossed northern Australia from Morton Bay (Brisbane) to Port Essington (near Darwin). Ignoring the usual colonial practice of honouring the powerful and aristocratic, Leichhardt named the noteworthy features along this route after his supporters and fellow expeditioners. Many of these names are still in use and a series of public monuments have also been erected in the intervening century and a half to commemorate this journey. Unlike Leichhardt, who survived his epic trip, some contemporary travellers who navigate the remote roadway named in his honour do not arrive at their final destinations. Memorials to these violently interrupted lives line the highway, many enigmatically located in places where there is no obvious explanation for the lethal violence that occurred there. This examination profiles the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. All humans know that death awaits them (Morell). Yet, despite this, and the unprecedented torrent of images of death and dying saturating news, television, and social media (Duwe; Sumiala; Bisceglio), Gorer’s mid-century ideas about the denial of death and Becker’s 1973 Pulitzer prize-winning description of the purpose of human civilization as a defence against this knowledge remains current in the contemporary trope that individuals (at least in the West) deny their mortality. Contributing to this enigmatic situation is how many deny the realities of aging and bodily decay—the promise of the “life extension” industries (Hall)—and are shielded from death by hospitals, palliative care providers, and the multimillion dollar funeral industry (Kiernan). Drawing on Piatti-Farnell’s concept of popular culture artefacts as “haunted/haunting” texts, the below describes how memorials to the dead can powerfully reconnect those who experience them with death’s reality, by providing an “encrypted passageway through which the dead re-join the living in a responsive cycle of exchange and experience” (Piatti-Farnell). While certainly very different to the “sublime” iconic Gothic structure, the Gothic ruin that Summers argued could be seen as “a sacred relic, a memorial, a symbol of infinite sadness, of tenderest sensibility and regret” (407), these memorials do function in both this way as melancholy/regret-inducing relics as well as in Piatti-Farnell’s sense of bringing the dead into everyday consciousness. Such memorialising activity also evokes one of Spooner’s features of the Gothic, by acknowledging “the legacies of the past and its burdens on the present” (8).Ludwig Leichhardt and His HighwayWhen Leichhardt returned to Sydney in 1846 from his 18-month journey across northern Australia, he was greeted with surprise and then acclaim. Having mounted his expedition without any backing from influential figures in the colony, his party was presumed lost only weeks after its departure. Yet, once Leichhardt and almost all his expedition returned, he was hailed “Prince of Explorers” (Erdos). When awarding him a significant purse raised by public subscription, then Speaker of the Legislative Council voiced what he believed would be the explorer’s lasting memorial —the public memory of his achievement: “the undying glory of having your name enrolled amongst those of the great men whose genius and enterprise have impelled them to seek for fame in the prosecution of geographical science” (ctd. Leichhardt 539). Despite this acclaim, Leichhardt was a controversial figure in his day; his future prestige not enhanced by his Prussian/Germanic background or his disappearance two years later attempting to cross the continent. What troubled the colonial political class, however, was his transgressive act of naming features along his route after commoners rather than the colony’s aristocrats. Today, the Leichhardt Highway closely follows Leichhardt’s 1844-45 route for some 130 kilometres from Miles, north through Wandoan to Taroom. In the first weeks of his journey, Leichhardt named 16 features in this area: 6 of the more major of these after the men in his party—including the Aboriginal man ‘Charley’ and boy John Murphy—4 more after the tradesmen and other non-aristocratic sponsors of his venture, and the remainder either in memory of the journey’s quotidian events or natural features there found. What we now accept as traditional memorialising practice could in this case be termed as Gothic, in that it upset the rational, normal order of its day, and by honouring humble shopkeepers, blacksmiths and Indigenous individuals, revealed the “disturbance and ambivalence” (Botting 4) that underlay colonial class relations (Macintyre). On 1 December 1844, Leichhardt also memorialised his own past, referencing the Gothic in naming a watercourse The Creek of the Ruined Castles due to the “high sandstone rocks, fissured and broken like pillars and walls and the high gates of the ruined castles of Germany” (57). Leichhardt also disturbed and disfigured the nature he so admired, famously carving his initials deep into trees along his route—a number of which still exist, including the so-called Leichhardt Tree, a large coolibah in Taroom’s main street. Leichhardt also wrote his own memorial, keeping detailed records of his experiences—both good and more regretful—in the form of field books, notebooks and letters, with his major volume about this expedition published in London in 1847. Leichhardt’s journey has since been memorialised in various ways along the route. The Leichhardt Tree has been further defaced with numerous plaques nailed into its ancient bark, and the town’s federal government-funded Bicentennial project raised a formal memorial—a large sandstone slab laid with three bronze plaques—in the newly-named Ludwig Leichhardt Park. Leichhardt’s name also adorns many sites both along, and outside, the routes of his expeditions. While these fittingly include natural features such as the Leichhardt River in north-west Queensland (named in 1856 by Augustus Gregory who crossed it by searching for traces of the explorer’s ill-fated 1848 expedition), there are also many businesses across Queensland and the Northern Territory less appropriately carrying his name. More somber monuments to Leichhardt’s legacy also resulted from this journey. The first of these was the white settlement that followed his declaration that the countryside he moved through was well endowed with fertile soils. With squatters and settlers moving in and land taken up before Leichhardt had even arrived back in Sydney, the local Yeeman people were displaced, mistreated and completely eradicated within a decade (Elder). Mid-twentieth century, Patrick White’s literary reincarnation, Voss of the eponymous novel, and paintings by Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker have enshrined in popular memory not only the difficult (and often described as Gothic) nature of the landscape through which Leichhardt travelled (Adams; Mollinson, and Bonham), but also the distinctive and contrary blend of intelligence, spiritual mysticism, recklessness, and stoicism Leichhardt brought to his task. Roadside Memorials Today, the Leichhardt Highway is also lined with a series of roadside shrines to those who have died much more recently. While, like centotaphs, tombstones, and cemeteries, these memorialise the dead, they differ in usually marking the exact location that death occurred. In 43 BC, Cicero articulated the idea of the dead living in memory, “The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living” (93), yet Nelson is one of very few contemporary writers to link roadside memorials to elements of Gothic sensibility. Such constructions can, however, be described as Gothic, in that they make the roadway unfamiliar by inscribing onto it the memory of corporeal trauma and, in the process, re-creating their locations as vivid sites of pain and suffering. These are also enigmatic sites. Traffic levels are generally low along the flat or gently undulating terrain and many of these memorials are located in locations where there is no obvious explanation for the violence that occurred there. They are loci of contradictions, in that they are both more private than other memorials, in being designed, and often made and erected, by family and friends of the deceased, and yet more public, visible to all who pass by (Campbell). Cemeteries are set apart from their surroundings; the roadside memorial is, in contrast, usually in open view along a thoroughfare. In further contrast to cemeteries, which contain many relatively standardised gravesites, individual roadside memorials encapsulate and express not only the vivid grief of family and friends but also—when they include vehicle wreckage or personal artefacts from the fatal incident—provide concrete evidence of the trauma that occurred. While the majority of individuals interned in cemeteries are long dead, roadside memorials mark relatively contemporary deaths, some so recent that there may still be tyre marks, debris and bloodstains marking the scene. In 2008, when I was regularly travelling this roadway, I documented, and researched, the six then extant memorial sites that marked the locations of ten fatalities from 1999 to 2006. (These were all still in place in mid-2014.) The fatal incidents are very diverse. While half involved trucks and/or road trains, at least three were single vehicle incidents, and the deceased ranged from 13 to 84 years of age. Excell argues that scholarship on roadside memorials should focus on “addressing the diversity of the material culture” (‘Contemporary Deathscapes’) and, in these terms, the Leichhardt Highway memorials vary from simple crosses to complex installations. All include crosses (mostly, but not exclusively, white), and almost all are inscribed with the name and birth/death dates of the deceased. Most include flowers or other plants (sometimes fresh but more often plastic), but sometimes also a range of relics from the crash and/or personal artefacts. These are, thus, unsettling sights, not least in the striking contrast they provide with the highway and surrounding road reserve. The specific location is a key component of their ability to re-sensitise viewers to the dangers of the route they are travelling. The first memorial travelling northwards, for instance, is situated at the very point at which the highway begins, some 18 kilometres from Goondiwindi. Two small white crosses decorated with plastic flowers are set poignantly close together. The inscriptions can also function as a means of mobilising connection with these dead strangers—a way of building Secomb’s “haunted community”, whereby community in the post-colonial age can only be built once past “murderous death” (131) is acknowledged. This memorial is inscribed with “Cec Hann 06 / A Good Bloke / A Good hoarseman [sic]” and “Pat Hann / A Good Woman” to tragically commemorate the deaths of an 84-year-old man and his 79-year-old wife from South Australia who died in the early afternoon of 5 June 2006 when their Ford Falcon, towing a caravan, pulled onto the highway and was hit by a prime mover pulling two trailers (Queensland Police, ‘Double Fatality’; Jones, and McColl). Further north along the highway are two memorials marking the most inexplicable of road deaths: the single vehicle fatality (Connolly, Cullen, and McTigue). Darren Ammenhauser, aged 29, is remembered with a single white cross with flowers and plaque attached to a post, inscribed hopefully, “Darren Ammenhauser 1971-2000 At Rest.” Further again, at Billa Billa Creek, a beautifully crafted metal cross attached to a fence is inscribed with the text, “Kenneth J. Forrester / RIP Jack / 21.10.25 – 27.4.05” marking the death of the 79-year-old driver whose vehicle veered off the highway to collide with a culvert on the creek. It was reported that the vehicle rolled over several times before coming to rest on its wheels and that Forrester was dead when the police arrived (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Traffic Incident’). More complex memorials recollect both single and multiple deaths. One, set on both sides of the road, maps the physical trajectory of the fatal smash. This memorial comprises white crosses on both sides of road, attached to a tree on one side, and a number of ancillary sites including damaged tyres with crosses placed inside them on both sides of the road. Simple inscriptions relay the inability of such words to express real grief: “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed” and “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed / Forever in our hearts.” The oldest and most complex memorial on the route, commemorating the death of four individuals on 18 June 1999, is also situated on both sides of the road, marking the collision of two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. One memorial to a 62-year-old man comprises a cross with flowers, personal and automotive relics, and a plaque set inside a wooden fence and simply inscribed “John Henry Keenan / 23-11-1936–18-06-1999”. The second memorial contains three white crosses set side-by-side, together with flowers and relics, and reveals that members of three generations of the same family died at this location: “Raymond Campbell ‘Butch’ / 26-3-67–18-6-99” (32 years of age), “Lorraine Margaret Campbell ‘Lloydie’ / 29-11-46–18-6-99” (53 years), and “Raymond Jon Campbell RJ / 28-1-86–18-6-99” (13 years). The final memorial on this stretch of highway is dedicated to Jason John Zupp of Toowoomba who died two weeks before Christmas 2005. This consists of a white cross, decorated with flowers and inscribed: “Jason John Zupp / Loved & missed by all”—a phrase echoed in his newspaper obituary. The police media statement noted that, “at 11.24pm a prime mover carrying four empty trailers [stacked two high] has rolled on the Leichhardt Highway 17km north of Taroom” (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Truck Accident’). The roadside memorial was placed alongside a ditch on a straight stretch of road where the body was found. The coroner’s report adds the following chilling information: “Mr Zupp was thrown out of the cabin and his body was found near the cabin. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had applied the brakes or in any way tried to prevent the crash … Jason was not wearing his seatbelt” (Cornack 5, 6). Cornack also remarked the truck was over length, the brakes had not been properly adjusted, and the trip that Zupp had undertaken could not been lawfully completed according to fatigue management regulations then in place (8). Although poignant and highly visible due to these memorials, these deaths form a small part of Australia’s road toll, and underscore our ambivalent relationship with the automobile, where road death is accepted as a necessary side-effect of the freedom of movement the technology offers (Ladd). These memorials thus animate highways as Gothic landscapes due to the “multifaceted” (Haider 56) nature of the fear, terror and horror their acknowledgement can bring. Since 1981, there have been, for instance, between some 1,600 and 3,300 road deaths each year in Australia and, while there is evidence of a long term downward trend, the number of deaths per annum has not changed markedly since 1991 (DITRDLG 1, 2), and has risen in some years since then. The U.S.A. marked its millionth road death in 1951 (Ladd) along the way to over 3,000,000 during the 20th century (Advocates). These deaths are far reaching, with U.K. research suggesting that each death there leaves an average of 6 people significantly affected, and that there are some 10 to 20 per cent of mourners who experience more complicated grief and longer term negative affects during this difficult time (‘Pathways Through Grief’). As the placing of roadside memorials has become a common occurrence the world over (Klaassens, Groote, and Vanclay; Grider; Cohen), these are now considered, in MacConville’s opinion, not only “an appropriate, but also an expected response to tragedy”. Hockey and Draper have explored the therapeutic value of the maintenance of “‘continuing bonds’ between the living and the dead” (3). This is, however, only one explanation for the reasons that individuals erect roadside memorials with research suggesting roadside memorials perform two main purposes in their linking of the past with the present—as not only sites of grieving and remembrance, but also of warning (Hartig, and Dunn; Everett; Excell, Roadside Memorials; MacConville). Clark adds that by “localis[ing] and personalis[ing] the road dead,” roadside memorials raise the profile of road trauma by connecting the emotionless statistics of road death directly to individual tragedy. They, thus, transform the highway into not only into a site of past horror, but one in which pain and terror could still happen, and happen at any moment. Despite their increasing commonality and their recognition as cultural artefacts, these memorials thus occupy “an uncomfortable place” both in terms of public policy and for some individuals (Lowe). While in some states of the U.S.A. and in Ireland the erection of such memorials is facilitated by local authorities as components of road safety campaigns, in the U.K. there appears to be “a growing official opposition to the erection of memorials” (MacConville). Criticism has focused on the dangers (of distraction and obstruction) these structures pose to passing traffic and pedestrians, while others protest their erection on aesthetic grounds and even claim memorials can lower property values (Everett). While many ascertain a sense of hope and purpose in the physical act of creating such shrines (see, for instance, Grider; Davies), they form an uncanny presence along the highway and can provide dangerous psychological territory for the viewer (Brien). Alongside the townships, tourist sites, motels, and petrol stations vying to attract customers, they stain the roadway with the unmistakable sign that a violent death has happened—bringing death, and the dead, to the fore as a component of these journeys, and destabilising prominent cultural narratives of technological progress and safety (Richter, Barach, Ben-Michael, and Berman).Conclusion This investigation has followed Goddu who proposes that a Gothic text “registers its culture’s contradictions” (3) and, in profiling these memorials as “intimately connected to the culture that produces them” (Goddu 3) has proposed memorials as Gothic artefacts that can both disturb and reveal. Roadside memorials are, indeed, so loaded with emotional content that their close contemplation can be traumatising (Brien), yet they are inescapable while navigating the roadway. Part of their power resides in their ability to re-animate those persons killed in these violent in the minds of those viewing these memorials. In this way, these individuals are reincarnated as ghostly presences along the highway, forming channels via which the traveller can not only make human contact with the dead, but also come to recognise and ponder their own sense of mortality. While roadside memorials are thus like civic war memorials in bringing untimely death to the forefront of public view, roadside memorials provide a much more raw expression of the chaotic, anarchic and traumatic moment that separates the world of the living from that of the dead. While traditional memorials—such as those dedicated by, and to, Leichhardt—moreover, pay homage to the vitality of the lives of those they commemorate, roadside memorials not only acknowledge the alarming circumstances of unexpected death but also stand testament to the power of the paradox of the incontrovertibility of sudden death versus our lack of ability to postpone it. In this way, further research into these and other examples of Gothic memorialising practice has much to offer various areas of cultural study in Australia.ReferencesAdams, Brian. Sidney Nolan: Such Is Life. Hawthorn, Vic.: Hutchinson, 1987. Advocates for Highway and Auto Safety. “Motor Vehicle Traffic Fatalities & Fatality Rate: 1899-2003.” 2004. Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1973. Bisceglio, Paul. “How Social Media Is Changing the Way We Approach Death.” The Atlantic 20 Aug. 2013. Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. 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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. 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