Journal articles on the topic 'Indigenous peoples' copyright'

This community service activity is motivated by the work of indigenous peoples in the form of Subhanale woven fabric that do not yet have intellectual property rights (copyright). With the progress of the times and the incessant amount of information, it is very necessary for the Sasak indigenous people to protect the works of indigenous peoples that already exist from generation to generation, so that this community service activity has the aim of (1) providing an understanding of the importance of maintaining their creations, (2) encouraging traditional society leaders and village officials to immediately register the intellectual property rights (copyright) of Subhanale woven fabric.This activity is a regulations socialization so that indigenous peoples know that the intellectual property rights (copyright) of their works can be protected by the government. It can be seen from the artworks owned by the Sasak people in the form of woven fabrics with the Subhanale pattern which are very popular with the public even from abroad. Because there is no intellectual property right (copyright) for the work, it is vulnerable to be claimed by other parties who are not entitled to it. The conclusion of this socialization activity received a positive response from the community, which was marked by understanding the copyright importance of their work and will immediately manage the intellectual property rights (copyright) with support from local academics and other related parties so that indigenous peoples get legal recognition of their artworks.

Registration of copyright patent or registration is a letter approved and issued by the Ministry of Law and Human Rights for copyright. To protect the rights to indigenous land, the Moi tribal community has registered 2 (two) registrations that have been issued by the Ministry of Law and Human Rights, including 1) Registration of copyright with types of creation: Database and title of work: Results of the Open and Close Tribe Meeting with the head of the Tribe Council of Malamoi Sorong and Indigenous Peoples of the Moi Tribe on the Status of Indigenous Land Ownership in the Sorong City Government Area on behalf of the Malibela Klawalu clan, the Kalagison Milo clan, the Mubalus clan, the Kalawaisa clan, the Bawela Mubalus clan, the Osok Malaimsimsa clan. , Marga Kalami Klaglas Klaglas On 10 April 2013. 2). Letter of Registration of copyright with the type of copyrights: Map of the 7 Boundary of the Moi Indigenous Land Owners in the Sorong City Area. Based on the document, the Moi tribal community used it as a basis to claim the lands in the Sorong City government territory were the indigenous land belonging to the Moi tribe. This study uses a statutory and conceptual approach. The results of this study are that the registration document does not have legal force as evidence to prove ownership of indigenous land rights. A letter of registration remains important if there are legal issues with copyright in the future. The document can be used as initial evidence to determine who has the rights to the subject or the copyright holder or ones who is more entitled to the subject.

The Balai Kiyu Indigenous People are the Dayak indigenous people who have long occupied the Meratus mountain region in South Kalimantan. These indigenous people have problems that will threaten their existence. The problem is not internal, but external parties overshadowing communal well-being. This study aims to analyze the threats that will be faced by the Balai Kiyu Indigenous Peoples to their existence and is expected to represent the threats that will be faced by indigenous peoples along the Meratus mountains. Based on the research results obtained, the threat to the existence of the Indigenous Peoples Kiyu Centers among them is, first, the boundaries of indigenous territories so far that has not been authorized by the regional or central government, making them very vulnerable communities. Secondly, the highly educated generation slowly began to abandon local wisdom that had been running for decades from its negative effects. Third, the Omnibus Law Bill on the Labor Copyright Act will clarify that indigenous peoples in the future will only be named, because of the loss of communal ownership rights so far.

Introductioan: Substantial application of the Omnibus Law (Cipta Kerja) for the rights of indigenous peoples in coastal areas.Purposes of the Research: Reviewing and analyzing the impact of the Copyright Act on indigenous peoples in coastal areas.Methods of the Research: The research was conducted through normative legal research with a political approach to review and analyze legislation or other legal materials related to the Urgency of Omnibus Law on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in coastal areas.Results of the Research: The presence of the Omnisbus Law will have a positive impact on the community from the aspect of legal knowledge that people belonging to the scientific community can understand the purpose of the government to implement the Omnisbus Law but from the other side the ordinary people who are in coastal areas and remote rural areas do not understand well the application of the Omnisbus Law so that protection is important.

The possible protection of indigenous cultural expressions has reemerged as a topic in international debates in recent years. This article provides a legal perspective on the topic. Existing copyright and neighboring right laws do not apply to such cultural expressions per se, since they do not fulfill the relevant criteria of protection. However, indirect protection is granted to those who record indigenous expressions onto phonograms, films, and photographs, and for those who collect or perform indigenous cultural expressions. Protection concerning authenticity is possible by way of trademarks (in particular collective marks and certification marks) and geographical indications. Particular rules about unfair competition may protect against the disclosure of confidential information. Works based on traditional cultural expressions are regularly protected by copyright. Following early (unsuccessful) attempts for international protection of traditional cultural expressions per se, new ways are currently being developed including sui generis protection regimes which integrate customary laws and practices. Any successful solution will have to be based on better mutual interest and understanding between indigenous peoples and Western users.

The notions of indigenous peoples, indigenous knowledge, and heritage and culture have acquired wide usage in international debates on sustainable development and intellectual property protection since the turn of the 20th century. This paper, through an examination of the concept of intellectual property and its intersection with culture and heritage, elucidates the nature and scope of indigenous intellectual property rights as represented by traditional knowledge, traditional cultural expressions and genetic resources. This paper, through a review of the interface between indigenous knowledge systems and the intellectual property law regime, illustrates the limitations of conventional intellectual property rights systems i.e.: copyright, patent, trade secrets and trademark in providing adequate recognition and protection for indigenous intellectual property rights. It also posits that the establishment of a sui generis system of protection offers a plausible solution to the inadequacy of the existing regimes of protection. This paper ultimately seeks to illustrate indigenous people’s legitimate rights to control, access and utilize in any way, including restricting others’ access to, knowledge or information that derives from their unique cultural histories, expressions, practices and contexts, towards the creation of a better society.

This article proposes that settler communities cannot teach or understand our shared intercultural history without listening to ideas presented by Indigenous communities about their own history in lands currently occupied by modern nation- -states. This history enables us to understand the power of the ethnographic gaze and its relation to The Doctrine of Discovery (1493), which extinguished Indigenous rights to lands and resources, rights later transferred to the modern nation- -states through the legal notion of “eminent domain”. These rights include the ownership of intangibles such as the image and storytelling through photography and film. Maori scholars Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Barry Barclay and Merata Mita are cited on knowledge production, copyright and image sovereignty to decolonise our understanding of the right to self-representation. The study includes a brief analysis of films that help decolonise an ethnographic gaze at these relationships, particularly the Brazilian documentary “O Mestre e o Divino” by Tiago Campos Torre (2013).Keywords: Indigenous peoples. Nation-state history. Film. Self- -determination.

The fundamental question is how much interest exists in Russia to extend legal protection to traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions. There has been virtually no public, scholarly discussion of this issue in Russia. As far as my research reveals, this article is the first scholarly analysis in Russian or English of the protection of traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions under Russian law. At a technical governmental level, there is some interest in these issues. Specialists from the government of the Russian Federation participate in the work of WIPO's Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore, for example. But the interest of specialists in a government ministry does not necessarily translate into the political momentum necessary to make a major change in existing intellectual property legislation, and the political influence of Russia's numerically- small peoples is slight and in recent years has been made even slighter by the elimination of several autonomous okrugs in which the indigenous population represented a significant percentage of the total population. Changes in intellectual property law in the Soviet Union and post- Soviet Russia have usually occurred in response to international pressure. The Soviet Union acceded to the Universal Copyright Convention in 1973 and modified its copyright law, granting copyright protection to foreign authors for the first time, as part of trade negotiations with the United States. The adoption of new intellectual property statutes in 1992 and 1993 and the accession of Russia to the Berne Convention in 1995 are largely explained as a response to demands by the U.S. and other foreign governments and technology owners. Based on this track record, international pressure may represent the best strategy for encouraging the Russian government to expand the protection of the traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions of Russia's numerically-small peoples. But in the absence of such international pressure, the prospects for such a major revision of Russian intellectual property law seem remote.

AbstractThis article addresses the current international debate on the protection of cultural goods. Whereas some groups (such as indigenous peoples) are arguing for the creation of cultural property rights analogous to classic intellectual property rights such as patent and copyright, most industrialized countries advocate to keep cultural goods within the public domain. In this article, we develop an economic perspective based on identity and clarify the question of which cultural goods should be protected, regulated, or left in the public domain. We conclude that protection based on the concept of identity is required for a very limited scope of cultural goods.

The purpose of this study is to find the genealogy of counterfeit goods from the Indonesian experience. This study uses genealogy as a method for understanding discourse, whether it is written in the library or spoken in terms of proverbs, words of wisdom, or social praxis that has become local wisdom. The genealogy of counterfeit goods in Indonesia was inseparable from the historical roots of global capitalism which were embedded through Auteurswet 1912. The term counterfeit goods is related to copyright and intellectual property rights in positive law vis a vis local wisdom and the socio-cultural history of indigenous peoples is related to imitative goods.

Tujuan dilakukan penelitian ini agar dapat memahami konsep penguasaan Negara sebagai pemegang Hak Cipta atas EBT dalam UU Hak Cipta Tahun 2014 dan untuk mengetahui serta mengevaluasi kedudukan masyarakat hukum adat sebagai pengemban EBT saat ini agar dapat dilindugi dengan tepat dengan ketentuan hukum yang sui generis. Dalam penelitian ini menggunakan metode penelitian hukum normatif dengan pendekatan penelitian yaitu pendekatan perundang-undangan dan pendekatan analisis konsep hukum. Serta dengan teknik analisis data yang digunakan yaitu teknik analisis deskriptif kualitatif. Hasil penelitian ini yaitu bahwa sampai saat ini konsep penguasaan Negara yang menjadi pemegang Hak Cipta atas EBT sebagaimana ketentuan yang diatur pada Pasal 38 ayat (1) UUHC belum tepat diterapkan. Hal ini didasarkan pada beberapa pendapat salah satunya yaitu adanya perbedaan konsep perlindungan karya cipta individual pada umumnya dengan konsep perlindungan EBT yang termasuk karya cipta komunal dan diwariskan secara turun temurun. Dalam permasalahn terkait kedudukan masyarakat hukum adat yang sampai sekarang belum jelas disebutkan dan diatur dalam UUHC, penting untuk kedepannya diatur secara tersendiri ketentuan peraturan perundang-undangannya dan wajib menyebutkan serta mengatur kedudukan masyarakat hukum adat beserta hak-haknya atas EBT yang telah diemban dan dilestarikannya selama ini. Mengingat peran vital masyarakat hukum adat yang telah berperan positif melestarikan tradisinya dengan pengaturan khusus yang memberikan pemegang Hak Cipta ata EBT kepada masyarakat adatnya. The purpose of this research is to understand the concept of State control as the holder of Copyright over EBT in the Copyright Law of 2014 and to find out and evaluate the position of indigenous peoples as the current EBT bearers so that they can be properly protected by sui generis legal provisions. In this study, using a normative legal research method with a research approach that is a statutory approach and a legal concept analysis approach. And the data analysis technique used is descriptive qualitative analysis techniques. The result of this research is that until now the concept of State control which is the holder of the Copyright on EBT as stipulated in Article 38 paragraph (1) of the UUHC has not been properly applied. This is based on several opinions, one of which is the difference in the concept of protection of individual copyright works in general with the concept of EBT protection, which includes communal copyright works and is passed down from generation to generation. In matters related to the position of the customary law community which until now has not been clearly stated and regulated in the UUHC, it is important for the future to be regulated separately the provisions of the laws and regulations and must mention and regulate the position of the customary law community and their rights over EBT which have been carried and preserved for this. Given the vital role of indigenous peoples who have played a positive role in preserving their traditions with special arrangements that provide Copyright or EBT holders to their customary communities.

The government is responsible for protecting, not only traditional cultural expressions as part of biodiversity, but also as the property of local communities. Legal regulations related to the aspect of supervision in the protection of traditional cultural expressions have not been explicitly stated in statutory regulations. Regulating aspects of supervision related to the protection of Traditional Cultural Expressions are very important in order to provide a sense of security and comfort to indigenous peoples as owners of these Traditional Cultural Expressions, and to maintain respect for the communal community. The purpose of this paper is to find a juridical basis regarding the supervision of traditional cultural expressions. The research method in the preparation of this article is the normative legal research method, in which this research examines the laws and regulations that are related to legal problems that occur. The results showed that the aspects of supervision in the laws and regulations relating to the protection of traditional cultural expressions have not been regulated in a substantial and detailed manner and only become part of Article 38 paragraph (2) of the Copyright Law. The existence of an aspect of supervision carried out by related parties is very important as part of Article 38 paragraph (3) of the Copyright Law.

The article discusses the activities of modern libraries as memory institutions aimed to support multilingualism in cyberspace. The author characterizes electronic libraries and collections in national languages created by central libraries of subjects of the Russian Federation. Over the past few years libraries have stepped up work on the development of multilingualism on the Internet, creating electronic libraries in the languages of the peoples of Russia (besides Russian) and providing free access to them on their websites. National libraries of the constituent entities of the Russian Federation play a leading role in this process, striving to create more and more electronic resources in their national languages (including Russian), with the support of state authorities at the regional and local levels, as well as international organizations. They have created such electronic libraries and collections as “Electronic library of the authors of Karelia”; “Finno-Ugric libraries of Russia”; “Bashkirika”; “National electronic libraries” of the Udmurt Republic, the Republic of Adygea and Komi Republic; “Electronic collection of books in languages of Erzya and Moksha” created by the Pushkin National Library of the Republic of Mordovia; Tatar electronic library; Electronic collection “Literary palette of the Chuvash Republic — 100 books for reading”; and Electronic library of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). Mainly the collections include electronic copies of publications that are not subject to copyright; however, there are works of modern authors as well. Electronic collections in national languages of regional libraries are few, among them there are such collections as “Indigenous ethnic groups of Sakhalin” of the Sakhalin regional universal scientific library and Electronic library “Kola North” of the Murmansk state regional universal scientific library. Thanks to the activities of the Central regional libraries, the presence of languages of the titular ethnic groups, as well as indigenous peoples of the North, Siberia and the Far East in the Russian segment of the Internet has increased.

In 2014, the National Museum of Denmark (NMD), in conjunction with the Greenland National Museum and Archives (Nunatta Katersugaasivia Allagaateqarfialu [NKA]), as well as the Museum of Cultural History, Oslo, launched the website Skin Clothing Online. The site presents the NMD’s total collection of 2,170 historic skin clothing items, dating from circa 1830 to 1950, from the circumpolar area. The clothing can be studied in minute detail due to high-resolution photos; 100 complete suits were photographed from all sides. Furthermore, 107 items of clothing were measured by means of 3D technology, which can be used to draw precise two-dimensional patterns. The documentation is made accessible to the public through a website, in compliance with creative commons licenses: CC-BY-SA for the photos and CC-BY-SA-NC for the patterns. The website uses content from the database SkinBase. Since 2017 parts of the NKA’s collection of archeological skin clothing from Qilakitsoq (circa 1475 AD), as well as historical garments and contemporary fashions, have also been made accessible, in keeping with the same copyright rules for photos. The NKA staff entered the items into the database without difficulty using a Virtual Private Connection (VPN). The Danish and Greenlandic national museums encourage international partners to contribute items to the website. The aim is to create a collaborative open forum for information and research with easy access for everybody to unique, fragile pieces of circumpolar cultural heritage. With clothing from Arctic peoples and clothing used on expeditions to Antarctica, the Polar Museum in Cambridge will be the next museum to contribute to the website.

The embodiment of West Lampung Traditional Cultural Expressions has not been optimal both in terms of intellectual property protection and in terms of its usefulness for the local community of West Lampung. In this article, we will discuss how intellectual property legal protection is implemented if it is implemented in the protection of traditional cultural expressions and how far has the West Lampung Regency Government tried to protect and utilize the potential of traditional cultural expressions. This article aims to identify a model of protection against traditional cultural expressions in West Lampung by using normative and empirical legal research methodologies. The results of the discussion show that the Protection of Traditional Cultural Expressions is carried out based on Law Number 28 of 2014 concerning Copyright, Law Number 5 of 2017 concerning the Advancement of Culture, Law Number 11 of 2010 concerning Cultural Conservation and Government Regulation Number 6 of 2017. 2015 concerning Museums, and Regulation of the Minister of Culture Number 106 concerning Indonesian Intangible Cultural Heritage in addition to the autonomy of the Regional Government of West Lampung Regency has also made efforts to preserve istiadar custom through the Regional Regulation of West Lampung Regency Number 14 of 2000 concerning the Guidance, Preservation, and Development of Indigenous Peoples. and Customary Institutions. The West Lampung Regency Government also seeks to protect and preserve traditional cultural expressions by participating in activities such as traditional festivals organized by the Lampung Provincial Government so that the existence of traditional cultural expressions in West Lampung Regency is known to the public. However, overall the protection of the majority of traditional cultural expressions has not been inventoried and utilized optimally, including the traditional cultural expressions of West Lampung. There should be immediate efforts to regulate the protection of traditional cultural expressions in a sui generis manner apart from the Copyright Law.

Introduction: The strengthening, utilization and preservation of EBT as an object of intellectual property rights produced by indigenous peoples or traditional communities is an interesting issue to study, one of which is the Tanimbar Weaving Fabric which is a form of intellectual work of the Tanimbar community.Purposes of the Research: The purpose of this study is to find out what the philosophical meaning and value of Tanimbar woven fabrics are as a form of traditional cultural expression and how the forms of strengthening and utilization of Tanimbar woven fabrics are as traditional cultural expressions.Methods of the Research: The research method used is normative legal research, using a statutory approach and a conceptual approach by examining various legal rules which are then linked to the reality that occurs in society. The legal materials used in this study are primary legal materials in the form of Copyright Law, while secondary legal materials in the form of books, legal journals related to the issues studied. The technique of collecting legal materials is done through a literature study that has relevance to this research. The legal materials collected were analyzed using qualitative analysis techniques to answer the problems in this research.Results of the Research: The original Tanimbar woven fabric has philosophical meaning and value for the Tanimbar community through the woven fabric motif. Each of these Tanimbar woven motifs has deep philosophical meanings and values regarding the life of the people and the environment of the Tanimbar people. Strengthening and Utilization of Tanimbar's original woven fabrics spun from cotton threads is increasingly being eroded by technological developments. The Tanimbar people no longer weave using cotton but have replaced it with shop yarn. In fact, the cultural heritage of Tanimbar woven fabrics inherited from their ancestors is the spinning of cotton threads, the results of which are very unique, have high economic value and are sought after by tourists and collectors of traditional fabrics. The government of the Tanimbar Islands Regency has not been able to provide protection, strengthening and utilization of the original Tanimbar woven fabrics.

Traditional clothing is one of the essential identities in Southeast Asian countries, knowns as ASEAN members; it was once used to showcase individual status in the community. It is still important today and worn on particular occasions to preserve tradition, and now it's emerged as one of the commercial goods. Yet, it becomes a vulnerable commodity when it becomes the object of cultural piracy, dispute of ownership, and disagreement of origin. The problem will continue to be detrimental to indigenous peoples who own it and possibly rift the relationship between ASEAN countries. The protection of traditional clothing in ASEAN is still weak, and there has been no specific legal instrument to regulate it. The intellectual property right (IPR) regime protects traditional clothing as a traditional cultural expression (TCE). TCE protection is part of the international regulation of intellectual property; however, without it well-implemented at the domestic level, TCE can easily be claimed as belonging to other parties who first published and registered them. This research will examine the legal protection of traditional clothes under IPR regimes in ASEAN in their national legal regulations. This research uses a comparative approach that primarily examines the laws and regulations governing the protection of Intellectual Property Rights in ASEAN countries. This research indicates that no single country in ASEAN has a specific law related to traditional cultural expressions (TCE) protection on traditional clothes. The protection for traditional clothes will be embedded in other IPR regimes such as Copyright, trademark, or non-IPR legislation.

The existence of Melinting Dance as a traditional dance from East Lampung Regency does not get maximum protection against local communal intellectual property. The problem in this article is What is the protection of intellectual property law against Traditional Cultural Expressions? What is the role of the Lampung provincial government in protecting intellectual property against the communal rights of the traditional dance of Lampung Province? This research is intended to find a model of protection for the Melinting Dance. This research uses a Normative and Empirical Juridical approach.The research results found that the Protection of Intellectual Property Laws against Traditional Cultural Expressions is carried out by the government by making regulations Law No. 28 of 2014 concerning Copyright. To protect the masterpiece of Indonesian indigenous peoples, the Ministry of Education and Culture of the Republic of Indonesia has designated the Indonesian Intangible Cultural Heritage. The role of the Lampung Province government in protecting intellectual property against the communal rights of the traditional dance of Lampung Province consists of a normative role, namely by making regulations concerning the Protection of the Lampung People Intellectual. The ideal role of the Lampung Province government is by subjects and extracurricular in the school program, so children today do not forget the inheritance of their ancestors' culture. The factual role that is as an effort to protect and preserve the Melinting dance is done by holding activities such as the Traditional Festival, in various activities to be known by the public and also to show the existence of the Melinting Dance is maintained.As for the suggestions that can be conveyed in this study, the government and the House of Representatives of the Republic of Indonesia as the executive and legislative branch should immediately pass the Law on the Protection and Utilization of Intellectual Property Rights of Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions. The Lampung Provincial Government should immediately realize the regional regulations governing art as a relic of the people of Lampung.

Conserving indigenous knowledge (IK) has long been discussed in international fore for more than five decade. The core issues is there is unanimity among scholars, governments, indigenous peoples and local communities on whether and how issue of IK could be harmonise within intellectual property rights law framework particularly copyrights. This paper aims to highlight the issues of conserving indigenous knowledge since indigenous knowledge does not belong to one generation but all generations. Discussion will embark on from the perspective of intellectual property jurisprudence through the works of Henry Reynolds, James Tully and Will Kymlicka. The outcome of this paper demonstrates promising thought into the role of intergeneration justice in protecting indigenous peoples in Malaysia. It is the contention of this paper that perhaps such conditions could apply to traditional knowledge too in addressing the plight of indigenous peoples.

Since Thailand's Copyright Act became law in 1979 an indigenous music industry has emerged. In the past, the small recording business was concentrated on two aspects: the sale of imported records and the manufacture of popular, mainly Lukkroong music, and classical records. However, the organisation of the Association of Music Traders – an immediate reaction to the enforcement of the Copyright law – coupled with the advent of cassette technology, has transformed the faltering gramophone trade. Today, middle-class youngsters appreciate Thai popular music in contrast to the previous generation who grew up with western pop and rock. Young people in the countryside have begun to acquire a taste for the same music as well as enjoy a wider range of Pleng Luktoong, the country music with which they identify. How did this change which has resulted in the creation of a new pleasure industry come about? And what are some of the consequences of this transformation.

Abstract In Part I of this two-part article, we explained why western assumptions built into intellectual property law make this area of law a problematic tool, as a way of protecting traditional knowledge (tk) and expressions of folklore (EoF) or traditional cultural expressions (tce) of indigenous peoples. Part II of this article aims to: 1) provide a brief review of the Convention on Biological Diversity (cbd) and the Nagoya Protocol, and examine the evolution of the intellectual property rights of indigenous peoples from the Agreement on Trade Related Aspects of Intellectual Property (trips Agreement) to the cbd to the Nagoya Protocol; and 2) examine possible core principles, inducted (rather than deduced) from actual practices already in place in the areas of patents, copyrights, and trademarks in relation to protecting tk and EoF. These explorations could allow for discussions regarding indigenous peoples, human rights and international trade law to become less adversarial.

PurposeTraditional cultural expression (TCE) includes music, dance, art, designs, names, signs and symbols, performances, ceremonies, architectural forms, handicrafts and narratives or many other artistic or cultural expressions [World Intellectual Property Office (WIPO)]. To constitute TCEs, the expressions must form part of the identity and heritage of a traditional or indigenous community and need to be passed down from generation to generation (Kuprecht, 2014). This paper aims to analyse the protection of TCE in Malaysia by focusing on the Mah Meri tribe. This paper examines copyright over TCE, recordation as a means of preserving a dying tradition and customary practices and native law. Design/methodology/approachInformation is drawn from personal discussions with the weavers and carvers of the Mah Meri tribe, and a focus group discussion with subject matter experts. As a way of comparison, a personal visit has been made to Sarawak Biodiversity Centre, Sarawak Native Courts, the Dayak Iban Association and Dayak Bidayuh Association. FindingsThe research found that copyright law has no specific provision for the protection of TCEs. Customary practices of the indigenous people and the native law of Sarawak have limited effect outside their traditional domain. Recordation and documentation of TCEs are the prime initiatives, but the documents or the recordings do not carry any legal status. Research limitations/implicationsThe research is limited only to the Mah Meri tribe with a comparison drawn to the Dayak Iban and Dayak Bidayuh tribe. Practical implicationsThe research examines the practical implications of copyright and recording and documentation of cultural expression in Malaysia. Social implicationsThe research sets to unearth and highlight the ideation process in a tribal setting and how that clashes with the formal creation setting in a modern intellectual property system. Originality/valueThis paper was presented at the IAITL Congress 2013. It also appeared in the Conference Proceedings edited by Slyvia Kieerkgard, but it has not been published in any journals.

In this article, I argue that recontextualizing Indigenous cultural heritage through institutional acquisition and cataloging can also be understood as a jurisdictional strategy that upholds the supremacy of US and Canadian legal regimes over Indigenous laws. To do this, I share what I have learned from participating in a Nation-led, community-based research project with the Nuxalk First Nation Ancestral Governance Office, in what is currently British Columbia, Canada. Our work together focused on reinvigorating the Nation’s laws, teachings, and protocols through the evolution of their own database of Nuxalk objects, still held in museum collections worldwide. I discuss this project and how it illustrates the legal context inherent to understanding much Nuxalk material culture. Next, bringing together literature on organizing knowledge in museums, settler colonial theories of dispossession, and archival copyright law, I look at how accessioning Indigenous objects into settler collections in the US and Canada is enacting another legal process, “written on top of” the legal meanings objects hold for the Nuxalk Nation, and reframing them as objects the museum has legitimate control and possession over. I close by reflecting on the strategies Nuxalk people, and other Indigenous artists and scholars, are undertaking to challenge the normative power of museum authority through interventions that are grounded in Indigenous governance and sovereignty.

Protocols in international law seem to be proliferating. Examples of official protocols at international law abound, from the 1967 Stockholm Protocol Regarding Developing Countries (amending the Berne Convention on copyright), to the 1997 Kyoto Protocol on climate change, to the recent Nagoya Protocol on Access and Benefit Sharing in 2010. But what exactly is a “protocol” compared to other international legal instruments, such as declarations and treaties? And why does there seem to be a flurry of new protocols today, in domains as vast as intellectual property and indigenous people's rights? On 19 August a new “working group” convened at the New York University School of Law to begin to study protocols, especially with an eye toward their use as a tool to protect indigenous cultural property—hence, the term “cultural protocols.” The working group is the brainchild of Dr. Jane Anderson of the University of Massachusetts and Professor Barton Beebe of the New York University School of Law.

Traditional Cultural Expressions are creations in the field of art that contain elements of traditional heritage characteristics as a national culture which are shared resources developed and maintained or preserved by certain traditional communities. In Lampung, there are various traditional cultural expressions of Lampung indigenous people that still exist. It needs to be protected due to it has unique characteristics and different from other intellectual works. Based on article 38 of Law No 14 of 2018 on Copyright, the Government of Lampung must protect and prevent unauthorized claims and misappropriation of Lampung Traditional Cultural Expression. Using the socio-legal approach, the reseach aims to examine and analyze kinds of legal protection done by Lampung Government for protecting TCE in Lampung, and the challenges of it.

This article presents a comparative study of how Canadian First Nations and New Zealand Māori peoples have employed digital technologies in the recording, reproduction, promotion and discussion of their cultural heritage. The authors explore a selection of First Nations and Māori initiatives that resist or creatively respond to the digitization and electronic dissemination of cultural ‘objects’, knowledges and landscapes as a continuation of social processes that have dynamically endured over more than two centuries. Their comparison also considers the limitations of conventional law in regard to the protection of indigenous cultural and intellectual property. Expressions of traditional knowledge and culture generally fall outside the protection of copyrights and patents, a situation that is often exacerbated when that heritage assumes digital forms.

For more than one hundred years Canada’s national museum of human history, called, successively, the National Museum of Canada, the National Museum of Man, the Canadian Museum of Civilization, and, most recently, the Canadian Museum of History, has documented and assembled a record of intangible cultural heritage relating to various cultural groups. Originally collected and currently preserved under legislative mandates resting on broad assumptions about the public interest, this material includes a substantial body of narrative, song and information relating to both past and contemporary cultural practice of societies indigenous to Canada. This paper explores the issues for concepts of nationhood, knowledge and the public interest raised by the contractual agreements, legislation on topics ranging from copyright to family law, treaty negotiations between Aboriginal people and the Government of Canada, and consultation concerning different cultural definitions of property and the sacred that affect day-to-day access to and use of Aboriginal intangible heritage in the museum. Finally, the paper explores potential issues for the continuation of this work raised by the museum’s narrowing of focus and mandate as it changes from the Canadian Museum of Civilization to the Canadian Museum of History.

The people who live in the Merapi area have been going on for years. Merapi is the most active volcano in Central Java that can threaten the community, but the community still exists today, of course, having local wisdom in responding to the eruption of Merapi. This study aims to determine the local wisdom of Wonolelo Village before, during, and after the Merapi eruption. In addition, to find out the historical relationship of the Merapi eruption to local wisdom and the challenges faced by Wonolelo Village in maintaining the sustainability of local wisdom. This research was used as a descriptive qualitative method. The method of collecting data is done through observation, in-depth interviews, and documentation. Data sources of this study are community leaders, spiritual leaders, and people who are more than 70 years old. Analysis of the data used is sourced triangulation based on the Miles & Huberman model. The results showed that local wisdom in responding to the Merapi eruption in Wonolelo Village still exists today. Local wisdom is divided into three segments, namely before, during, and after the eruption of Merapi. Local wisdom before the Merapi eruption is a notification that Merapi eruption activity will occur. Local wisdom in Wonolelo Village has challenges in the form of modernization and not running the local wisdom relay to young people. Keywords: Disaster, Local wisdom, Merapi volcano. References Andreastuti, S.D., Newhall, C., Dwiyanto, J. (2006). Menelusuri Kebenaran Letusan Gunung Merapi 1006. Jurnal Geologi Indonesia, Vol. 1, No. 4, Hal. 201-207. Andreastuti, S., Paripurno, E., Gunawan, H., Budianto, A., Syahbana, D., & Pallister, J. (2019). Character of community response to volcanic crises at sinabung and kelud volcanoes. Journal of Volcanology and Geothermal Research, 382, 298-310. doi:10.1016/j.jvolgeores.2017.01.022 Atmojo, S. E., Rusilowati, A., Dwiningrum, S. I. 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Pengelolaan lingkungan zamrud khatulistiwa. Yogyakarta: Pintal. Cho, S.E., Won, S., & Kim, S. (2016). Living in harmony with disaster: exploring volcanic hazard vulnerability in Indonesia. Sustainability, Vol. 8, Hlm. 1-13. Daly, P. (2015). Embedded wisdom or rooted problems? aid workers' perspectives on local social and political infrastructure in post-tsunami aceh. Disasters, 39(2), 232-257. doi:10.1111/disa.12105 Dibyosaputro, S., Hadmoko, D.S., Cahyadi, A., & Nugraha, H. (2016). Gunung merapi: kebencanaan dan pengurangan risikonya. Yogyakarta: Badan Penerbit Fakultas Geografi (BPFG) Universitas Gadjah Mada. Fatkhan, M. (2006). Kearifan lingkungan masyarakat lereng gunung merapi. Aplikasia, Jurnal Aplikasi Ilmu-ilmu Agama, Vol. 7, No. 2, Desember, Hal. 107-121. Gertisser, R., Charbonnier, S.J., Keller, J., & Quidelleur, X. (2012). The geological evolution of Merapi vulcano, Central Java, Indonesia. Bull Volcanol, Vol. 74. Hal. 1213-1233. Haba, J. (2008). Bencana alam dalam perspektif lokal dan perspektif kristiani. LIPI, Vol. 34, No. 1, Hal. 25-49. Hardoyo, S.R., Marfai, M.A., Ni’mah, N.M., Mukti, R.Y., Zahro, Q., & Halim, A. (2011). Strategi adaptasi masyarakat terhadap bencana banjir rob di pekalongan. Yogyakarta: Magister Perencanaan Pengelolaan Pesisir dan Daerah Aliran Sungai, Cahaya Press. Ikeda, S., & Nagasaka, T. (2011). An emergent framework of disaster risk governance towards innovating coping capability for reducing disaster risks in local communities. International Journal of Disaster Risk Science, 2(2) doi:10.1007/s13753-011-0006-7 Inaotombi, S., & Mahanta, P. C. (2019). Pathways of socio-ecological resilience to climate change for fisheries through indigenous knowledge. Human and Ecological Risk Assessment, 25(8), 2032-2044. doi:10.1080/10807039.2018.1482197 Klaten, B. P. S. K. (2018). Kabupaten Klaten dalam Angka. Klaten : Badan Pusat Statistik Kusumasari, B., & Alam, Q. (2012). Local wisdom-based disaster recovery model in indonesia. Disaster Prevention and Management: An International Journal, 21(3), 351-369. doi:10.1108/09653561211234525 Lestari, P., Kusumayudha, S. B., Paripurno, E. T., & Jayadianti, H. (2016). Environmental communication model for disaster mitigation of mount sinabung eruption karo regency of north sumatra. Information (Japan), 19(9B), 4265-4270. Magelang, B. P. S. K. (2018). Kabupaten Magelang dalam Angka. Boyolali : Badan Pusat Statistik Marfai, M.A. (2011). Jakarta flood hazard and community participation on disaster preparedness. Prosiding dalam seminar Community preparedness and disaster management, center for religious and cross-cultural studies, UGMI, no. 2/2011 (december), Hlm, 209-221. Marfai, M.A., & Hizbaron, D.R. (2011). Community’s adaptive capacity due to coastal flooding in semarang coastal city, Indonesia. International Journal of Seria Geografie, Annals of the Univeristy of Oradea. E-ISSN 2065-1619. Year XX. 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Sawangan : Badan Pusat Statistik Setiawan, B., Innatesari, D. K., Sabtiawan, W. B., & Sudarmin, S. (2017). The development of local wisdom-based natural science module to improve science literation of students. Jurnal Pendidikan IPA Indonesia, 6(1), 49-54. doi:10.15294/jpii.v6i1.9595 Sibarani, R. (2013). Pembentukan karakter berbasis kearifan lokal. Online, http://www.museum.pusaka.nias.org/2013/02/pembentukan-karakter-berbasis-kearifan.html. Diunduh tanggal 10 october 2019. Sleman, B. P. S. K. (2018). Kabupaten Sleman dalam Angka. Sleman : Badan Pusat Statistik Syahputra, H. (2019). Indigenous knowledge representation in mitigation process: A study of communities’ understandings of natural disasters in aceh province, indonesia. Collection and Curation, 38(4), 94-102. doi:10.1108/CC-11-2017-0046 Voight, B., Constantine, E.K., Siswowidjoyo, S., & Torley, R. (2000). Historical eruptions of merapi vulcano, Central Java, Indonesia, 1768-1998. Journal of Volcanology and Geothermal Research, Vol. 100, Hal. 69–138. Wilson, T.; Kaye, G., Stewart, C. and Cole, J. (2007). Impacts of the 2006 eruption of merapi volcano, Indonesia, on agriculture and infrastructure. GNS Science Report, 2007/07 Hal. 1-69. Copyright (c) 2019 Geosfera Indonesia Journal and Department of Geography Education, University of Jember This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share A like 4.0 International License

iAbstract The North Kalimantan Border Area is largely inhabited by indigenous peoples. Development of Border Areas is a necessity, because the development of border areas is part of national development. Indigenous peoples in the border region have the character and local wisdom that determines with other communities, so that the development model in other regions does not necessarily show partiality to the indigenous peoples in the border region. There are two questions in this study; first, regarding the characteristics of the border problems of North Kalimantan Province and their implications for indigenous peoples,? and secondly; Does the development model in the border area favor indigenous peoples? This type of research is normative juridical research, with qualitative analysis. The research objective to be achieved is to produce an appropriate development model applied in areas that connect to the copyright of indigenous peoples in the border region, and produce specific findings for. Reducing legal and policy barriers in finding development models in the border region in North Kalimantan that favor the indigenous peoples.Keywords; Models, development, indigenous peoples, borders

This paper contributes to building respectful relationships between Indigenous (First Nations, Métis, and Inuit) peoples and Canada's cultural memory institutions, such as libraries, archives and museums, and applies to knowledge repositories that hold tangible and intangible traditional knowledge. The central goal of the paper is to advance understandings to allow cultural memory institutions to respect, affirm, and recognize Indigenous ownership of their traditional and living Indigenous knowledges and to respect the protocols for their use. This paper honours the spirit of reconciliation through the joint authorship of people from Indigenous, immigrant, and Canadian heritages. The authors outline the traditional and living importance of Indigenous knowledges; describe the legal framework in Canada, both as it establishes a system of enforceable copyright and as it recognizes Indigenous rights, self-determination, and the constitutional protections accorded to Indigenous peoples; and recommend an approach for cultural memory institutions to adopt and recognize Indigenous ownership of their knowledges, languages, cultures, and histories by developing protocols with each unique Indigenous nation.

We ask you now, reader, to put your mind, as a citizen of the Australian Commonwealth, to the facts presented in these pages. We ask you to study the problem, in the way that we present the case, from the Aborigines’ point of view. We do not ask for your charity; we do not ask you to study us as scientific-freaks. Above all, we do not ask for your “protection”. No, thanks! We have had 150 years of that! We ask only for justice, decency, and fair play. (Patten and Ferguson 3-4) Jack Patten and William Ferguson’s above declaration on “Plain Speaking” in Aborigines Claim Citizenship Rights! A Statement of the Case for the Aborigines Progressive Association (1938), outlining Aboriginal Australians view of colonisation and the call for Aboriginal self-determinacy, will be my guiding framework in writing this paper. I ask you to study the problem, as it is presented, from the viewpoint of an Indigenous woman who seeks to understand how “sorry” has been uttered in political domains as a word divorced from the moral freight attached to a history of “degrading, humiliating and exterminating” Aboriginal Australians (Patten and Ferguson 11). I wish to argue that the Opposition leader’s utterance of “sorry” in his 13 February 2008 “We Are Sorry – Address to Parliament” was an indicator of the insidious ways in which colonisation has treated Aboriginal Australians as less than, not equal to, white Australians and to examine the ways in which this particular utterance of the word “sorry” is built on longstanding colonial frameworks that position ‘the Aborigine’ as peripheral in the representation of a national identity – a national identity that, as shown by the transcript of the apology, continues to romanticise settler values and ignore Indigenous rights. Nelson’s address tries to disassociate the word “sorry” from any moral attachment. The basis of his address is on constructing a national identity where all injustices are equal. In offering this apology, let us not create one injustice in our attempts to address another. (Nelson) All sorrys are equal, but some are more equal than others. Listening to Nelson’s address, words resembling those of Orwell’s ran through my head. The word “sorry” in relation to Indigenous Australians has taken on cultural, political, educational and economic proportions. The previous government’s refusal to utter the word was attached to the ways in which formations of rhetorically self-sufficient arguments of practicality, equality and justice “functioned to sustain and legitimate existing inequalities between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples in Australia” (Augoustinos, LeCouteur and Soyland 105). How then, I wondered as I nervously waited for Nelson to begin apologising, would he transform this inherited collective discursive practice of legitimised racism that upheld mainstream Australia’s social reality? The need for an apology, and the history of political refusal to give it, is not a simple classification of one event, one moment in history. The ‘act’ of removing children is not a singular, one-off event. The need to do, the justification and rationalisation of the doing and what that means now, the having done, as well as the impact on those that were left behind, those that were taken, those that were born after, are all bound up in this particular “sorry”. Given that reluctance of the previous government to admit injustices were done and still exist, this utterance of the word “sorry” from the leader of the opposition precariously sat between freely offering it and reluctantly giving it. The above quote from Nelson, and its central concern of not performing any injustice towards mainstream Australia (“let us not” [my italics]) very definitely defines this sorry in relation to one particular injustice (the removing of Indigenous children) which therefore ignores the surrounding and complicit colonialist and racist attitudes, policies and practices that both institutionalised and perpetuated racism against Australia’s Indigenous peoples. This comment also clearly articulates the opposition’s concern that mainstream Australia not be offended by this act of offering the word “sorry”. Nelson’s address and the ways that it constructs what this “sorry” is for, what it isn’t for, and who it is for, continues to uphold and legitimate existing inequalities between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians. From the very start of Nelson’s “We Are Sorry – Address to Parliament”, two specific clarifications were emphasised: the “sorry” was directed at a limited time period in history; and that there is an ‘us’ and a ‘them’. Nelson defines this distinction: “two cultures; one ancient, proud and celebrating its deep bond with this land for some 50,000 years. The other, no less proud, arrived here with little more than visionary hope deeply rooted in gritty determination to build an Australian nation.” This cultural division maintains colonising discourses that define and label, legitimate and exclude groups and communities. It draws from the binary oppositions of self and other, white and black, civilised and primitive. It maintains a divide between the two predominant ideas of history that this country struggles with and it silences those in that space in between, ignoring for example, the effects of colonisation and miscegenation in blurring the lines between ‘primitive’ and ‘civilised’. Although acknowledging that Indigenous Australians inhabited this land for a good few thousand decades before the proud, gritty, determined visionaries of a couple of hundred years ago, the “sorry” that is to be uttered is only in relation to “the first seven decades of the 20th century”. Nelson establishes from the outset that any forthcoming apology, on behalf of “us” – read as non-Indigenous Anglo-Australians – in reference to ‘them’ – “those Aboriginal people forcibly removed” – is only valid for the “period within which these events occurred [which] was one that defined and shaped Australia”. My reading of this sectioning of a period in Australia’s history is that while recognising that certain colonising actions were unjust, specifically in this instance the removal of Indigenous children, this period of time is also seen as influential and significant to the growth of the country. What this does is to allow the important colonial enterprise to subsume the unjust actions by the colonisers by other important colonial actions. Explicit in Nelson’s address is that this particular time frame saw the nation of Australia reach the heights of achievements and is a triumphant period – an approach which extends beyond taking the highs with the lows, and the good with the bad, towards overshadowing any minor ‘unfortunate’ mistakes that might have been made, ‘occasionally’, along the way. Throughout the address, there are continual reminders to the listeners that the “us” should not be placed at a disadvantage in the act of saying “sorry”: to do so would be to create injustice, whereas this “sorry” is strictly about attempting to “address another”. By sectioning off a specific period in the history of colonised Australia, the assumption is that all that happened before 1910 and all that happened after 1970 are “sorry” free. This not only ignores the lead up to the official policy of removal, how it was sanctioned and the aftermath of removal as outlined in The Bringing Them Home Report (1997); it also prevents Indigenous concepts of time from playing a legitimate and recognised role in the construct of both history and society. Aboriginal time is cyclical and moves around important events: those events that are most significant to an individual are held closer than those that are insignificant or mundane. Aleksendar Janca and Clothilde Bullen state that “time is perceived in relation to the socially sanctioned importance of events and is most often identified by stages in life or historic relevance of events” (41). The speech attempts to distinguish between moments and acts in history: firmly placing the act of removing children in a past society and as only one act of injustice amongst many acts of triumph. “Our generation does not own these actions, nor should it feel guilt for what was done in many, but not all cases, with the best of intentions” (Nelson). What was done is still being felt by Indigenous Australians today. And by differentiating between those that committed these actions and “our generation”, the address relies on a linear idea of time, to distance any wrongdoing from present day white Australians. What I struggle with here is that those wrongdoings continue to be felt according to Indigenous concepts of time and therefore these acts are not in a far away past but very much felt in the present. The need to not own these actions further entrenches the idea of separateness between Indigenous Australia and non-Indigenous Australia. The fear of being guilty or at blame evokes notions of wrong and right and this address is at pains not to do that – not to lay blame or evoke shame. Nelson’s address is relying on a national identity that has historically silenced and marginalised Indigenous Australians. If there is no blame to be accepted, if there is no attached shame to be acknowledged (“great pride, but occasionally shame” (Nelson)) and dealt with, then national identity is implicitly one of “discovery”, peaceful settlement and progress. Where are the Aboriginal perspectives of history in this idea of a national identity – then and now? And does this mean that colonialism happened and is now over? State and territory actions upon, against and in exclusion of Indigenous Australians are not actions that can be positioned as past discriminations; they continue today and are a direct result of those that preceded them. Throughout his address, Nelson emphasises the progressiveness of “today” and how that owes its success to the “past”: “In doing so, we reach from within ourselves to our past, those whose lives connect us to it and in deep understanding of its importance to our future”. By relying on a dichotomous approach – us and them, white and black, past and present – Nelson emphasises the distance between this generation of Australia and any momentary unjust actions in the past. The belief is that time moves on – away from the past and towards the future. That advancement, progression and civilisation are linear movements, all heading towards a more enlightened state. “We will be at our best today – and every day – if we pause to place ourselves in the shoes of others, imbued with the imaginative capacity to see this issue through their eyes with decency and respect”. But where is the recognition that today’s experiences, the results of what has been created by the past, are also attached to the need to offer an apology? Nelson’s “we” (Anglo-Australians) are being asked to stop and think about how “they” (Aborigines) might see things differently to the mainstream norm. The implication here also is that “they” – members of the Stolen Generations – must be prepared to understand the position white Australia is coming from, and acknowledge the good that white Australia has achieved. Anglo-Australian pride and achievement is reinforced throughout the address as the basis on which our national identity is understood. Ignoring its exclusion and silencing of the Indigenous Australians to whom his “sorry” is directed, Nelson perpetuates this ideology here in his address: “In brutally harsh conditions, from the small number of early British settlers our non Indigenous ancestors have given us a nation the envy of any in the world”. This gift of a nation where there was none before disregards the acts of invasion, segregation, protection and assimilation that characterise the colonisation of this nation. It also reverts to romanticised settler notions of triumph over great adversities – a notion that could just as easily be attached to Indigenous Australians yet Nelson specifically addresses “our non Indigenous ancestors”. He does add “But Aboriginal Australians made involuntary sacrifices, different but no less important, to make possible the economic and social development of our modern [my emphasis] Australia.” Indigenous Australians certainly made voluntary sacrifices, similar to and different from those made by non Indigenous Australians (Indigenous Australians also went to both World Wars and fought for this nation) and a great deal of “our modern” country’s economic success was achieved on the backs of Blackfellas (Taylor 9). But “involuntary sacrifices” is surely a contradiction in terms, either intellectually shoddy or breathtakingly disingenuous. To make a sacrifice is to do it voluntarily, to give something up for a greater good. “Involuntary sacrifices”, like “collateral damage” and other calculatedly cold-blooded euphemisms, conveniently covers up the question of who was doing what to whom – of who was sacrificed, and by whom. In the attempt to construct a basis of equal contribution between Indigenous and non-Indigenous, as well as equal acts of struggle and triumphing, Nelson’s account of history and nation building draws from the positioning of the oppressors but tries to suppress any notion of racial oppression. It maintains the separateness of Indigenous experiences of colonisation from the colonisers themselves. His reiteration that these occasional acts of unjustness came from benevolent and charitable white Australians privileges non-Indigenous ways of knowing and doing over Indigenous ones and attempts to present them as untainted and innate as opposed to repressive, discriminatory and racist. We honour those in our past who have suffered and all those who have made sacrifices for us by the way we live our lives and shape our nation. Today we recommit to do so – as one people. (Nelson) The political need to identify as “one people” drives assimilation policies (the attitude at the very heart of removing Aboriginal children on the basis that they were Aboriginal and needed to be absorbed into one society of whites). By honouring everyone, and therefore taking the focus off any act of unjustness by non-Indigenous peoples on Indigenous peoples, Nelson’s narrative again upholds an idea of contemporary national identity that has not only romanticised the past but ignores the inequalities of the present day. He spends a good few hundred words reminding his listeners that white Australia deserves to maintain its hard won position. And there is no doubt he is talking to white Australia – his focus is on Western constructs of patriotism and success. He reverts to settler/colonial discourse to uphold ideas of equity and access: These generations considered their responsibilities to their country and one another more important than their rights. They did not buy something until they had saved up for it and values were always more important than value. Living in considerably more difficult times, they had dreams for our nation but little money. Theirs was a mesh of values enshrined in God, King and Country and the belief in something greater than yourself. Neglectful indifference to all they achieved while seeing their actions in the separations only, through the values of our comfortable, modern Australia, will be to diminish ourselves. In “the separations only…” highlights Nelson’s colonial logic, which compartmentalises time, space, people and events and tries to disconnect one colonial act from another. The ideology, attitudes and policies that allowed the taking of Indigenous children were not separate from all other colonial and colonising acts and processes. The desire for a White Australia, a clear cut policy which was in existence at the same time as protection, removal and assimilation policies, cannot be disassociated from either the taking of children or the creation of this “comfortable, modern Australia” today. “Neglectful indifference to all they achieved” could aptly be applied to Indigenous peoples throughout Australian history – pre and post invasion. Where is the active acknowledgment of the denial of Indigenous rights so that “these generations [of non-Indigenous Australians could] consider their responsibilities to their country and one another more important than their rights”? Nelson adheres to the colonialist national narrative to focus on the “positive”, which Patrick Wolfe has argued in his critique of settler colonialism, is an attempt to mask disruptive moments that reveal the scope of state and national power over Aboriginal Australians (33). After consistently reinforcing the colonial/settler narrative, Nelson’s address moves on to insert Indigenous Australians into a well-defined and confined space within a specific chapter of that narrative. His perfunctory overview of the first seven decades of the 20th century alludes to Protection Boards and Reserves, assimilation policies and Christianisation, all underlined with white benevolence. Having established the innocent, inherently humane and decent motivations of “white families”, he resorts to appropriating Indigenous people’s stories and experiences. In the retelling of these stories, two prominent themes in Nelson’s text become apparent. White fellas were only trying to help the poor Blackfella back then, and one need only glance at Aboriginal communities today to see that white fellas are only trying to help the poor Blackfella again. It is reasonably argued that removal from squalor led to better lives – children fed, housed and educated for an adult world of [sic] which they could not have imagined. However, from my life as a family doctor and knowing the impact of my own father’s removal from his unmarried teenaged mother, not knowing who you are is the source of deep, scarring sorrows the real meaning of which can be known only to those who have endured it. No one should bring a sense of moral superiority to this debate in seeking to diminish the view that good was being sought to be done. (Nelson) A sense of moral superiority is what motivates colonisation: it is what motivated the enforced removal of children. The reference to “removal from squalor” is somewhat reminiscent of the 1909 Aborigines Protection Act. Act No. 25, 1909, section 11(1) which states: The board may, in accordance with and subject to the provisions of the Apprentices Act, 1901, by indenture bind or cause to be bound the child of any aborigine, or the neglected child of any person apparently having an admixture of aboriginal blood in his veins, to be apprenticed to any master, and may collect and institute proceedings for the recovery of any wages payable under such indenture, and may expend the same as the board may think fit in the interest of the child. Every child so apprenticed shall be under the supervision of the board, or of such person that may be authorised in that behalf by the regulations. (144) Neglect was often defined as simply being Aboriginal. The representation that being removed would lead to a better life relies on Western attitudes about society and culture. It dismisses any notion of Indigenous rights to be Indigenous and defines a better life according to how white society views it. Throughout most of the 1900s, Aboriginal children that were removed to experience this better life were trained in positions of servants. Nelson’s inclusion of his own personal experience as a non Indigenous Australian who has experienced loss and sorrow sustains his textual purpose to reduce human experiences to a common ground, an equal footing – to make all injustices equal. And he finishes the paragraph off with the subtle reminder that this “sorry” is only for “those” Aboriginal Australians that were removed in the first seven decades of last century. After retelling the experience of one Indigenous person as told to the National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from their Families, he retells the experience of an Indigenous woman as told to a non-Indigenous man. The appropriate protocols concerning the re-using of Indigenous knowledge and intellectual copyright appeared to be absent in this address. Not only does the individual remain unacknowledged but the potential for misappropriating Indigenous experiences for non Indigenous purposes is apparent. The insertion of the story dismisses the importance of the original act of telling, and the significance of the unspeakable through decades of silence. Felman presents the complexities of the survivor’s tale: “the victim’s story has to overcome not just the silence of the dead but the indelible coercive power of the oppressor’s terrifying, brutal silencing of the surviving, and the inherent speechless silence of the living in the face of an unthinkable, unknowable, ungraspable event” (227). In telling this story Nelson unravelled the foundation of equality he had attempted to resurrect. And his indication towards current happenings in the Northern Territory only served to further highlight the inequities that Indigenous peoples continue to face, resist and surpass. Nelson’s statement that “separation was then, and remains today, a painful but necessary part of public policy in the protection of children” is another reminder of the “indelible coercive power of the oppressor’s terrifying” potential to repeat history. The final unmasking of the hypocritical and contested nature of Nelson’s national ideology and narrative is in his telling of the “facts” – the statistics concerning Indigenous life expectancy, Indigenous infant mortality rates, “diabetes, kidney disease, hospitalisation of women from assault, imprisonment, overcrowding, educational underperformance and unemployment”. These statistics are a result not of what Nelson terms “existential aimlessness” (immediately preceding paragraph) but of colonisation – theft of land, oppression, abuse, discrimination, and lack of any rights whether citizenship or Aboriginal. These contemporary experiences of Indigenous peoples are the direct linear result of the last two hundred years of white nation building. The address is concluded with mention of Neville Bonner, portrayed here as the perfect example of what reading, writing, expressing yourself with dignity and treating people with decency and courtesy can achieve. Bonner is presented as the ‘ideal’ Blackfella, a product of the assimilation period: he could read and write and was dignified, decent and courteous (and, coincidentally, Liberal). The inclusion of this reference to Bonner in the address may hint at the “My best friend is an Aborigine” syndrome (Heiss 71), but it also provides a discursive example to the listener of the ways in which ‘equalness’ is suggested, assumed, privileged or denied. It is a reminder, in the same vein of Patten and Ferguson’s fights for rights, that what is equal has always been apparent to the colonised. Your present official attitude is one of prejudice and misunderstanding … we are no more dirty, lazy stupid, criminal, or immoral than yourselves. Also, your slanders against our race are a moral lie, told to throw all the blame for your troubles on to us. You, who originally conquered us by guns against our spears, now rely on superiority of numbers to support your false claims of moral and intellectual superiority. After 150 years, we ask you to review the situation and give us a fair deal – a New Deal for Aborigines. The cards have been stacked against us, and we now ask you to play the game like decent Australians. Remember, we do not ask for charity, we ask for justice. Nelson quotes Bonner’s words that “[unjust hardships] can only be changed when people of non Aboriginal extraction are prepared to listen, to hear what Aboriginal people are saying and then work with us to achieve those ends”. The need for non-Indigenous Australians to listen, to be shaken out of their complacent equalness appears to have gone unheard. Fiumara, in her philosophy of listening, states: “at this point the opportunity is offered for becoming aware that the compulsion to win is due less to the intrinsic difficulty of the situation than to inhibitions induced by a non-listening language that prevents us from seeing that which would otherwise be clear” (198). It is this compulsion to win, or to at least not be seen to be losing that contributes to the unequalness of this particular “sorry” and the need to construct an equal footing. This particular utterance of sorry does not come from an acknowledged place of difference and its attached history of colonisation; instead it strives to create a foundation based on a lack of anyone being positioned on the high moral ground. It is an irony that pervades the address considering it was the coloniser’s belief in his/her moral superiority that took the first child to begin with. Nelson’s address attempts to construct the utterance of “sorry”, and its intended meaning in this specific context, on ‘equal’ ground: his representation is that we are all Australians, “us” and ‘them’ combined, “we” all suffered and made sacrifices; “we” all deserve respect and equal acknowledgment of the contribution “we” all made to this “enviable” nation. And therein lies the unequalness, the inequality, the injustice, of this particular “sorry”. This particular “sorry” is born from and maintains the structures, policies, discourses and language that led to the taking of Indigenous children in the first place. In his attempt to create a “sorry” that drew equally from the “charitable” as well as the “misjudged” deeds of white Australia, Nelson’s “We Are Sorry – Address to Parliament” increased the experiences of inequality. Chow writes that in the politics of admittance the equal depends on “acceptance by permission … and yet, being ‘admitted’ is never simply a matter of possessing the right permit, for validation and acknowledgment must also be present for admittance to be complete” (36-37). References Augoustinos, Martha, Amanda LeCouteur, and John Soyland. “Self-Sufficient Arguments in Political Rhetoric: Constructing Reconciliation and Apologizing to the Stolen Generations.” Discourse and Society 13.1 (2002): 105-142.Bringing Them Home: National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from Their Families. Sydney: Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 1997.Aborigines Protection Act 1909: An Act to Provide for the Protection and Care of Aborigines; To Repeal the Supply of Liquors Aborigines Prevention Act; To Amend the Vagrancy Act, 1902, and the Police Offences (Amendment) Act, 1908; And for Purposes Consequent Thereon or Incidental Thereto. Assented to 20 Dec. 1909. Digital Collections: Books and Serial, National Library of Australia. 24 Mar. 2008 < http://www.nla.gov.au/apps/cdview?pi=nla.aus-vn71409-9x-s1-v >.Chow, Rey. “The Politics of Admittance: Female Sexual Agency, Miscegenation and the Formation of Community in Frantz Fanon.” In Anthony C. Alessandrini, ed. Frantz Fanon: Critical Perspectives. London: Routledge, 1999. 34-56.Felman, Shoshana. “Theaters of Justice: Arendt in Jerusalem, the Eichmann Trial and the Redefinition of Legal Meaning in the Wake of the Holocaust.” Critical Inquiry 27.2 (2001): 201-238.Fiumara, Gemma Corradi. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening. London and New York: Routledge, 2006.Heiss, Anita. I’m Not a Racist But… UK: Salt Publishing, 2007.Janca, Aleksandar, and Clothilde Bullen. “Aboriginal Concept of Time and Its Mental Health Implications.” Australian Psychiatry 11 (Supplement 2003): 40-44.Nelson, Brendan. “We Are Sorry – Address to Parliament.” 14 Feb. 2008 < http://www.liberal.org.au/info/news/detail/20080213_ WearesorryAddresstoParliament.php >.Patten, Jack, and William Ferguson. Aborigines Claim Citizen Rights! A Statement for the Aborigines Progressive Association. Sydney: The Publicist, 1938.Taylor, Martin, and James Francis. Bludgers in Grass Castles: Native Title and the Unpaid Debts of the Pastoral Industry. Chippendale: Resistance Books, 1997.William, Ross. “‘Why Should I Feel Guilty?’ Reflections on the Workings of White-Aboriginal Relations.” Australian Psychologist 35.2 (2000): 136-142.Wolfe, Patrick. Settler Colonialism and the Transformation of Anthropology: The Politics and Poetics of an Ethnographic Event. London and New York: Cassell, 1999.

Agrotourism is a tourism activity that combines plantation or agricultural activities by offering unique experiences to visitors. Indonesia, which has natural resources in the plantation and agricultural sectors, provides great opportunities for the community, one of which is implemented by the Mulia Asih Farmer Group in Humbang Raya Village, Central Kalimantan. Agricultural and plantation activities require fertilizer as an important component in increasing crop production, and there are even demands for environmentally friendly use of organic fertilizer or compost as an advantage so that people innovate to create organic fertilizer processing machines from the surrounding environment. This article uses a qualitative approach to discuss the findings of local communities and analyze them with the copyright law which regulates the copyright of photographic works and portraits taken without permission. Article 12 paragraph (1) of the Copyright Law regulates economic rights to portraits, there must be written consent from the person being photographed or their heirs for reproduction, distribution, announcements, commercial use, and/or communications used for billboards, advertisements, banners, pamphlets and more. The results of this study show that the public has not realized unintentional errors due to limited information so that the innovations made are claimed to be their own work even though they have previously been discovered by other communities.

To re-imagine can, at one extreme, be a casual thought (what if I moved all the furniture in the living room?) and, at the other, re-imagining can be a complex process (what if I adapt a classic text into a major film?). There is a long history of working with the ideas of others and of re-working our own ideas. Of taking a concept and re-imagining it into something that is similar to the original and yet offers something new. Such re-imaginations are all around us; from the various interpretations of the Sherlock Holmes stories to the adjustments made, often over generations, to family recipes. Some of these efforts are the result of a creative drive to experiment and push boundaries, some efforts are inspired by changes in society or technology, yet others will be born of a sense of 'this can be done better' or 'done differently'. Essentially, to re-imagine is to ask questions, to interrogate that which is often taken for granted. This issue of M/C Journal seeks to explore the 'why' and the 'how' of re-imagining both the everyday and the extraordinary. In a reflection of the scale and scope of the potential to re-imagine all that is around us, this issue is particularly diverse. The contributions offer explorations into varied disciplines, use a range of methodological lenses, and deploy different writing styles. To this end we present a range of articles—some of which contain quite challenging content—that cover copyright, crime fiction, the stage, the literary brand and film, horror and children’s film, television, military-inspired fashion, and a piece that focuses on events leading up to September 11, 2001. We then present three, quite different, works that explore various aspects of Australian Indigenous culture and history. We begin with our feature article: “‘They’re creepy and they’re kooky’ and They’re Copyrighted: How Copyright Is Used to Dampen the (Re-)Imagination”. In this work Steve Collins explores important issues of copyright in the re-imagining and re-purposing of content. In particular, this article unpacks—using examples from the United States—how copyright legislation can restrict the activities of creative practitioners, across varied fields, and so adds to the debate on copyright reform. In our lead article “The Re-imagining Inherent in Crime Fiction Translation”, by Alistair Rolls, ideas of re-imagination, language, and the world’s most popular genre—crime fiction—are critically appraised. Rolls looks at a suite of issues around imagining original and re-imagining, through translation, crime fiction texts. These two forms of creativity are essential to the genre's development for, as Rolls notes, this type of fiction was born, “simultaneously in France and America but also in the translation zone between the two.” Amy Antonio re-imagines the femme fatale. Antonio acknowledges the centrality of the femme fatale to the noir tradition and re-imagines this iconic figure by positioning her on the Renaissance stage, explaining how the historical factors that precipitated the emergence of the noir femme fatale in the years following World War II, similarly existed in the sixteenth century and, as a result, the femme fatale can be re-imagined in a series of Elizabethan and Jacobean plays. The articles in this issue turn from fiction, to theatre, and then to film with Leonie Rutherford embarking on a “Re-imagining the Brand” exercise. Through two, very informative, case studies—Adventures of Tin Tin and Silver, Return to Treasure Island—Rutherford engages with issues of re-imagining classic literary texts as big-screen blockbusters. This article addresses some of the complexities associated with the updating “of classic texts [that] require interpretation and the negotiation of subtle changes in values that have occurred since the creation of the ‘original’.” Erin Hawley also looks at film, through a lens of horror, in “Re-imagining the Horror Genre in Children’s Animated Film”. Hawley explores how animated films have always been an ambiguous space “in terms of age, pleasure, and viewership.” Hawley goes on to challenge common assumptions that “animation itself is often a signifier of safety, fun, nostalgia, and childishness; it is a means of addressing families and young audiences” and outlines how animation complements horror where, “the fantastic and transformative aspects of animation can be powerful tools for telling stories that are dark, surprising, or somehow subversive.” Issues of the small screen, and social media, are reviewed by Karin van Es, Daniela van Geenen, and Thomas Boeschoten in their work of “Re-imagining Television Audience Research on Twitter”. In particular, this work highlights issues with how audience research is undertaken and argues for new ways forward that adapt to the changing viewing landscape: one that features social media as an increasingly important tool for people to engage with more traditional types of entertainment. Fashion, too, features within this special issue with the work Emerald L. King and Denise N. Rall, “Re-imagining the Empire of Japan through Japanese Schoolboy Uniforms”. King and Rall present their research into the significant re-imagining of Japanese cultural and national identities, which are explored in this work through the cataclysmic impact of Western ideologies on Japanese cultural traditions. The idea of re-imagining is challenged by Meg Stalcup through her article “What If? Re-imagined Scenarios and the Re-virtualisation of History” which looks at several events that took place in the lead up to September 11, 2001. Several of the men who would become 9/11 hijackers were stopped for minor traffic violations. Police officers in the United States replayed these incidents of contact, yet their questioning “what if?” asked not only if those moments could have revealed the plot of that traumatic day, but also places alternate scenarios into play. John C. Ryan, Danielle Brady, and Christopher Kueh guide us through a geographical re-imagining of one of Australia’s capital cities in “Where Fanny Balbuk Walked: Re-imagining Perth’s Wetlands through Digital Modelling”. This re-imagining of a major city’s natural environment calls “attention to past indiscretions while invigorating future possibilities.” Moreover, this work highlights the value of re-imagining a city anew as well as re-imagining the original after a process of considerable change. Rachel Franks traces the history of an effort to communicate the concept of equality under the law, to the Indigenous peoples of Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania), in “A True Crime Tale: Re-imagining Governor Arthur’s Proclamation Board for the Tasmanian Aborigines”. This article provides an overview of some of the various re-imaginings of this Board—including the re-imagining of the Board’s history—and also offers a new re-imagination of this curious, colonial object; positing that the Board serves as an early “pamphlet” on justice and punishment. Brooke Collins-Gearing, Vivien Cadungog, Sophie Camilleri, Erin Comensoli, Elissa Duncan, Leitesha Green, Adam Phillips, and Rebecca Stone take a very different, and rather creative, approach to re-imagining with “Listenin’ Up: Re-Imagining Ourselves through Stories of and from Country” a work that explores Western discourses of education; and looks at ways to engage with Aboriginal knowledge through the pedagogical and personal act of listening. These authors attempt to re-imagine “the institutionalised space of our classroom through a dialogic pedagogy.” These articles are, necessarily, brief. Yet, each work does provide insight into various aspects of the re-imagining process while offering new perspectives on how re-imagining takes place—in material culture, learning practices, or in all important media re-interpretations of the world around us. We extend our thanks to our contributors. We thank, too, all those who engaged in the blind peer review process. We sincerely appreciate the efforts of those who offered their expertise and their time as well as offering valuable comments on a wide range of contributions. Rachel Franks, Simon Dwyer, and Denise N. RallEditors

Along with all the other baggage the British brought with them to Port Jackson in 1788 were laws of ownership that were totally foreign to the original inhabitants. The particular law I'll consider here is that of copyright. The result of a few hundred years of evolution, moulded by the common law and acts of Parliament, copyright protects the intellectual property of writers and artists (Saunders). It has three requirements: originality, material form and identifiable author. However, superimposed on the creative practices of the original inhabitants of Australia, copyright has proved a dismal failure. Its inability to continue its evolution means that it does not serve Indigenous Australians, whose creative practices do not fit neatly within its confines. The notions of 'rights' or 'ownership' inherent in current copyright law do not reflect, and are therefore unable to protect, Indigenous intellectual property. The limits of protection are summed up by Janke et al: '[c]ommercial interests are protected … rather than interests pertaining to cultural integrity … [r]ights are valid for a limited period … whereas under Indigenous laws, they exist in perpetuity. Individual notions of ownership are recognised, rather than the Indigenous concept of communal ownership' (Janke 1997). Practical effects of these limitations are the loss of copyright of stories written down or electronically recorded by outsiders, and the absence of special consideration for, or protection of, secret or sacred material (Janke 1997). Mansell notes that Aboriginal intellectual property rights are poorly protected by current laws be they copyright, patent, plant breeders, design laws or trademarks where 'the creative customs and practices of Aborigines' are different to those of whites, who 'emphasise the individual and provide the mechanisms for the commercialisation of an individual's activity. The traditional base of Aboriginal art forms was not created with this in mind' (Mansell 196). Indigenous cultures have their own systems for the protection of intellectual property which are predicated not on the protection of commercial advantage but on the meaning and cultural integrity of the work of art (Janke 1996 15; 1998a 4). Some of these so-called works of art are, in fact, 'law bearers'; these 'Indigenous traditional cultural productions are … legal titles to clan land' (Morris 6). Ignoring this meaning of cultural productions is a little like your bank manager framing your mortgage document or rental agreement for its aesthetic qualities, and evicting you from your house. While copyright law does acknowledge legally-defined entities like corporations or government departments as copyright holders, it is too limited in its definitions to recognise the complex familial relationships and reciprocal responsibilities of Aboriginal society. Under Indigenous laws 'individuals are differentiated in their awareness of elements of the local culture and in the way they make use of those elements depending on such things as their sex, their moiety or skin group, and their initiatory status' (Johnson 10). Given the complex nature of Indigenous attitudes to rights in and ownership of intellectual property, those concerned with questions of fairness in the administration of copyright law must take a new perspective. While copyright law appears, in the main, to have been unable to deal with a system of law which pre-dates it by thousands of years, there have recently been some tentative steps towards a recognition of Indigenous concerns. Golvan, acknowledging that much work needs to be done 'to ensure that the legal system is meaningful to Aboriginal people', sees some aspects of the judgement in the Carpets Case1 which 'show a strong determination to seek to unite Western copyright principles with the need to deal with issues of indigenous cultural harm' (Golvan 10). And, in Foster v Mountford 1976 (discussed below), Justice Muirhead noted that 'revelation of the secrets [contained in the offending book] … may undermine the social and religious stability of [the] hard-pressed community' (quoted in McDonald 24). These examples show some willingness on the part of the courts to take into account matters which fall outside of common law. While there has as yet been very little litigation regarding copyright ownership of written works, there is no reason to assume that this situation will continue. The first case of infringement of Aboriginal copyright to surface in the media occurred in 1966, when David Malangi's painting 'The Hunter' was adapted without permission as part of the design for the new one-dollar note (Johnson 13). Ten years later, the Pitjantjatjara Council was involved in litigation with Dr Mountford, 'an anthropologist who had been given information by the Pitjantjatjara people … in 1940 … about tribal sites and objects, communal legends, secrets, paintings, engravings, drawings and totemic geography' (McDonald 23). Interestingly, this particular case relied not on copyright law but on a breach of confidence as 'the material … was not protected by copyright, being material in which copyright either did not subsist, or in which copyright had expired' (23). This is a good example of the lack of protection afforded by copyright law to intellectual property of religious and spiritual significance.2 At first glance, the implications of the 1992 Mabo land rights case for publishing in Australia today might seem remote. However, some of the implications of this historic case hold the potential for a new approach to intellectual property rights which may actually serve the interests of Indigenous artists and writers. The importance to intellectual property rights of the Mabo decision lies in the fact that 'the Court held that … local law remains in place except to the extent that it may be in conflict with British law, and until it is over-ruled by the colonisers' 3 (McDonald 26). This meant that not only the myth of terra nullius was repudiated, but with it any notion that Australia was 'either a wild and lawless place or a legal blank slate. Indigenous customary law … was thereby given both recognition and validity' (26). Gray goes further than this, and states in relation to native title and Aboriginal art: 'the two in fact are quite inseparable if not exactly the same' (Gray 12). This statement strongly emphasises Morris' concerns expressed above, regarding the diminution of authority of 'cultural productions' when they are perceived as merely artistic objects. Pearson, in discussing Mabo, talks of native title as the 'recognition space' 4 between common law and Aboriginal law (Pearson 154). He points out that Aboriginal law exists, is practised is in fact a 'social reality', and adds that 'it is fictitious to assume that Aboriginal law is extinguished where the common law is unable to recognise that law' 5 (155). Recently the Australian Society of Authors (Heiss) prepared two discussion papers and a checklist for non-Indigenous writers who want to write about Indigenous culture. One of the papers, 'Australian Copyright vs Indigenous Intellectual and Cultural Property Rights', reiterates the point that the Copyright Act 1968 'as it stands is unsuited to protecting Indigenous culture'. It briefly discusses the desirability of the sharing of copyright between the Indigenous storyteller or informant and their non-Indigenous collaborator an issue I will examine in greater depth in my thesis on cross-cultural editing. A problematic practice, shared copyright deals with 'ownership' in a way that satisfies white or western conceptions but may compromise the Indigenous sense of (Indigenous) communal title to the work. The importance of effective copyright law for Indigenous Australians goes beyond the earning of royalties or the commercial 'ownership' of creative work: it refers to the protection of their cultural heritage (Heiss). One solution suggested by Janke is an amendment to 'the Copyright Act to provide moral rights (rights of attribution, no false attribution and cultural integrity)' (in Heiss). Another possible, though longer term solution, may lie in the way common law itself develops. It has evolved over time, albeit slowly, to suit the needs of the particular environment economic, technological, cultural or other in which it has to operate. As Ginsberg remarks in the context of the introduction of moral rights law to two common law countries, the US and Australia, regarding the gradual adoption of moral rights: 'a Common Law approach to moral rights … slowly builds up to the general principle from gritty examples worked out fact-by-fact. This accretion method is familiar to both our countries' legal approaches' (Ginsberg 34). This same accretion method could be used to change copyright law so that it more adequately protects Indigenous intellectual property. Whatever solution is reached, at present the copyright laws are colour-blind when presented with the complex and alien nature of Indigenous cultural practice. In the interests of reconciliation, natural justice and the integrity of Indigenous culture, reform cannot come too soon. NOTES 1. Milpurrurru v Indofurn Pty Ltd, 1995; an Australian company copied and adapted various Indigenous works of art and had them woven into carpets in Vietnam, and imported into Australia. Permission to use the designs was never sought. An award of almost $200,000 was made to the 8 artists involved, and the offending carpets were withdrawn from sale. By 1996, Indofurn had been wound up and the director declared bankrupt: the artists have not received a cent. (Janke 1998b 9). 2. Fortunately for the Pitjantjatjara elders, the court held that Mountford's book did constitute a breach of confidence. 3. 'The Court held that the rights of Indigenous inhabitants of a colony are the same as the rights of a conquered nation: local law remains in place except to the extent that it may be in conflict with British law, and until it is over-ruled by the colonisers' (McDonald 26). 4. 'Native title is therefore the space between the two systems, where there is recognition. Native title is, for want of a better formulation the recognition space between the common law and the Aboriginal law which now afforded recognition in particular circumstances' (Pearson 154). 5. However, some cases subsequent to Mabo place limitations upon the recognition of Indigenous traditional law. Justice Mason in Coe v Commonwealth of Australia (1993, at 115) stated that 'Mabo … is at odds with the notion … that [Indigenous Australians] are entitled to any rights and interest other than those created or recognised by the law of the Commonwealth, the [relevant] State… and the common law' (McDonald 2627). References Coe v Commonwealth of Australia (1993) 68 ALJR 110 Ginsberg, J. (1992). Moral Rights in a Common Law System. Moral Rights in a Copyright System. P. Anderson and D. Saunders. Brisbane, Qld: Institute for Cultural Policy Studies, Griffith University. Golvan, C. (1996). 'Aboriginal Art and Copyright.' Culture and Policy 7(3): 512. Gray, S. (1996). 'Black Enough? Urban and non-traditional Aboriginal art and proposed legislative protection for Aboriginal art.' Culture and Policy 7(3): 29-44 Heiss, A. (2001). Australian Copyright vs Indigenous Intellectual and Cultural Property Rights, Australian Society of Authors. < http://www.asauthors.org/resources> Accessed 15.08.01. Janke, T. (1996). 'Protecting Australian indigenous arts and cultural expression.' Culture and Policy 7(3): 1327. Janke, T. (1998a). Editorial. Queensland Community Arts Network News 1: 45. Janke, T. (1998b). Federal Court awards record damages to Aboriginal artists. Queensland Community Arts Network News 1: 89. Janke, T., Frankel, M. & Company, Solicitors (1997). Proposals For The Recognition and Protection of Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property, AIATSIS for the Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property Project. <http://www.icip.lawnet.com.au/> Accessed 25.4.98. Johnson, V. (1996). Copyrites: Aboriginal art in the age of reproductive technologies. Sydney, NSW: NIAAA & Macquarie University. Mansell, M. (1997). Barricading our last frontier Aboriginal cultural and intellectual propery rights. Our land is Our Life: Land rights past, present and future. G. Yunupingu. St Lucia, Qld, UQP: 195209. Milpurrurru v Indofurn Pty Ltd (1995) 30 IPR 209. Morris, C. (1998). The Responsibility of Maintaining the Oldest Continuous Culture in the World. Queensland Community Arts Network News 1: 67. Pearson, N. (1997). The Concept of Native Title at Common Law. Our Land is Our Life: Land rights past, present and future. G. Yunupingu. St Lucia, Qld, UQP: 150162. Saunders, D. (1992). Early Modern Law of Copyright in England: Statutes, courts and book cultures. Authorship and Copyright. D. Saunders. London, Routledge: 3574. Links http://www.icip.lawnet.com.au/ http://www.asauthors.org/resources Citation reference for this article MLA Style McDonnell, Margaret. "The Colour of Copyright" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.3 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/copyright.php>. Chicago Style McDonnell, Margaret, "The Colour of Copyright" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 3 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/copyright.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style McDonnell, Margaret. (2002) The Colour of Copyright. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(3). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/copyright.php> ([your date of access]).

Shanahan (2006) found that to be effective the delivery of distance learning programmes to developing nations had to overcome certain constraints, such as cultural constrictions (i.e., issues of language), tradition-based limitations (i.e., paternalistic and hierarchical structures), an inherited past (colonialism), and poor infrastructure (particularly in relation to telecommunications). It was argued that all of these obstacles needed to be managed and sufficiently overcome if distance delivery was to be of any utility. This study builds upon this research to include possible differences in learning styles across cultures that may influence the functionality of web-based distance learning programmes. Fiji was chosen as a useful case study as this country has a population that is almost evenly split between two cultures: indigenous Fijians and people of Indian ancestry who were born in Fiji. These people were submitted to the same integrated educational systems, governmental processes, economic constraints, and social norms and laws. Participants in this study completed the Lincoln VARK Learning Styles Questionnaire[1] and comparisons were made between learning styles and by ethnicity, age, computer access, and job position. Results indicated no significant difference in learning styles between cultures, but significant differences between learning styles across the total sample were evident. The results suggest learning differences need to be taken into account if maximum outcomes are to be achieved from web-based distance learning programmes. Such a finding has ramifications for educational institutions offering distance learning curriculums as the poor completion rates may partly be a function of not moderating such programmes to cater to the differences in learning styles. It is simply not a totalitarian process. [1] Copyright Version 7.0 (2006) held by Neil D. Fleming, Christchurch, New Zealand and Charles C. Bonwell, Green Mountain Falls, Colorado 80819 U.S.A

I'm better than Red. My son came home from his first day of school disgusted. 'Red! All they taught us was Red'. He'd expected to learn something new. Colour identification was for babies. The worst thing was that the teacher kept going on about it: they had to talk about red, eat red fruit, sing red songs, inflate red balloons, colour-in little red riding hood. And then Mrs B wrote the word Red on the blackboard with WHITE chalk. I thought it was an incredibly interesting semiotic exercise and was annoyingly positive about the experience he'd found so disappointing. Going on about the obvious is the business of cultural studies; thinking again about those qualities that seem most neutral or obvious. Colour - and RED especially - is not neutral. (L. F.) Cultural Studies has been informed by a strong tradition of emancipatory politics. Decolonisation and liberation movements have created a heightened awareness of the way that apparently obvious categories such as gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, are never neutral, and have been historically linked with unequal power relations. Colours have become synonymous with certain styles and genres of photography, writing, film, video and art. Colour is at once literal, a property or quality of a thing, and figurative, standing in for more abstract qualities. What these various figurative uses of colour have in common is the way that they present colour as linked with perception, and as perception that is not neutral or objective, but value added that is, overlaid with cultural value. Sometimes 'to colour' is to add something that enhances. Film Noir has 'artistic' mise en scene to create a particular mood. In cinema, colour constitutes 'special effects'. is overdone. To 'show your colours', is to identify your bias. In this context 'colour' is used to imply a distortion of the objective truth: judgement can be "coloured", or we see things 'through rose coloured glasses'. Colourful is a doubtful adjective. It can suggest the popular of the people. Never have your art or architecture described such, unless you're a Warhol or Venturi. For sophistication and intellectual credibility, avoid wearing colour. A colourful region or district has a strong presence of simple folk, or is promoted as 'multicultural' - has street markets or a Mardi Gras. This figurative use of "colour" is closely related to the critical analysis of culture and media. Cultural and Media Studies have been concerned with the popular, with perception, with the 'value added'; with the way that perceptions are coloured, and cultural meanings are inscribed within everyday things. The question of colour is crucial, even obvious, within the visual arts and media. And yet perhaps because of this colour is rarely considered contentious in that context. This is an ideal place to begin then. The feature article, Christine Dauber's interview with artist John Catapan, addresses the uses of colour within visual media forms, and in particular, explores Catapan's preoccupation with the colour of the city at night. The interview draws our attention to the way that Catapan uses colour, not just as an aesthetic element, but as a medium through which he creates a different semiotic field, a 'submerged' world that is presented as something Other than that conveyed by conventional language and narrative. Naomi Stead writes about the significance of colour, or more accurately, the absence of colour, chromophobia, in modern architecture. Stead takes up the interesting relationship between architecture and the cultural significance of colour in the representation of indigenous cultures. Her analysis of the architecture of the National Museum of Australia encourages us to think of the intersections between colour in form and design, and colour of skin. Mark Mussari explores the cultural significance of colour through a discussion of Umberto Eco's work on chromatic perception and visuality. Christopher Kelen addresses colour in the context of Nationalism and cultural imperialism. His essay, which examines the very recent adoption of a National Anthem in Australia, highlights the difficulties faced by postcolonial countries trying to develop a sense of national pride that is not linked with the imperialist culture. In The colour of copyright Margaret McDonell comments on the another dilemma for post colonial countries, the appropriation of indigenous cultural material. Mabo offered a promise through its recognition of traditional law, but the expected flow-on has been impeded by the statutory nature of copyright law. Indigenous Intellectual Property Law has become an issue dealt with at the level of the United Nations, although this does not always serve to protect indigenous copyright from imported copied material. Andy Miller also explores questions of race and colour in 'Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa', reflecting in a most interesting and personal way on the spectrum of racial and social categories associated with colour. Karl Beckwith's essay explores the sub-cultural resonances of black and white in the Extreme Metal scene. His work highlights the significance of colour codes in sub-cultures. Finally, Felix Cheong gives us his take in a poem entitled "RED" "NELLIE NELLIE NELLIE NELLIE NELLIE NELLIE NELLIE I want you to come back, to shampoo my hair and make a pink cake and we can sit in the back and roll mealie pap in our hands see, I told you not to go in those marches and I told you, I told you what you guys don't understand, what you didn't see, is apartheid's for YOU. IT'S FOR YOUR GUYS FEELINGS, see, like we got separate washrooms cause you like to spit, and if we said, "Eww yucch, don't spit', it would hurt your feelings and we got separate movies, cause you like to talk back to movie stars and say 'amen' and 'that's the way' and stuff that drives us crazy so we might tell you to shut up and then you might cry…." From "Pink", Judith Thompson (1986): a monologue commissioned for the Arts Against Apartheid Benefit in Toronto. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Ferrier, Liz and Dauber, Christine. "Editorial" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.3 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/editorial.php>. Chicago Style Ferrier, Liz and Dauber, Christine, "Editorial" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 3 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/editorial.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Ferrier, Liz and Dauber, Christine. (2002) Editorial. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(3). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/editorial.php> ([your date of access]).

As 2008 marks the tenth anniversary of M/C Journal, there is opportunity to take stock and reflect on its impact and value. So too, can we revisit its archives and recover some of its best material in rediscovery. Such a process allows for recovery of certain trends and movements that could be said to characterise the preceding decade. While measuring time in ten year blocks is essentially an artificial exercise, it can also be seen as a practical means of stimulating reflection on what has been recovered. This is important to consider at a time when speed is increasingly of the essence in all aspects of life, but especially in media and cultural production, as well as academic production. In such a climate, time to recover is increasingly sparse, with the focus sometimes overwhelmingly on the future. In this context, recovering the past is often only partial recovery: a process of raiding that past for fragments applicable to an imagined future, a recasting of memories in brighter lights. Still, recovering something may give it new life, in different colours or a different wrapping. Implicit in the other meaning of the concept of recovery is that of ‘loss’, whereby recovery directly implies a sense of healing. This may be letting go of the past, understanding, and reconciling the interconnections between private and global landscapes of healing - culturally, physically, spiritually. For this issue of M/C Journal, we invited submissions that would address the process of 'recovery' from a wide variety of angles. We gave a number of examples of what that might include: recovery of cultural artefacts; recovery after prolonged periods of dominant political ideologies; recovery of memory; recovery after war or personal loss; and ultimately, the role of both 'old' and 'new' media in all such processes. We ended the call for papers with something of a ‘battle cry’: let us recover! Given the dual strands of meaning attached to recovery, that of recovering or repurposing the past, and that of recovery in the healing sense, it was the latter which provided inspiration for most of the articles submitted. Moreover, within the ‘healing’ papers, there was a strong emphasis on healing in the medical sense of the word, which provided an interesting insight into the power of the connotations of the word in its medical context. When we initially decided on ‘recover’ as the theme in late 2007, the choice was primarily related to the political context at the time, pre-global financial crisis – clearly. The ALP had finally succeeded in ending the ‘Howard years’, and the atmosphere seemed to be brimming with a sense of relief, fresh starts and new beginnings. Put another way, there seemed to be a need for recovery, at least in a political sense, and this is where we expected the primary focus to be. Instead, and apart from the ‘medical papers’, we received an eclectic mix of interpretations of recovery, which is reflected in the variety of papers that ultimately make up this issue. The political slant on recovery was the direction suggested to the author of our feature article, Brian Musgrove, who graciously accepted. While a good number of his ink-infused arrows are clearly aimed at the ‘Howard years’, Musgrove’s feature article covers a much wider and more ambitious terrain. Indeed, it brings together the different ‘recovery’ trajectories outlined above, in that it recovers multiple theories and the memory thereof, and in the process it shows us glimpses of ways to ‘recover’ from the culture wars. The culture wars are identified here as the underlying ideological impetus behind the ‘politics of contempt’: let us recover indeed!Musgrove’s call to recover the role of the Frankfurt School in enlivened critical efforts to “expose the machinations of contempt and its aesthetic ruses” historicises mass-mediated reality in Australia, the “land of the long weekend”, sounding an affirmation of thought, of lived experience, as exceeding conformity to ritualised “values”. And, as Martine Hawkes conveys, in “What is Recovered”, sometimes these thoughts and experiences remain unforgettable, inconclusive, in their promise.Like Musgrove, Hawkes responds to an encounter with the mass-mediated interview but this time, the subject is a survivor of the Srebrenica genocide, Saidin Salkić, who remembers “the smell of his father’s jumper, or the flowers growing in his mother’s garden”. Is this, sometimes, the sound of recovery? Loss, as an impossible utterance: “the lacuna in testimony.” Moving through her own encounter with the ruptured archival process, Hawkes turns to Derrida. She explores ways in which his “departure from the examination of the structure and institution of the archive”, traces a line through the dust of memory. In her theoretical journey, Hawkes comes to “a secret which can never be told, but which is hope.” And hope, then, turns out to live beyond verbal description, but is recovered, nevertheless. A related form of recovery is the focus of “From Loss of Objects to Recovery of Meanings: Online Museums and Indigenous Cultural Heritage”, in which Jeremy Pilcher and Saskia Vermeylen explore “how museums can be transformed into cultural centres that ‘decolonise’ their objects while simultaneously providing social agency to marginalised groups such as the San.” Pilcher and Vermeylen argue that providing agency to the social relations linking objects with people, places, and memories may be possible within the online environment. They argue that opportunities for engagement between marginalised Indigenous groups, such as the San, and multiple audiences, “may be enabled through the generation of multiple narratives within online museums”. Echoing Hawkes, Pilcher and Vermeylen observe how recovery of lived experience as cultural artefact carries an impossibility inherent in representation, in “that any form of representation or displaying restricts meaning.” In a sense, Pilcher and Vermeylen’s focus on the recovery of artefacts and their cultural value, and indeed the different cultural value ascribed to such artefacts, is continued in Ashton’s paper, albeit in an entirely different context. Ashton takes the 2008 Game On exhibition in Melbourne as his starting point to explore the ‘cultural heritage’ of games development, and attempts to locate this heritage within an identified (Nintendo) push to create a wider appeal that would be inclusive enough to feature “granny on the Wii”. This wider appeal in turn needs to be reconciled with a ‘bedroom geek culture’ that has provided the foundations for today’s billion dollar gaming industry. It is important then, as Ashton suggests, to recover a “eulogised and potentially mythical past”, but not as something that is ‘frozen’ in the past, but rather as something that continues to play a vital part in the gaming industry’s expanding “cultures of innovation and creative vibrancy”. It is such creative vibrancy and its importance to resisting what Brian Musgrove describes, in his feature article, as the repetition of conformist ritual and imposed “values” that concerns Steve Collins in “Recovering Fair Use”. He argues that “copyright enforcement has spun out of control” but that two recent cases “suggest that fair use has not fallen by the wayside and may well recover.” The two ‘medical’ interpretations of recovery (by Anthony McCosker, and Philip Neilsen and Ffion Murphy) both explore the ‘healing power’ of writing. In McCosker’s case, this is not necessarily about physical recovery, as some of the subjects he discusses sadly do not physically recover. However, the ‘illness blogs’ in his paper, regardless of whether the subjects ultimately recover, appear to provide an important space to mediate illness and help them record experiences and “stage their recovery or deterioration in a publicly accessible space”. McClosker identifies an interesting tension between private and public spaces here. Because these blogs are public, they can be seen as a political tool to raise awareness about particular forms of illness, and at the same time provide opportunities to build ‘communities of practice’ of people who are forced to deal with similar issues. However, while they are public, the individual nature of blogs, and their relation to their distant cousin ‘the diary’, create a paradox whereby their authors “attempt to recover a stable sense of self through discourse that frames the writer’s suffering, treatment, and healing in a deeply personal form.” In many cases it is precisely the public nature of the blog that paradoxically creates the anonimity needed to recover a sense of self amidst extreme personal upheaval. Neilsen and Murphy’s paper discusses the initial findings of a pilot study that aims to design and conduct “life-writing” workshops for a group of people with severe mental illness. This is a collaborative transdisciplinary project where a creative writer and teacher guided the session in consultation with, and monitored by, experienced mental health professionals. Echoing McCosker’s paper, there is an interesting exploration here of the different ways in which ‘recovery’ is defined, an oscillation between objective indicators of recovery, and the subjective experience of recovery, which are not always in alignment. Life-writing potentially allows individuals to express their subjective, lived experience of recovery. Initial outcomes suggest that siginificant elements of recovery (for example feelings of enhanced agency and creativity) can be achieved through life-writing workshops. The final paper (by Emily Bowles-Smith) approaches recovery from a rather different and more literary angle. Bowles-Smith addresses some of the difficulties that scholars like herself face when they attempt to recover early modern women’s writing. She uses the manuscript poetry of Elizabeth Wilmot, Countess of Rochester (1651-1681), as a case study. Wilmot’s poetry survives in a manuscript that she and her husband produced together. This frames Bowles-Smith’s paper to some extent as ‘feminist recovery work’, but this is only the starting point. As she argues, “like the writings of many early modern women, Wilmot’s manuscript poetry challenges assumptions about the intersections of gender, sexuality, and authorship”. Ultimately, each of these are subject of Bowles-Smith’s successful recovery work, whereby Wilmot re-surfaces in three-dimensional form, rather than simply as ‘author’ or ‘sexual body’. Overall then, to return to the initial ‘battle cry’ for this issue, we ask ourselves: have we recovered yet? The answer for us is a tentative and partial “yes”, with the help of some excellent authors. We are therefore confident there is plenty on offer for the reader here that will stimulate recovery, in all senses of the word, long into the future. We would like to sincerely thank all the reviewers for their prompt and excellent reviews, and a special thanks to Susanne Slavick for allowing us to use ‘Reconstruction (Beirut)’ as the wonderful image for this issue.

To sin by silence, when we should protest,Makes cowards out of men.— Ella Wheeler WilcoxProtest is culturally entwined in historical and juro-political realities and is a fundamental element of the exercise of individual and collective rights. As our title notes, while there are currently many ‘protests in progress’ around the world, there is also a great deal of ‘progress in protest’ in terms of what protests look like, their scale and number, how they are formed and conducted, their goals, how they can be studied, as well as the varying responses formed in relation to protest. The etymology of protest associates two important dynamics pertaining to the topic. Firstly, a protest is something that is put forward, forth, or toward the front (from the Latin pro); essentially, it is in one manner or another, made publically. Secondly, it suggests that a person or persons have beared witness (testis) and instead of remaining silent, have made a declaration or assertion (testari). In other words, someone has made public their disapproval or objection. The nine articles that comprise this issue of M/C Journal on ‘protest’ reminds us of these salient elements of protest. Each, in their own way, highlight the importance of not remaining silent when faced with an injustice or in order to promote social change. As Bill McKibben (7) outlines in his foreword to an excellent collection of protest documents, ‘voices of protest ... are often precisely what propels human civilisation forward and allows it to become unstuck’. However, not all forms of contemporary protest shares ideological or progressive aims. Here, we might consider the emergence of contentious formations such as the alt-right and antifa, what is considered ‘fake’ or ‘real’, and ongoing conflicts between notions of individual and collective rights and state sovereignty.This modest but insightful collection demonstrates the broad scope of this field of inquiry. This issue explores the intersections among social justice, identity and communications technology, as well as the convergences and divergences in the form, function and substance of protest. Through an analysis of protest’s relationship to media, the author’s highlight the possibilities of protest to effect social change. The issue begins with Lakota screenwriter and activist Floris White Bull’s (Floris Ptesáŋ Huŋká) discussion of the documentary AWAKE, a Dream from Standing Rock (2017) and the #NODAPL protest. The film, split into three parts, takes a poignant and quite personal look at the native-led peaceful resistance at the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota in 2016. This protest involved tens of thousands of activists from all over the world who opposed the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) which was to transport fracked oil directly underneath the Missouri River and through sovereign Lakota land (see Image 1). However, the events at Standing Rock were not a single-issue protest and brought activists together over a range of interrelated issues including environmental protection, human rights, water security, community health and Native American sovereignty. The Water Protectors were also forced to contest racist and disparaging media representations. As such, Standing Rock remains a site of cultural exchange and learning. These protests are not historical, but instead, are an ongoing struggle. The film AWAKE is important as testimony to the injustices at Standing Rock. A short description of the film is first provided in order to provide some additional context to perspectives addressed in the film. From there, White Bull has been invited to respond to questions posed by the editors regarding the Standing Rock Protests and documentary films such as AWAKE. As an Indigenous person fighting for justice, White Bull reminds readers that ‘[t]he path forward is the same as it has always been – holding on to our goals, values and dignity with resilience’.Image 1: Dakota Access Pipeline Protesters, 2016. Photo credit: Indigenous Environmental Network.Cat Pausé and Sandra Grey use an example of fat shaming to investigate how media impacts body politics and determines who is enfranchised to voice public dissent. Media becomes a mechanism for policing and governing bodily norms and gendered identities. As well as outlining a brief history of feminist body activism, the authors draw on personal experience and interview material with activists to reflect on fat embodiment and politics. Also informed by intersectional approaches, their work alerts us to the diverse vectors by which injustice and oppression fall on some bodies differently as well as the diverse bodies assembled in any crowd.Greg Watson suggests that “[c]ontemporary societies are increasingly becoming sites in which it is more difficult for people to respectfully negotiate disagreements about human diversity”. Drawing on his experiences organising Human Libraries throughout Australia, Watson argues these spaces create opportunities for engaging with difference. In this sense Human Libraries can be considered sites which protest the micropublics’ “codes of civility” which produce everyday marginalisations of difference.Micropolitics and creative forms of protest are also central to Ella Cutler, Jacqueline Gothe, and Alexandra Crosby’s article. The author’s consider three design projects which seek to facilitate ethical communication with diverse communities. Drawing on Guy Julier’s tactics for activist design, each project demonstrates the value of slowing down in order to pay attention to experience. In this way, research through design offers a reflexive means for engaging social change.Research practices are also central to making visible community resistance. Anthony McCosker and Timothy Graham consider the role of social networking in urban protests through the campaign to save the iconic Melbourne music venue The Palace (see Image 2). Their article considers the value of social media data and analytics in relation to the court proceedings and trial processes. Given the centrality of social media to activist campaigns their reflections provide a timely evaluation of how data publics are constituted and their ongoing legacy.Image 2: Melbourne’s Palace Theatre before demolition. Photo Credit: Melbourne Heritage Action.For Marcelina Piotrowski pleasure is central to understanding data production and protest. She draws on a Deleuze and Guattarian framework in order to consider protests against oil pipelines in British Columbia. Importantly, through this theoretical framework of ‘data desires’, pleasure is not something owned by the individual subject but rather holds the potential to construct generative social collectivities. This is traced through three different practices: deliberation in online forums; citizen science and social media campaigns. This has important implications for understanding environmental issues and our own enfolding within them. Nadine Kozak takes a look at how Online Service Providers (OSPs) have historically used internet ‘blackouts’ in order to protest United States government regulations. Kozak points to protests against the Communications Decency Act (1996) which sought to regulate online pornographic material and the Stop Online Piracy Act (2011) which proposed increased federal government power to take action against online copyright infringement. Recently, the United States Congress recently passed the Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act (FOSTA) and the Stop Enabling Sex Traffickers Act (SESTA), which hold OSPs liable for third-party content including advertising for prostitution. However, despite condemnation from the Department of Justice and trafficking victims, OSPs did not utilise blackouts as a means to protest these new measures. Kozak concludes that the decision to whether or not to utilise blackout protests is dependent on the interests of technology companies and large OSPs. It is evident that most especially since Donald Trump popularised the term, ‘fake news’ has taken a centre stage in discussions concerning media. In fact, the lines between what is fake and what is official have become blurred. Most recently, QAnon proponents have been attending Trump rallies and speeches giving further visibility to various conspiracy narratives stemming from online message boards (see Image 3). Marc Tuters, Emilija Jokubauskaitė, and Daniel Bach establishe a clear timeline of events in order to trace the origins of ‘#Pizzagate’; a 2016 conspiracy theory that falsely claimed that several U.S. restaurants and high-ranking officials of the Democratic Party were connected with human trafficking and an alleged child-sex ring. The authors investigate the affordances of 4chan to unpack how the site’s anonymity, rapid temporality and user collectivisation were instrumental in creating ‘bullshit’; a usage which the authors suggest is a “technical term for persuasive speech unconcerned with veracity”. This provides an understanding of how alt-right communities are assembled and motivated in a post-truth society. Image 3: QAnon proponents at Trump rally in Tampa, 31 July 2018. Photo credit: Kirby Wilson, Tampa Bay Times.Finally, Colin Salter analyses protests for animal rights as a lens to critique notions of national identity and belonging. Protests on whaling in the Southern Ocean (see Image 4) and live export trade from Australia continue to be highly contested political issues. Salter reflects on the ABC’s 2011 exposé into Australian live animal exports to Indonesia and the 2014 hearings at the International Court of Justice into Japanese whaling. Salter then traces the common elements between animal rights campaigns in order to demonstrate the manner in which the physical bodies of animals, their treatment, and the debate surrounding that treatment become sites for mapping cultural identity, nationhood, and sovereignty. Here, Salter suggests that such inquiry is useful for promoting broader consideration of efficacious approaches to animal advocacy and social change.Image 4: The ship Bob Barker, rammed by the Japanese whaling vessel Nishin Maru. Photo credit: Sea Shepherd Facebook Page. As indicated in the opening paragraphs, it is crucial for people committed to social justice to publically raise their voices in protest. As such, we would like to thank each of the authors for their important contributions to this issue on ‘protest’. In its own way, each contribution serves doubly as a form of protest and a means to understand the topic more clearly. There is solidarity evidenced in this issue. Taken as a whole, these articles attest to the importance of understanding protest and social change.ReferencesMcKibben, B. "Foreword." Voices of Protest: Documents of Courage and Dissent. Eds. Frank Lowenstein, Sheryl Lechner, and Erik Bruun. New York: Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers, 2007. 7-8.Wilcox, E.W. "Protest." Poems of Problems. Chicago: W.B. Conkey Company, 1914.

IntroductionThis essay considers three design projects as microprotests. Reflecting on the ways design practice can generate spaces, sites and methods of protest, we use the concept of microprotest to consider how we, as designers ourselves, can protest by scaling down, focussing, slowing down and paying attention to the edges of our practice. Design microprotest is a form of design activism that is always collaborative, takes place within a community, and involves careful translation of a political conversation. While microprotest can manifest in any design discipline, in this essay we focus on visual communication design. In particular we consider the deep, reflexive practice of listening as the foundation of microprotests in visual communication design.While small in scale and fleeting in duration, these projects express rich and deep political engagements through conversations that create and maintain safe spaces. While many design theorists (Julier; Fuad-Luke; Clarke; Irwin et al.) have done important work to contextualise activist design as a broad movement with overlapping branches (social design, community design, eco-design, participatory design, critical design, and transition design etc.), the scope of our study takes ‘micro’ as a starting point. We focus on the kind of activism that takes shape in moments of careful design; these are moments when designers move politically, rather than necessarily within political movements. These microprotests respond to community needs through design more than they articulate a broad activist design movement. As such, the impacts of these microprotests often go unnoticed outside of the communities within which they take place. We propose, and test in this essay, a mode of analysis for design microprotests that takes design activism as a starting point but pays more attention to community and translation than designers and their global reach.In his analysis of design activism, Julier proposes “four possible conceptual tactics for the activist designer that are also to be found in particular qualities in the mainstream design culture and economy” (Julier, Introduction 149). We use two of these tactics to begin exploring a selection of attributes common to design microprotests: temporality – which describes the way that speed, slowness, progress and incompletion are dealt with; and territorialisation – which describes the scale at which responsibility and impact is conceived (227). In each of three projects to which we apply these tactics, one of us had a role as a visual communicator. As such, the research is framed by the knowledge creating paradigm described by Jonas as “research through design”.We also draw on other conceptualisations of design activism, and the rich design literature that has emerged in recent times to challenge the colonial legacies of design studies (Schultz; Tristan et al.; Escobar). Some analyses of design activism already focus on the micro or the minor. For example, in their design of social change within organisations as an experimental and iterative process, Lensjkold, Olander and Hasse refer to Deleuze and Guattari’s minoritarian: “minor design activism is ‘a position in co-design engagements that strives to continuously maintain experimentation” (67). Like minor activism, design microprotests are linked to the continuous mobilisation of actors and networks in processes of collective experimentation. However microprotests do not necessarily focus on organisational change. Rather, they create new (and often tiny) spaces of protest within which new voices can be heard and different kinds of listening can be done.In the first of our three cases, we discuss a representation of transdisciplinary listening. This piece of visual communication is a design microprotest in itself. This section helps to frame what we mean by a safe space by paying attention to the listening mode of communication. In the next sections we explore temporality and territorialisation through the design microprotests Just Spaces which documents the collective imagining of safe places for LBPQ (Lesbian, Bisexual, Pansexual, and Queer) women and non-binary identities through a series of graphic objects and Conversation Piece, a book written, designed and published over three days as a proposition for a collective future. A Representation of Transdisciplinary ListeningThe design artefact we present in this section is a representation of listening and can be understood as a microprotest emerging from a collective experiment that materialises firstly as a visual document asking questions of the visual communication discipline and its role in a research collaboration and also as a mirror for the interdisciplinary team to reflexively develop transdisciplinary perspectives on the risks associated with the release of environmental flows in the upper reaches of Hawkesbury Nepean River in NSW, Australia. This research project was funded through a Challenge Grant Scheme to encourage transdisciplinarity within the University. The project team worked with the Hawkesbury Nepean Catchment Management Authority in response to the question: What are the risks to maximising the benefits expected from increased environmental flows? Listening and visual communication design practice are inescapably linked. Renown American graphic designer and activist Sheila de Bretteville describes a consciousness and a commitment to listening as an openness, rather than antagonism and argument. Fiumara describes listening as nascent or an emerging skill and points to listening as the antithesis of the Western culture of saying and expression.For a visual communication designer there is a very specific listening that can be described as visual hearing. This practice materialises the act of hearing through a visualisation of the information or knowledge that is shared. This act of visual hearing is a performative process tracing the actors’ perspectives. This tracing is used as content, which is then translated into a transcultural representation constituted by the designerly act of perceiving multiple perspectives. The interpretation contributes to a shared project of transdisciplinary understanding.This transrepresentation (Fig. 1) is a manifestation of a small interaction among a research team comprised of a water engineer, sustainable governance researcher, water resource management researcher, environmental economist and a designer. This visualisation is a materialisation of a structured conversation in response to the question What are the risks to maximising the benefits expected from increased environmental flows? It represents a small contribution that provides an opportunity for reflexivity and documents a moment in time in response to a significant challenge. In this translation of a conversation as a visual representation, a design microprotest is made against reduction, simplification, antagonism and argument. This may seem intangible, but as a protest through design, “it involves the development of artifacts that exist in real time and space, it is situated within everyday contexts and processes of social and economic life” (Julier 226). This representation locates conversation in a visual order that responds to particular categorisations of the political, the institutional, the socio-economic and the physical in a transdisciplinary process that focusses on multiple perspectives.Figure 1: Transrepresentation of responses by an interdisciplinary research team to the question: What are the risks to maximising the benefits expected from increased environmental flows in the Upper Hawkesbury Nepean River? (2006) Just Spaces: Translating Safe SpacesListening is the foundation of design microprotest. Just Spaces emerged out of a collaborative listening project It’s OK! An Anthology of LBPQ (Lesbian, Bisexual, Pansexual and Queer) Women’s and Non-Binary Identities’ Stories and Advice. By visually communicating the way a community practices supportive listening (both in a physical form as a book and as an online resource), It’s OK! opens conversations about how LBPQ women and non-binary identities can imagine and help facilitate safe spaces. These conversations led to thinking about the effects of breaches of safe spaces on young LBPQ women and non-binary identities. In her book The Cultural Politics of Emotion, Sara Ahmed presents Queer Feelings as a new way of thinking about Queer bodies and the way they use and impress upon space. She makes an argument for creating and imagining new ways of creating and navigating public and private spaces. As a design microprotest, Just Spaces opens up Queer ways of navigating space through a process Ahmed describes as “the ‘non-fitting’ or discomfort .... an opening up which can be difficult and exciting” (Ahmed 154). Just Spaces is a series of workshops, translated into a graphic design object, and presented at an exhibition in the stairwell of the library at the University of Technology Sydney. It protests the requirement of navigating heteronormative environments by suggesting ‘Queer’ ways of being in and designing in space. The work offers solutions, suggestions, and new ways of doing and making by offering design methods as tools of microprotest to its participants. For instance, Just Spaces provides a framework for sensitive translation, through the introduction of a structure that helps build personas based on the game Dungeons and Dragons (a game popular among certain LGBTQIA+ communities in Sydney). Figure 2: Exhibition: Just Spaces, held at UTS Library from 5 to 27 April 2018. By focussing the design process on deep listening and rendering voices into visual translations, these workshops responded to Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s idea of the “outsider within”, articulating the way research should be navigated in vulnerable groups that have a history of being exploited as part of research. Through reciprocity and generosity, trust was generated in the design process which included a shared dinner; opening up participant-controlled safe spaces.To open up and explore ideas of discomfort and safety, two workshops were designed to provide safe and sensitive spaces for the group of seven LBPQ participants and collaborators. Design methods such as drawing, group imagining and futuring using a central prototype as a prompt drew out discussions of safe spaces. The prototype itself was a small folded house (representative of shelter) printed with a number of questions, such as:Our spaces are often unsafe. We take that as a given. But where do these breaches of safety take place? How was your safe space breached in those spaces?The workshops resulted in tangible objects, made by the participants, but these could not be made public because of privacy implications. So the next step was to use visual communication design to create sensitive and honest visual translations of the conversations. The translations trace images from the participants’ words, sketches and notes. For example, handwritten notes are transcribed and reproduced with a font chosen by the designer based on the tone of the comment and by considering how design can retain the essence of person as well as their anonymity. The translations focus on the micro: the micro breaches of safety; the interactions that take place between participants and their environment; and the everyday denigrating experiences that LBPQ women and non-binary identities go through on an ongoing basis. This translation process requires precise skills, sensitivity, care and deep knowledge of context. These skills operate at the smallest of scales through minute observation and detailed work. This micro-ness translates to the potential for truthfulness and care within the community, as it establishes a precedent through the translations for others to use and adapt for their own communities.The production of the work for exhibition also occurred on a micro level, using a Risograph, a screenprinting photocopier often found in schools, community groups and activist spaces. The machine (ME9350) used for this project is collectively owned by a co-op of Sydney creatives called Rizzeria. Each translation was printed only five times on butter paper. Butter paper is a sensitive surface but difficult to work with making the process slow and painstaking and with a lot of care.All aspects of this process and project are small: the pieced-together translations made by assembling segments of conversations; zines that can be kept in a pocket and read intimately; the group of participants; and the workshop and exhibition spaces. These small spaces of safety and their translations make possible conversations but also enable other safe spaces that move and intervene as design microprotests. Figure 3: Piecing the translations together. Figure 4: Pulling the translation off the drum; this was done every print making the process slow and requiring gentleness. This project was and is about slowing down, listening and visually translating in order to generate and imagine safe spaces. In this slowness, as Julier describes “...the activist is working in a more open-ended way that goes beyond the materialization of the design” (229). It creates methods for listening and collaboratively generating ways to navigate spaces that are fraught with micro conflict. As an act of territorialisation, it created tiny and important spaces as a design microprotest. Conversation Piece: A Fast and Slow BookConversation Piece is an experiment in collective self-publishing. It was made over three days by Frontyard, an activist space in Marrickville, NSW, involved in community “futuring”. Futuring for Frontyard is intended to empower people with tools to imagine and enact preferred futures, in contrast to what design theorist Tony Fry describes as “defuturing”, the systematic destruction of possible futures by design. Materialised as a book, Conversation Piece is also an act of collective futuring. It is a carefully designed process for producing dialogues between unlikely parties using an image archive as a starting point. Conversation Piece was designed with the book sprint format as a starting point. Founded by software designer Adam Hyde, book sprints are a method of collectively generating a book in just a few days then publishing it. Book sprints are related to the programming sprints common in agile software development or Scrum, which are often used to make FLOSS (Free and Open Source Software) manuals. Frontyard had used these techniques in a previous project to develop the Non Cash Arts Asset Platform.Conversation Piece was also modeled on two participatory books made during sprints that focussed on articulating alternative futures. Collaborative Futures was made during Transmediale in 2009, and Futurish: Thinking Out Loud about Futures (2015).The design for Conversation Piece began when Frontyard was invited to participate in the Hobiennale in 2017, a free festival emerging from the “national climate of uncertainty within the arts, influenced by changes to the structure of major arts organisations and diminishing funding opportunities.” The Hobiennale was the first Biennale held in Hobart, Tasmania, but rather than producing a standard large art survey, it focussed on artist-run spaces and initiatives, emergant practices, and marginalised voices in the arts. Frontyard is not an artist collective and does not work for commissions. Rather, the response to the invitation was based on how much energy there was in the group to contribute to Hobiennale. At Frontyard one of the ways collective and individual energy is accounted for is using spoon theory, a disability metaphor used to describe the planning that many people have to do to conserve and ration energy reserves in their daily lives (Miserandino). As outlined in the glossary of Conversation Piece, spoon theory is:A way of accounting for our emotional or physical energy and therefore our ability to participate in activities. Spoon theory can be used to collaborate with care and avoid guilt and burn out. Usually spoon theory is applied at an individual level, but it can also be used by organisations. For example, Hobiennale had enough spoons to participate in the Hobiennale so we decided to give it a go. (180)To make to book, Frontyard invited visitors to Hobiennale to participate in a series of open conversations that began with the photographic archive of the organisation over the two years of its existence. During a prototyping session, Frontyard designed nine diagrams that propositioned ways to begin conversations by combining images in different ways. Figure 5: Diagram 9. Conversation Piece: p.32-33One of the purposes of the diagrams, and the book itself, was to bring attention to the micro dynamics of conversation over time, and to create a safe space to explore the implications of these. While the production process and the book itself is micro (ten copies were printed and immediately given away), the decisions made in regards to licensing (a creative commons license is used), distribution (via the Internet Archive) and content generation (through participatory design processes) the project’s commitment to open design processes (Van Abel, Evers, Klaassen and Troxler) mean its impact is unpredictable. Counter-logical to the conventional copyright of books, open design borrows its definition - and at times its technologies and here its methods - from open source software design, to advocate the production of design objects based on fluid and shared circulation of design information. The tension between the abundance produced by an open approach to making, and the attention to the detail of relationships produced by slowing down and scaling down communication processes is made apparent in Conversation Piece:We challenge ourselves at Frontyard to keep bureaucratic processes as minimal an open as possible. We don’t have an application or acquittal process: we prefer to meet people over a cup of tea. A conversation is a way to work through questions. (7)As well as focussing on the micro dynamics of conversations, this projects protests the authority of archives. It works to dismantle the hierarchies of art and publishing through the design of an open, transparent, participatory publishing process. It offers a range of propositions about alternative economies, the agency of people working together at small scales, and the many possible futures in the collective imaginaries of people rethinking time, outcomes, results and progress.The contributors to the book are those in conversation – a complex networks of actors that are relationally configured and themselves in constant change, so as Julier explains “the object is subject to constant transformations, either literally or in its meaning. The designer is working within this instability.” (230) This is true of all design, but in this design microprotest, Frontyard works within this instability in order to redirect it. The book functions as a series of propositions about temporality and territorialisation, and focussing on micro interventions rather than radical political movements. In one section, two Frontyard residents offer a story of migration that also serves as a recipe for purslane soup, a traditional Portuguese dish (Rodriguez and Brison). Another lifts all the images of hand gestures from the Frontyard digital image archive and represents them in a photo essay. Figure 6: Talking to Rocks. Conversation Piece: p.143ConclusionThis article is an invitation to momentarily suspend the framing of design activism as a global movement in order to slow down the analysis of design protests and start paying attention to the brief moments and small spaces of protest that energise social change in design practice. We offered three examples of design microprotests, opening with a representation of transdisciplinary listening in order to frame design as a way if interpreting and listening as well as generating and producing. The two following projects we describe are collective acts of translation: small, momentary conversations designed into graphic forms that can be shared, reproduced, analysed, and remixed. Such protests have their limitations. Beyond the artefacts, the outcomes generated by design microprotests are difficult to identify. While they push and pull at the temporality and territorialisation of design, they operate at a small scale. How design microprotests connect to global networks of protest is an important question yet to be explored. The design practices of transdisciplinary listening, Queer Feelings and translations, and collaborative book sprinting, identified in these design microprotests change the thoughts and feelings of those who participate in ways that are impossible to measure in real time, and sometimes cannot be measured at all. Yet these practices are important now, as they shift the way designers design, and the way others understand what is designed. By identifying the common attributes of design microprotests, we can begin to understand the way necessary political conversations emerge in design practice, for instance about safe spaces, transdisciplinarity, and archives. Taking a research through design approach these can be understood over time, rather than just in the moment, and in specific territories that belong to community. They can be reconfigured into different conversations that change our world for the better. References Ahmed, Sara. “Queer Feelings.” The Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2004. 143-167.Clarke, Alison J. "'Actions Speak Louder': Victor Papanek and the Legacy of Design Activism." Design and Culture 5.2 (2013): 151-168.De Bretteville, Sheila L. Design beyond Design: Critical Reflection and the Practice of Visual Communication. Ed. Jan van Toorn. Maastricht: Jan van Eyck Akademie Editions, 1998. 115-127.Evers, L., et al. Open Design Now: Why Design Cannot Remain Exclusive. Amsterdam: BIS Publishers, 2011.Escobar, Arturo. Designs for the Pluriverse: Radical Interdependence, Autonomy, and the Making of Worlds. Duke UP, 2018.Fiumara, G.C. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening. London: Routledge, 1995.Fuad-Luke, Alastair. Design Activism: Beautiful Strangeness for a Sustainable World. London: Routledge, 2013.Frontyard Projects. 2018. Conversation Piece. Marrickville: Frontyard Projects. Fry, Tony. A New Design Philosophy: An Introduction to Defuturing. Sydney: UNSW P, 1999.Hanna, Julian, Alkan Chipperfield, Peter von Stackelberg, Trevor Haldenby, Nik Gaffney, Maja Kuzmanovic, Tim Boykett, Tina Auer, Marta Peirano, and Istvan Szakats. Futurish: Thinking Out Loud about Futures. Linz: Times Up, 2014. Irwin, Terry, Gideon Kossoff, and Cameron Tonkinwise. "Transition Design Provocation." Design Philosophy Papers 13.1 (2015): 3-11.Julier, Guy. "From Design Culture to Design Activism." Design and Culture 5.2 (2013): 215-236.Julier, Guy. "Introduction: Material Preference and Design Activism." Design and Culture 5.2 (2013): 145-150.Jonas, W. “Exploring the Swampy Ground.” Mapping Design Research. Eds. S. Grand and W. Jonas. Basel: Birkhauser, 2012. 11-41.Kagan, S. Art and Sustainability. Bielefeld: Transcript, 2011.Lenskjold, Tau Ulv, Sissel Olander, and Joachim Halse. “Minor Design Activism: Prompting Change from Within.” Design Issues 31.4 (2015): 67–78. doi:10.1162/DESI_a_00352.Max-Neef, M.A. "Foundations of Transdisciplinarity." Ecological Economics 53.53 (2005): 5-16.Miserandino, C. "The Spoon Theory." <http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com>.Nicolescu, B. "Methodology of Transdisciplinarity – Levels of Reality, Logic of the Included Middle and Complexity." Transdisciplinary Journal of Engineering and Science 1.1 (2010): 19-38.Palmer, C., J. Gothe, C. Mitchell, K. Sweetapple, S. McLaughlin, G. Hose, M. Lowe, H. Goodall, T. Green, D. Sharma, S. Fane, K. Brew, and P. Jones. “Finding Integration Pathways: Developing a Transdisciplinary (TD) Approach for the Upper Nepean Catchment.” Proceedings of the 5th Australian Stream Management Conference: Australian Rivers: Making a Difference. Thurgoona, NSW: Charles Sturt University, 2008.Rodriguez and Brison. "Purslane Soup." Conversation Piece. Eds. Frontyard Projects. Marrickville: Frontyard Projects, 2018. 34-41.Schultz, Tristan, et al. "What Is at Stake with Decolonizing Design? A Roundtable." Design and Culture 10.1 (2018): 81-101.Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. Decolonising Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. New York: ZED Books, 1998. Van Abel, Bas, et al. Open Design Now: Why Design Cannot Remain Exclusive. Bis Publishers, 2014.Wing Sue, Derald. Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Race, Gender, and Sexual Orientation. London: John Wiley & Sons, 2010. XV-XX.

In a light-speed economy of communication, the only thing that moves faster than information is imagination. And in a time when, more than ever before, information is the currency of global politics, economics, conflict, and conquest what better way to critique and crinkle the global-social than to combine the two - information and imagination - into an hilarious mockery of, and a brief incursion into the vistas of the globalitarian order. This is precisely the reflexive and rhetorical pot-pourri that the group 'the Yes Men' (www.theyesmen.org) have formed. Beginning in 2000, the Yes Men describe themselves as a "network of impostors". Basically, the Yes Men (no they're not all men) fool organisations into believing they are representatives of the WTO (World Trade Organisation) and in-turn receive, and accept, invitations to speak (as WTO representatives) at conferences, meetings, seminars, and all manner and locale of corporate pow-wows. At these meetings, the Yes Men deliver their own very special brand of WTO public address. Let's walk through a hypothetical situation. Ashley is organising a conference for a multinational adult entertainment company, at which the management might discuss ways in which it could cut costs from its dildo manufacturing sector by moving production to Indonesia where labour is cheap and tax non-existent (for some), rubber is in abundance, and where the workers hands are slender enough so as to make even the "slimline-tickler" range appear gushingly large in annual report photographs. Ashley decides that a presentation from Supachai Panitchpakdi - head of the WTO body - on the virtues of unrestrained capitalism would be a great way to start the conference, and to build esprit de corps among participants - to summon some good vibrations, if you will. So Ashley jumps on the net. After the obligatory four hours of trying to close the myriad porn site pop-ups that plague internet users of the adult entertainment industry, Ashley comes across the WTO site - or at least what looks like the WTO site - and, via the email link, goes about inviting Supachai Panitchpakdi to speak at the conference. What Ashley doesn't realise is that the site is a mirror site of the actual WTO site. This is not, however, grounds for Ashley's termination because it is only after careful and timely scrutiny that you can tell the difference - and in a hypercapitalist economy who has got time to carefully scrutinize? You see, the Yes Men own the domain name www.gatt.org (GATT [General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade]being the former, not so formalised and globally sanctioned incarnation of the WTO), so in the higgledy-piggeldy cross-referencing infosphere of the internet, and its economy of keywords, unsuspecting WTO fans often find themselves perusing the Yes Men site. The Yes Men are sirens in both senses of the word. They raise alarm to rampant corporatism; and they sing the tunes of corporatism to lure their victims – they signal and seduce. The Yes Men are pull marketers, as opposed to the push tactics of logo based activism, and this is what takes them beyond logoism and its focus on the brand bullies. During the few years the Yes Men have been operating their ingenious rhetorical realignment of the WTO, they have pulled off some of the most golden moments in tactical media’s short history. In May 2002, after accepting an email invitation from conference organisers, the Yes Men hit an accountancy conference in Sydney. In his keynote speech, yes man Andy Bichlbaum announced that as of that day the WTO had decided to "effect a cessation of all operations, to be accomplished over a period of four months, culminating in September". He announced that "the WTO will reintegrate as a new trade body whose charter will be to ensure that trade benefits the poor" (ref). The shocking news hit a surprisingly receptive audience and even sparked debate in the floor of the Canadian Parliament where questions were asked by MP John Duncan about "what impact this will have on our appeals on lumber, agriculture, and other ongoing trade disputes". The Certified Practicing Accountants (CPA) Australia reported that [t]he changes come in response to recent studies which indicate strongly that the current free trade rules and policies have increased poverty, pollution, and inequality, and have eroded democratic principles, with a disproportionatly large negative effect on the poorest countries (CPA: 2002) In another Yes Men assault, this time at a Finnish textiles conference, yes man Hank Hardy Unruh gave a speech (in stead of the then WTO head Mike Moore) arguing that the U.S. civil war (in which slavery became illegal) was a useless waste of time because the system of imported labour (slavery) has been supplanted now by a system of remote labour (sweatshops)- instead of bringing the "labour" to the dildos via ships from Africa, now we can take the dildos to the "labour", or more precisely, the idea of a dildo - or in biblical terms - take the mount'em to Mohammed, Mhemmet, or Ming. Unruh meandered through his speech to the usual complicit audience, happy to accept his bold assertions in the coma-like stride of a conference delegate, that is, until he ripped off his business suit (with help from an accomplice) to reveal a full-body golden leotard replete with a giant golden phallus which he proceeded to inflate with the aid of a small gas canister. He went on to describe to the audience that the suit, dubbed "the management leisure suit", was a new innovation in the remote labour control field. He informed the textiles delegates that located in the end of the phallus was a small video interface through which one could view workers in the Third World and administer, by remote control, electric shocks to those employees not working hard enough. Apparently after the speech only one objection was forwarded and that was from a woman who complained that the phallus device was not appropriate because not only men can oppress workers in the third world. It is from the complicity of their audiences that the Yes Men derive their most virulent critique. They point out that the "aim is to get people to think more seriously about the sort of bullshit they are prepared to swallow, if and when the information comes from a suitably respected authority. By appearing, for example, in the name of the WTO, one could even make out a case for justifying homicide, irrespective of the target audience's training and intellect" (Yes men) Unruh says. And this is the real statement that the Yes Men make, their real-life, real-time theatre hollows-out the signifer of the WTO and injects its own signified to highlight the predominant role of language - rhetoric - in the globalising of the ideas of neo-liberalism. In speaking shit and having people, nay, experts, swallow it comfortably, the Yes Men punctuate that globalisation is as much a movement of ideas across societies as it is a movement of things through societies. It is a movement of ideals - a movement of meanings. Organisations like the WTO propagate these meanings, and propagandise a situation where there is no alternative to initiatives like free trade and the top-down, repressive regime espoused buy neoliberal triumphalists. The Yes Men highlight that the seemingly immutable and inevitable charge of neoliberalism, is in fact simply the dominance of a single way of structuring social life - one dictated by the market. Through their unique brand of semiotic puppetry, the Yes Men show that the project of unelected treaty organisations like the WTO and their push toward the globalisation of neoliberalism is not inevitable, it is not a fait accompli, but rather, that their claims of an inexorable movement toward a neo-liberal capitalism are simply more rhetorical than real. By using the spin and speak of the WTO to suggest ideas like forcing the world's poor to recycle hamburgers to cure world hunger, the Yes Men demonstrate that the power of the WTO lies on the tip of their tongue, and their ability to convince people the world over of the unquestionable legitimacy of that tongue-tip teetering power. But it is that same power that has threatened the future of the Yes Men. In November 2001, the owners of the gatt.org website received a call from the host of its webpage, Verio. The WTO had contacted Verio and asked them to shut down the gatt.org site for copyright violations. But the Yes Men came up with their own response - they developed software that is freely available and which allows the user to mirror any site on the internet easily. Called "Reamweaver", the software allows the user to instantly "funhouse-mirror" anyone's website, copying the real-time "look and feel" but letting the user change any words, images, etc. that they choose. The thought of anyone being able to mimic any site on the internet is perhaps a little scary - especially in terms of e-commerce - imagine that "lizard-tongue belly button tickler" never arriving! Or thinking you had invited a bunch of swingers over to your house via a swingers website, only to find that you'd been duped by a rogue gang of fifteen tax accountants who had come to your house to give you a lecture on the issues associated with the inclusion of pro-forma information in preliminary announcements in East Europe 1955-1958. But seriously, I'm yet to critique the work of the Yes Men. Their brand of protest has come under fire most predictably from the WTO, and least surprisingly from their duped victims. But, really, in an era where the neo-liberal conservative right dominate the high-end operations of sociality, I am reticent to say a bad word about the Yes Men's light, creative, and refreshing style of dissent. I can hear the "free speech" cry coming from those who'd charge the Yes Men with denying their victims the right to freely express their ideas - and I suppose they are correct. But can supra-national institutions like the WTO and their ilk really complain about the Yes Men’s infringement on their rights to a fair communicative playing field when daily they ride rough-shod over the rights of people and the people-defined "rights" of all else with which we share this planet? This is a hazardous junction for the dissent of the Yes Men because it is a point at which personal actions collide head-on with social ethics. The Yes Men’s brand of dissent is a form of direct action, and like direct action, the emphasis is on putting physical bodies between the oppressor and the oppressed – in this case between the subaltern and the supra-national. The Yes Men put their bodies between and within bodies – they penetrate the veneer of the brand to crawl around inside and mess with the mind of the host company body. Messing with anybody’s body is going to be bothersome. But while corporations enjoy the “rights” of embodied citizens, they are spared from the consequences citizens must endure. Take Worldcom’s fraudulent accounting (the biggest in US history) for instance, surely such a monumental deception necessitates more than a USD500 million fine. When will “capital punishment” be introduced to apply to corporations? As in “killing off” the corporation and all its articles of association? Such inconsistencies in the citizenry praxis of corporations paint a pedestrian crossing at the junction where “body” activism meets the ethic (right?) of unequivocal free-speech for all – and when we factor-in crippling policies like structural adjustment, the ethically hazardous junction becomes shadowed by a glorious pedestrian overpass! Where logocentric activism literally concentrates on the apparel – the branded surface - the focus of groups like the Yes Men is on the body beneath – both corporate and corporeal. But are the tactics of the Yes Men enough? Does this step beyond logocentric focused activism wade into the territory of substantive change? Of course the answer is a resounding no. The Yes Men are culture jammers - and culture jamming exists in the realm of ephemera. It asks a question, for a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of struggle, and then fades away. Fetishising the tactics of the Yes Men risks steering dissent into a form of entertainment - much like the entertainmentised politics it opposes. What the Yes Men do is creative and skilful, but it does not express the depth of commitment displayed by those activists working tirelessly on myriad - less-glamorous - campaigns such as the free West Papua movement, and other broader issues of social activism like indigenous rights. If politics is entertainment, then the politics of the Yes Men celebrates the actor while ignoring the hard work of the production team. But having said that, I believe the Yes Men serve an important function in the complex mechanics of dissent. They are but one tactic - they cannot be expected to work with history, they exist in the moment, a transitory trance of reason. And provided the Yes Men continue to use their staged opportunities as platforms to suggest BETTER IDEAS, while also acknowledging the depth and complexity of the subject matter with which they deal, then their brand of protest is valid and effective. The Yes Men ride the cusp of a new style of contemporary social protest, and the more people who likewise use imagination to counter the globalitarian regime and its commodity logic, the better. Through intelligent satire and deft use of communication technologies, the Yes Men lay bare the internal illogic (in terms of human and ecological wellbeing) of the fetishistic charge to cut costs at all costs. Thank-Gatt for the Yes Men, the chastisers of the global eco-social pimps. Works Cited CPA. (2002). World Trade Organisation to Redefine Charter. http://theyesmen.org/tro/cpa.html Yes Men: http://theyesmen.org/ * And thanks to Phil Graham for the “capital punishment” idea. Links http://theyesmen.org/ http://theyesmen.org/tro/cpa.html http://www.gatt.org http://www.theyesmen.org/ Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Pace, John. "The Yes Men" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/05-yesmen.php>. APA Style Pace, J. (2003, Jun 19). The Yes Men. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/05-yesmen.php>

It seems nowadays that any aspect of collecting and displaying tangible or intangible material culture is labeled as curating: shopkeepers curate their wares; DJs curate their musical selections; magazine editors curate media stories; and hipsters curate their coffee tables. Given the increasing ubiquity and complexity of 21st-century notions of curatorship, the current issue of MC Journal, ‘curate’, provides an excellent opportunity to consider some of the changes that have occurred in professional practice since the emergence of the ‘digital turn’. There is no doubt that the internet and interactive media have transformed the way we live our daily lives—and for many cultural commentators it only makes sense that they should also transform our cultural experiences. In this paper, I want to examine the issue of curatorial practice in the postdigital age, looking some of the ways that curating has changed over the last twenty years—and some of the ways it has not. The term postdigital comes from the work of Ross Parry, and is used to references the ‘tipping point’ where the use of digital technologies became normative practice in museums (24). Overall, I contend that although new technologies have substantially facilitated the way that curators do their jobs, core business and values have not changed as the result of the digital turn. While, major paradigm shifts have occurred in the field of professional curatorship over the last twenty years, these shifts have been issue-driven rather than a result of new technologies. Everyone’s a Curator In a 2009 article in the New York Times, journalist Alex Williams commented on the growing trend in American consumer culture of labeling oneself a curator. “The word ‘curate’,’’ he observed, “has become a fashionable code word among the aesthetically minded, who seem to paste it onto any activity that involves culling and selecting” (1). Williams dated the origins of the popular adoption of the term ‘curating’ to a decade earlier; noting the strong association between the uptake and the rise of the internet (2). This association is not surprising. The development of increasingly interactive software such as Web 2.0 has led to a rapid rise in new technologies aimed at connecting people and information in ways that were previously unimaginable. In particular the internet has become a space in which people can collect, store and most importantly share vast quantities of information. This information is often about objects. According to sociologist Jyri Engeström, the most successful social network sites on the internet (such as Pinterest, Flickr, Houzz etc), use discrete objects, rather than educational content or interpersonal relationships, as the basis for social interaction. So objects become the node for inter-personal communication. In these and other sites, internet users can find, collate and display multiple images of objects on the same page, which can in turn be connected at the press of a button to other related sources of information in the form of text, commentary or more images. These sites are often seen as the opportunity to virtually curate mini-exhibitions, as well as to create mood boards or sites of virtual consumption. The idea of curating as selective aesthetic editing is also popular in online markets places such as Etsy where numerous sellers offer ‘curated’ selections from home wares, to prints, to (my personal favorite) a curated selection of cat toys. In all of these exercises there is an emphasis on the idea of connoisseurship. As part of his article on the new breed of ‘curators’, for example, Alex Williams interviewed Tom Kalendrain, the Fashion Director of a leading American department store, which had engaged in a collaboration with Scott Schuman of the fashion blog, the Sartorialist. According to Kalendrain the store had asked Schuman to ‘curate’ a collection of clothes for them to sell. He justified calling Schuman a curator by explaining: “It was precisely his eye that made the store want to work with him; it was about the right shade of blue, about the cut, about the width of a lapel” (cited in Williams 2). The interview reveals much about current popular notions of what it means to be a curator. The central emphasis of Kalendrain’s distinction was on connoisseurship: exerting a privileged authoritative voice based on intimate knowledge of the subject matter and the ability to discern the very best examples from a plethora of choices. Ironically, in terms of contemporary museum practice, this is a model of curating that museums have consciously been trying to move away from for at least the last three decades. We are now witnessing an interesting disconnect in which the extra-museum community (represented in particular by a postdigital generation of cultural bloggers, commentators and entrepreneurs) are re-vivifying an archaic model of curating, based on object-centric connoisseurship, just at the point where professional curators had thought they had successfully moved on. From Being about Something to Being for Somebody The rejection of the object-expert model of curating has been so persuasive that it has transformed the way museums conduct core business across all sectors of the institution. Over the last thirty to forty years museums have witnessed a major pedagogical shift in how curators approach their work and how museums conceptualise their core values. These paradigmatic and pedagogical shifts were best characterised by the museologist Stephen Weil in his seminal article “From being about something to being for somebody.” Weil, writing in the late 1990s, noted that museums had turned away from traditional models in which individual curators (by way of scholarship and connoisseurship) dictated how the rest of the world (the audience) apprehended and understood significant objects of art, science and history—towards an audience centered approach where curators worked collaboratively with a variety of interested communities to create a pluralist forum for social change. In museum parlance these changes are referred to under the general rubric of the ‘new museology’: a paradigm shift, which had its origins in the 1970s; its gestation in the 1980s; and began to substantially manifest by the 1990s. Although no longer ‘new’, these shifts continue to influence museum practices in the 2000s. In her article, “Curatorship as Social Practice’” museologist Christina Kreps outlined some of the developments over recent decades that have challenged the object-centric model. According to Kreps, the ‘new museology’ was a paradigm shift that emerged from a widespread dissatisfaction with conventional interpretations of the museum and its functions and sought to re-orient itself away from strongly method and technique driven object-focused approaches. “The ‘new museum’ was to be people-centered, action-oriented, and devoted to social change and development” (315). An integral contributor to the developing new museology was the subjection of the western museum in the 1980s and ‘90s to representational critique from academics and activists. Such a critique entailed, in the words of Sharon Macdonald, questioning and drawing attention to “how meanings come to be inscribed and by whom, and how some come to be regarded as ‘right’ or taken as given” (3). Macdonald notes that postcolonial and feminist academics were especially engaged in this critique and the growing “identity politics” of the era. A growing engagement with the concept that museological /curatorial work is what Kreps (2003b) calls a ‘social process’, a recognition that; “people’s relationships to objects are primarily social and cultural ones” (154). This shift has particularly impacted on the practice of museum curatorship. By way of illustration we can compare two scholarly definitions of what constitutes a curator; one written in 1984 and one from 2001. The Manual of Curatorship, written in 1994 by Gary Edson and David Dean define a curator as: “a staff member or consultant who is as specialist in a particular field on study and who provides information, does research and oversees the maintenance, use, and enhancement of collections” (290). Cash Cash writing in 2001 defines curatorship instead as “a social practice predicated on the principle of a fixed relation between material objects and the human environment” (140). The shift has been towards increased self-reflexivity and a focus on greater plurality–acknowledging the needs of their diverse audiences and community stakeholders. As part of this internal reflection the role of curator has shifted from sole authority to cultural mediator—from connoisseur to community facilitator as a conduit for greater community-based conversation and audience engagement resulting in new interpretations of what museums are, and what their purpose is. This shift—away from objects and towards audiences—has been so great that it has led some scholars to question the need for museums to have standing collections at all. Do Museums Need Objects? In his provocatively titled work Do Museums Still Need Objects? Historian Steven Conn observes that many contemporary museums are turning away from the authority of the object and towards mass entertainment (1). Conn notes that there has been an increasing retreat from object-based research in the fields of art; science and ethnography; that less object-based research seems to be occurring in museums and fewer objects are being put on display (2). The success of science centers with no standing collections, the reduction in the number of objects put on display in modern museums (23); the increasing phalanx of ‘starchitect’ designed museums where the building is more important than the objects in it (11), and the increase of virtual museums and collections online, all seems to indicate that conventional museum objects have had their day (1-2). Or have they? At the same time that all of the above is occurring, ongoing research suggests that in the digital age, more than ever, people are seeking the authenticity of the real. For example, a 2008 survey of 5,000 visitors to living history sites in the USA, found that those surveyed expressed a strong desire to commune with historically authentic objects: respondents felt that their lives had become so crazy, so complicated, so unreal that they were seeking something real and authentic in their lives by visiting these museums. (Wilkening and Donnis 1) A subsequent research survey aimed specifically at young audiences (in their early twenties) reported that: seeing stuff online only made them want to see the real objects in person even more, [and that] they felt that museums were inherently authentic, largely because they have authentic objects that are unique and wonderful. (Wilkening 2) Adding to the question ‘do museums need objects?’, Rainey Tisdale argues that in the current digital age we need real museum objects more than ever. “Many museum professionals,” she reports “have come to believe that the increase in digital versions of objects actually enhances the value of in-person encounters with tangible, real things” (20). Museums still need objects. Indeed, in any kind of corporate planning, one of the first thing business managers look for in a company is what is unique about it. What can it provide that the competition can’t? Despite the popularity of all sorts of info-tainments, the one thing that museums have (and other institutions don’t) is significant collections. Collections are a museum’s niche resource – in business speak they are the asset that gives them the advantage over their competitors. Despite the increasing importance of technology in delivering information, including collections online, there is still overwhelming evidence to suggest that we should not be too quick to dismiss the traditional preserve of museums – the numinous object. And in fact, this is precisely the final argument that Steven Conn reaches in his above-mentioned publication. Curating in the Postdigital Age While it is reassuring (but not particularly surprising) that generations Y and Z can still differentiate between virtual and real objects, this doesn’t mean that museum curators can bury their heads in the collection room hoping that the digital age will simply go away. The reality is that while digitally savvy audiences continue to feel the need to see and commune with authentic materially-present objects, the ways in which they access information about these objects (prior to, during, and after a museum visit) has changed substantially due to technological advances. In turn, the ways in which curators research and present these objects – and stories about them – has also changed. So what are some of the changes that have occurred in museum operations and visitor behavior due to technological advances over the last twenty years? The most obvious technological advances over the last twenty years have actually been in data management. Since the 1990s a number of specialist data management systems have been developed for use in the museum sector. In theory at least, a curator can now access the entire collections of an institution without leaving their desk. Moreover, the same database that tells the curator how many objects the institution holds from the Torres Strait Islands, can also tell her what they look like (through high quality images); which objects were exhibited in past exhibitions; what their prior labels were; what in-house research has been conducted on them; what the conservation requirements are; where they are stored; and who to contact for copyright clearance for display—to name just a few functions. In addition a curator can get on the internet to search the online collection databases from other museums to find what objects they have from the Torres Strait Islands. Thus, while our curator is at this point conducting the same type of exhibition research that she would have done twenty years ago, the ease in which she can access information is substantially greater. The major difference of course is that today, rather than in the past, the curator would be collaborating with members of the original source community to undertake this project. Despite the rise of the internet, this type of liaison still usually occurs face to face. The development of accessible digital databases through the Internet and capacity to download images and information at a rapid rate has also changed the way non-museum staff can access collections. Audiences can now visit museum websites through which they can easily access information about current and past exhibitions, public programs, and online collections. In many cases visitors can also contribute to general discussion forums and collections provenance data through various means such as ‘tagging’; commenting on blogs; message boards; and virtual ‘talk back’ walls. Again, however, this represents a change in how visitors access museums but not a fundamental shift in what they can access. In the past, museum visitors were still encouraged to access and comment upon the collections; it’s just that doing so took a lot more time and effort. The rise of interactivity and the internet—in particular through Web 2.0—has led many commentators to call for a radical change in the ways museums operate. Museum analyst Lynda Kelly (2009) has commented on the issue that: the demands of the ‘information age’ have raised new questions for museums. It has been argued that museums need to move from being suppliers of information to providing usable knowledge and tools for visitors to explore their own ideas and reach their own conclusions because of increasing access to technologies, such as the internet. Gordon Freedman for example argues that internet technologies such as computers, the World Wide Web, mobile phones and email “… have put the power of communication, information gathering, and analysis in the hands of the individuals of the world” (299). Freedman argued that museums need to “evolve into a new kind of beast” (300) in order to keep up with the changes opening up to the possibility of audiences becoming mediators of information and knowledge. Although we often hear about the possibilities of new technologies in opening up the possibilities of multiple authors for exhibitions, I have yet to hear of an example of this successfully taking place. This doesn’t mean, however, that it will never happen. At present most museums seem to be merely dipping their toes in the waters. A recent example from the Art Gallery of South Australia illustrates this point. In 2013, the Gallery mounted an exhibition that was, in theory at least, curated by the public. Labeled as “the ultimate people’s choice exhibition” the project was hosted in conjunction with ABC Radio Adelaide. The public was encouraged to go online to the gallery website and select from a range of artworks in different categories by voting for their favorites. The ‘winning’ works were to form the basis of the exhibition. While the media spin on the exhibition gave the illusion of a mass curated show, in reality very little actual control was given over to the audience-curators. The public was presented a range of artworks, which had already been pre-selected from the standing collections; the themes for the exhibition had also already been determined as they informed the 120 artworks that were offered up for voting. Thus, in the end the pre-selection of objects and themes, as well as the timing and execution of the exhibition remained entirely in the hand of the professional curators. Another recent innovation did not attempt to harness public authorship, but rather enhanced individual visitor connections to museum collections by harnessing new GPS technologies. The Streetmuseum was a free app program created by the Museum of London to bring geotagged historical street views to hand held or portable mobile devices. The program allowed user to undertake a self-guided tour of London. After programing in their route, users could then point their device at various significant sites along the way. Looking through their viewfinder they would see a 3D historic photograph overlayed on the live site – allowing user not only to see what the area looked like in the past but also to capture an image of the overlay. While many of the available tagging apps simply allow for the opportunity of adding more white noise, allowing viewers to add commentary, pics, links to a particular geo tagged site but with no particular focus, the Streetmuseum had a well-defined purpose to encourage their audience to get out and explore London; to share their archival photograph collection with a broader audience; and to teach people more about London’s unique history. A Second Golden Age? A few years ago the Steven Conn suggested that museums are experiencing an international ‘golden age’ with more museums being built and visited and talked about than ever before (1). In the United States, where Conn is based, there are more than 17,500 accredited museums, and more than two million people visit some sort of museum per day, averaging around 865 million museum visits per year (2). However, at the same time that museums are proliferating, the traditional areas of academic research and theory that feed into museums such as history, cultural studies, anthropology and art history are experiencing a period of intense self reflexivity. Conn writes: At the turn of the twenty-first century, more people are going to more museums than at any time in the past, and simultaneously more scholars, critics, and others are writing and talking about museums. The two phenomena are most certainly related but it does not seem to be a happy relationship. Even as museums enjoy more and more success…many who write about them express varying degrees of foreboding. (1) There is no doubt that the internet and increasingly interactive media has transformed the way we live our daily lives—it only makes sense that it should also transform our cultural experiences. At the same time Museums need to learn to ride the wave without getting dumped into it. The best new media acts as a bridge—connecting people to places and ideas—allowing them to learn more about museum objects and historical spaces, value-adding to museum visits rather than replacing them altogether. As museologust Elaine Gurian, has recently concluded, the core business of museums seems unchanged thus far by the adoption of internet based technology: “the museum field generally, its curators, and those academic departments focused on training curators remain at the core philosophically unchanged despite their new websites and shiny new technological reference centres” (97). Virtual life has not replaced real life and online collections and exhibitions have not replaced real life visitations. Visitors want access to credible information about museum objects and museum exhibitions, they are not looking for Wiki-Museums. Or if they are are, they are looking to the Internet community to provide that service rather than the employees of state and federally funded museums. Both provide legitimate services, but they don’t necessarily need to provide the same service. In the same vein, extra-museum ‘curating’ of object and ideas through social media sites such as Pinterest, Flikr, Instagram and Tumblr provide a valuable source of inspiration and a highly enjoyable form of virtual consumption. But the popular uptake of the term ‘curating’ remains as easily separable from professional practice as the prior uptake of the terms ‘doctor’ and ‘architect’. An individual who doctors an image, or is the architect of their destiny, is still not going to operate on a patient nor construct a building. While major ontological shifts have occurred within museum curatorship over the last thirty years, these changes have resulted from wider social shifts, not directly from technology. This is not to say that technology will not change the museum’s ‘way of being’ in my professional lifetime—it’s just to say it hasn’t happened yet. References Cash Cash, Phillip. “Medicine Bundles: An Indigenous Approach.” Ed. T. Bray. The Future of the Past: Archaeologists, Native Americans and Repatriation. New York and London: Garland Publishing (2001): 139-145. Conn, Steven. Do Museums Still Need Objects? Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. Edson, Gary, and David Dean. The Handbook for Museums. New York and London: Routledge, 1994. Engeström, Jyri. “Why Some Social Network Services Work and Others Don’t — Or: The Case for Object-Centered Sociality.” Zengestrom Apr. 2005. 17 June 2015 ‹http://www.zengestrom.com/blog/2005/04/why-some-social-network-services-work-and-others-dont-or-the-case-for-object-centered-sociality.html›. Freedman, Gordon. “The Changing Nature of Museums”. Curator 43.4 (2000): 295-306. Gurian, Elaine Heumann. “Curator: From Soloist to Impresario.” Eds. Fiona Cameron and Lynda Kelly. Hot Topics, Public Culture, Museums. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2010. 95-111. Kelly, Lynda. “Museum Authority.” Blog 12 Nov. 2009. 25 June 2015 ‹http://australianmuseum.net.au/blogpost/museullaneous/museum-authority›. Kreps, Christina. “Curatorship as Social Practice.” Curator: The Museum Journal 46.3 (2003): 311-323. ———, Christina. Liberating Culture: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Museums, Curation, and Heritage Preservation. London and New York: Routledge, 2003. Macdonald, Sharon. “Expanding Museum Studies: An Introduction.” Ed. Sharon MacDonald. A Companion to Museum Studies. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2011. Parry, Ross. “The End of the Beginning: Normativity in the Postdigital Museum.” Museum Worlds: Advances in Research 1 (2013): 24-39. Tisdale, Rainey. “Do History Museums Still Need Objects?” History News (2011): 19-24. 18 June 2015 ‹http://aaslhcommunity.org/historynews/files/2011/08/RaineySmr11Links.pdf›. Suchy, Serene. Leading with Passion: Change Management in the Twenty-First Century Museum. Lanham: AltaMira Press, 2004. Weil, Stephen E. “From Being about Something to Being for Somebody: The Ongoing Transformation of the American Museum.” Daedalus, Journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences 128.3 (1999): 229–258. Wilkening, Susie. “Community Engagement and Objects—Mutually Exclusive?” Museum Audience Insight 27 July 2009. 14 June 2015 ‹http://reachadvisors.typepad.com/museum_audience_insight/2009/07/community-engagement-and-objects-mutually-exclusive.html›. ———, and Erica Donnis. “Authenticity? It Means Everything.” History News (2008) 63:4. Williams, Alex. “On the Tip of Creative Tongues.” New York Times 4 Oct. 2009. 4 June 2015 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/04/fashion/04curate.html›.

Our capacity to tell stories is a skill that can be considered both natural and learned. Storytelling and oral history are parts of all human societies, and we seek to understand ourselves and each other through our stories. Our individual and collective memories collide in our stories, and reconcile to construct what Kansteiner calls our "collectively shared representations of the past" (182). It is our personal narratives that are the building blocks to public understanding, and as Harter, Japp and Beck maintain in Narratives, Health and Healing, "narrative is a fundamental human way of giving meaning to experience" (3). Adding to this idea of narrative as way of illuminating meaning, Goodall posits narrative as also being a way of knowing and as a research methodology, stating "narrative provides us with a range of forms and styles for discovering meaning and communicating it to readers through stories. It is an epistemology" (13). This re-imaging and re-purposing of narrative and storytelling has the capacity to significantly influence and shift the ways in which cultural and social research is carried out. This emerging approach can also influence the ways we understand the experiences of marginalised groups, and consequently how we respond to issues around social inclusion through policy and community based solutions. For researchers personal stories and narratives have the capacity to illuminate the nuances of broad issues; this potential also means that seemingly intractable social problems are given a human face with which to engage. It is in this way that personal narratives energise public narratives and shape our ways of thinking and collective understandings (Harter et al. 4). This paper investigates a digital storytelling project conducted in late 2009 with a group of Forgotten Australians in the months leading up to the public apology in the Australian Parliament, and how the personal stories of the participants brought to life previous research about the marginalisation of individuals who had experienced out-of-home care as children. This paper also explores how the endemic, institutionalised abuse of a group of people was translated to the broader community and galvanised support through the impact of their personal stories. Digital Storytelling As a dynamic practice storytelling, in all its forms, must be nurtured and developed if it is to contribute to the lives of individuals and communities. The number of storytelling, and in particular digital storytelling, initiatives and projects in Australia has increased rapidly since the early 2000s, and are utilised by various public and community organisations for a variety of reasons. Digital technology has had a profound impact on the ability for "ordinary" people to tell their stories, and research has identified the potential of digital storytelling in these contexts to assist in the representation of multiple voices and viewpoints in society through inclusive processes of co-creation (cf. see Burgess; Hartley, Uses and "TV"; Klaebe and Burgess). The storytelling project that forms the basis for this paper used some traditional written storytelling practices but was mainly concerned with digital storytelling. Digital stories are generally a two to four minute multi-media story that uses photographs, film and drawings to convey a personal story which the author narrates in their own voice over the series of images. Much has been, and continues to be written, about digital storytelling as a site of participatory culture and as a means of improving digital literacy in pockets of the community traditionally absent in the realm of digital citizenship (cf. Hartley, Uses; Hartley and McWilliam; Burgess; Meadows; Lundby). As Hartley points out digital storytelling has become such a compelling medium in which to record stories in communities because it "fills a gap between everyday cultural practice and professional media" (Uses 122). As a means of creating narratives digital storytelling has proven to be a significant mode, due in part to its ability to reach a large number of people relatively easily. The rise of digital storytelling partially mirrors the broad shift towards more participatory online culture that privileges user generated content and ordinary voices over official content. The origins of digital storytelling lie in a response to the absence of "ordinary" voices in mainstream media and policy making and grew with the increasing affordability of digital technology. The potential for social inclusion and participation along with the promise of self-representation is implicit in the discourse surrounding digital storytelling. "The ability to express oneself in digital media and in the case of digital storytelling using digital video editing, has become a central literary for full participation in society" (Lambert 85). Social Inclusion in an Australian context is defined by the Australian Government as all Australians feeling valued and having "the opportunity to participate fully in the life of our society. Achieving this vision means that all Australians will have the resources, opportunities and capability to" learn, work, engage in the community and have a voice (Social Inclusion Unit). The aims articulated by Lambert in the previous paragraph and the philosophy of social inclusion and the belief that individual stories have the capacity to impact on national agendas and policy lay at the heart of the digital storytelling project outlined later in this paper. The Forgotten Australians As cohort the Forgotten Australians are defined as individuals who were removed from their families, or were orphaned or child immigrants from the United Kingdom. These children were placed in institutions where they suffered abuse or neglect between 1930 and 1970, and it is estimated that up approximately 500,000 children were placed in out of home care during this time. In November 2009 the Australian Parliament delivered a bi-partisan apology to the Forgotten Australians for the pain and suffering they experienced in church and state run institutions. The stories of the Forgotten Australians were beginning to make their way into the consciousness of the Australian public in the lead up to the apology through documentaries on the national broadcasting service and stories in the mainstream media. Like most large groups the demographic of the Forgotten Australians is diverse, within those who identify as part of this group are successful and well-known Australians, along with ordinary Australians many of whom have struggled significantly as a direct result of their childhood experiences. Those involved in this project were considered to be individuals who were quite profoundly marginalised in mainstream society. A number lived with mental illness, the majority lacked stable housing and all had been severely emotionally, physically and sexually abused during their time in State or Church run institutions as children. The apology to the Forgotten Australians was preceded many years of advocacy and activism by community groups and individuals. They utilised personal stories, the digitisation of records and as the apology drew closer a number of digital storytelling projects to bring the personal narratives into the public arena in the hope of affecting change. Stories from these projects were broadcast across a variety of platforms such as YouTube, the websites for the major advocacy groups and community organisations and more recently the National Library Australia website. The stories differed from site to site and served different functions depending on the place from which they were disseminated. Hildebrand identifies the role of YouTube as a site for the intersection of personal experience, popular culture and historical narratives, and, as such, a vehicle for cultural memory "allow[ing] users to seek out the media texts that have shaped them and that would otherwise be forgotten in 'objective' histories" (54). YouTube videos relevant to the Forgotten Australians ranged from locally made stories and documentation, news items and presentations recorded by major organisations, but uploaded by individuals, and also those posted by these institutions themselves. A notable feature of all of these contributions is their role in the representation of witnesses' stories. In the case of reports on Forgotten Australians from major news organisations the commentary they attracted was largely from those who identified as fellow forgotten Australians attesting to—and corroborating—the interviewees' stories. Whether they were posted by survivors themselves or by mainstream media or other institutions, they exhibited a unity around a particular will to memory: setting the record straight through testimony. Here, the clips and posts were characterised by the provision of information as evidence for the assertion of cultural trauma as a shared experience and focus of identification (Adkins et al. 15). Storytelling functions as one of our most powerful forms for experiencing, expressing, and enacting sorrow and pain...it is pivotal in the process of sense making, allowing individuals to cope with chaotic, equivocal, and confusing conditions of everyday life, including illness and suffering. (152) Advocacy and community groups such as CLAN were focused on creating a sense of community amongst survivors with no story or artefact too small or insignificant to be included, which differed slightly from the agenda of the National Library of Australia—the institution of public memory that has been most closely involved in recording and disseminating the stories of the Forgotten Australians. The Forgotten Australians and Former Child Migrants Oral History Project conducted by the National Library Australia was one of the recommendations of the two Senate Community Affairs References Committee reports following the Senate Inquiries and receives funding from the Commonwealth Department of Families, Housing, Community Services and Indigenous Affairs. According to the National Library Australia website, this oral history project will run for three years and aims to document a rounded history of the experiences of the children in institutional care and the lifelong impact of these experiences on their lives and their families. This project will also interview a selection of advocates, and allied professionals including welfare officers, employees of institutions and administrators. (Project Team) In many important ways the purposes served in this project were those of the governments—previous and present, which was to capture and keep the stories, memories, documents and artefacts, and to share the officially selected stories with the rest of the nation, and those stories would support and affirm the government's roadmap for moving on from the apology. These digital storytelling projects, to varying degrees and levels of impact, served to provide the public with the personal narratives behind the issue being presented in the media and by advocacy groups as a large scale issue concerning hundreds of thousands of victims. Although the sheer size of the numbers of children affected was confronting, it was the personal stories that created a momentum towards the public apology. The findings of both Senate Inquiries recommended a formal apology; however this did not occur until the individual experiences of the Forgotten Australians were translated and represented in narratives and, through this, the construction of a sense of cultural memory resulting in formal recognition. Many Australians were sceptical about the importance of a public apology to the Forgotten Australians, as they had been of the apology to the Stolen Generation in 2008. To be a genuine act of reconciliation an apology requires the act of listening as much as speaking, fittingly Prime Minister Rudd quoted predominantly from personal oral history testimonies that had been collected over the years and that were of public record, but had not been digitally accessible to all, as many stories now are in the Bringing Them Home report. The Case Study In August 2009 I was funded by the Australasian Centre for Interactive Design (ACID) to conduct a series of digital storytelling and writing workshops in conjunction with Micah Projects, a community building and social justice organisation based in Brisbane. Micah delivers services for people experiencing homelessness, runs programmes for young mothers and is responsible for the Historical Abuse Network which is a network servicing the Forgotten Australians. After some discussion with the CEO of Micah it was decided that the clients involved with the Historical Abuse Network would benefit most from this project. Many of the participants had been involved in the 2003 senate inquiry into the treatment of children in institutional care. In the intervening years they had told the story of their abuse many times in official contexts and provided statements of harm for the inquiry. However, for this project we wanted to encourage the participants to create stories that allowed them some agency in their own lives rather, to re-claim some of their story from the official framework of abuse, and to use digital storytelling as a tool for this. The participants were between 45 and 65 in age, and were divided equally between women and men. There were a number of complexities inherent in this project, some of which were specific to this particular cohort and some specific to all marginalised individuals and groups. The most significant problem arose out the expectation that the "authors" will bring with them photographs and keepsakes from their lives to use in the stories. Many of the participants did not have photographs of their childhoods or of their families; some did not know how old they were (in many institutions all birthdays were celebrated on a single day, and consequently most lost track of their age and birth date) or had not had contact with their biological family for decades and as a result had few keepsakes. These hallmarks of legitimate biography were absent from their pasts and their presents. The combination of these factors meant that for many the ability to create a coherent narrative about their life or to feel ownership over their life had been seriously compromised. However, it became apparent that by using sounds and images in the digital story the technology was able to create a materiality out of memory for the participants. As it became clearer that the foundation of the stories was memory rather than a narrative arc, the more it became imperative to embrace the fragmentation, inconsistency and incoherence of the memories, and to incorporate these aspects into the digital stories. Instead of being easy to follow or emotionally satisfying narratives, some of the stories had much more in common with what is referred to in psychology and health frameworks as "chaos narratives". A chaos narrative has a sense of disconnected events characterised by a lack of closure and the presence of day-to-day uncertainty (Harter 4). Often such stories seem too incoherent to be told and too painful to be heard by others, as was certainly the case with some of the stories created for this project. Conclusion The Finding a Voice digital storytelling project led by Professor Jo Tacchi aligns with the aims of this project in its social innovation, and the role of storytelling and voice as having the genuine potential to impact on the understanding of poverty and disadvantage. Tacchi states that it "is an approach that allows those who are living in conditions that might constitute 'poverty' to tell those who are not what this experience is like, in their own words. Such an approach might challenge our 'expert' conceptions of poverty itself" (170), and confront mainstream or approved versions of social issues. Carabas posits that the agency embedded in the narrative act reforms or reframes the meanings of events through counter narratives and the act of telling transformed personal and social suffering. Those who had been objects of other's reports started to tell their own stories and rewrite official history in the first person singular (154). For the Forgotten Australians, those involved in this project and in similar ones the opportunity to tell their stories in their own words allowed them to push past the detached, impersonal representation of their experiences. Instead they could re-position the debate to being about individuals and the effect of government policy on their lives, and in doing so agitate for a formal apology. Storytelling and narrative as a research methodology, and as a way of knowing, is continuing to be refined by social and cultural researchers and by community organisations. Despite the emerging and nebulous nature of this field one thing is clear: our human desire to tell stories has the ability to be harnessed to build narratives which create understanding and insight and consequently demand that as communities and nations we respond to injustice and disadvantage accordingly. References Adkins, Barbara, Donna Hancox, and Helen Klaebe. "The Role of the Internet and Digital Technologies in the Struggle for Recognition of the Forgotten Australians." Proceedings of the A Decade in Internet Time: OII Symposium on the Dynamics of the Internet and Society, 21-24 September 2011. Oxford U of Oxford, 2011: 1-23. Burgess, Jean. "Hearing Ordinary Voices: Cultural Studies, Vernacular Creativity and Digital Storytelling." Continuum 20.2 (2006): 201-14. Carabas, Teodora, and Lynn Harter. "State-Induced Illness and Forbidden Stories: The Role of Storytelling in Healing, Individual and Social Traumas in Romania." Narratives, Health and Healing. Eds. Lynn Harter, Linda Japp, and Christina Beck. New York: Taylor and Francis, 2005. 149-69. Harter, Lynn, Linda Japp, and Christina Beck, eds. Narratives, Health & Healing. New York: Taylor & Francis. 2005. Hartley, John. "TV Stories: From Representation to Productivity." Story Circle: Digital Storytelling around the World. Eds. John Hartley and Kelly McWilliam. Oxford: Blackwell, 2009. 16-37.———. Uses of Digital Literacy. St. Lucia: U of Queensland P. 2009. Hildebrand, Lucas. "YouTube: Where Cultural Memory and Copyright Converge." Film Quarterly 61.1 (2007): 48-57. Kansteiner, Wolf. "Finding Meaning in Memory: A Methodological Critique of Collective Memory Studies." History & Theory 41 (2002): 179-97. Klaebe, Helen, and Jean Burgess. "Mediatisation and Institutions of Public Memory: Digital Storytelling and the Apology." Australian Historical Studies 41 (2002): 149-65. Lambert, Joe. "Where It All Started: The Centre of Digital Storytelling in California." Story Circle: Digital Storytelling around the World. Eds. John Hartley and Kelly McWilliam. Oxford: Blackwell, 2010. 79-90. Lundby, Kunt. Digital Storytelling, Mediatized Stories: Self-Representations in New Media. New York: Peter Lang, 2008. Meadows, Daniel. "Digital Storytelling - Research Based Practice in New Media." Visual Communication 2.2 (2003): 189-93. McWilliam, Kelly. "The Global Diffusion of a Community Media Practice: Digital Storytelling Online." Eds. John Hartley and Kelly McWilliam. Oxford: Blackwell, 2010. 37-77. Project Team. "Forgotten Australians and Former Child Migrants Oral History Project." National Library of Australia. 16 Sep. 2011 ‹http://www.nla.gov.au/oral-history/forgotten-australians-and-former-child-migrants-oral-history-project›. Social Inclusion Unit. "The Social Inclusion Agenda." Social Inclusion. Australian Government, 2011. 19 Sep. 2011 ‹http://www.socialinclusion.gov.au/›. Tacchi, Jo. "Finding a Voice: Participatory Development in Southeast Asia." Story Circle: Digital Storytelling around the World. Eds. John Hartley and Kelly McWilliam. Oxford: Blackwell, 2009. 167-75.

In the Philippines, many people would think that items made in other countries have better quality and are more desirable.More recently, with numerous goods coming from nearby countries also having built their reputation for similar or even betterquality – for example, those coming from Japan, Taiwan and more lately, China – goods from these countries are now alsopopular. But it remains unusual that we would generally prefer local brands, i.e., those made in the Philippines.When it comes to using scientific evidence as basis for local medical practice, it should be argued that high quality localdata is superior and should be used. After all, it is derived from our countrymen who may have a different disease biology and/or natural history, sociocultural determinants, as well as clinical practices. It is unfortunate, however, that such local data arenot always available. Even if it exists, it is also not easily accessible. In this, and other issues of Acta Medica Philippina, we see some of the efforts being made by our colleagues to look intothis local experience. They offer varied insights into how global diseases are manifested locally: are there differences that weshould be aware of? As far back as 2006, the Philippine Council for Health Research and Development (PCHRD) has already facilitatedthe creation of a National Unified Health Research Agenda (NUHRA) which is reviewed every five years to identifyresearch priorities in the Philippines.1 In its latest iteration, the 2017-2022 NUHRA prioritizes among others, the holisticapproach to health and wellness that aims to produce evidence geared towards the application and recognition of traditional,sociocultural, and alternative approaches to health.2 The study by Sanico and Medina in this issue highlights this objective.It looked into the potential health benefits and risks of an indigenous fermented rice wine called tapuy. Utilizing a modernbiotechnology technique called metagenomic sequencing, the authors found significant presence of probiotic bacteria thatcan be explored for health applications. However, they also detected the presence of harmful bacteria which may indicate theneed for possible standardization of the fermentation practices. The Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS) has long plagued the global landscape ever since it was first describedin 1981.3 Because cases have not been described previously, AIDS with its increasing numbers, was soon labeled as anepidemic.4,5 In the Philippines, the HIV/AIDS epidemic has been a fairly more recent one.6-9 Sadly, our country is nowidentified as one with the fastest growing HIV epidemic in the Western Pacific.10 Identifying perceptions of the generalcommunity, especially the high risk populations, can go a long way in curtailing the rising numbers.11 The article by Jamesand colleagues looked further into this by evaluating the knowledge, attitudes and practices on prevention and transmission ofHIV/AIDS among college students in Pampanga, Philippines. The participants were found to have a low knowledge of HIV/AIDS, but had a good attitude toward HIV positive individuals. The authors recommended that education on HIV/AIDScould help control the local epidemic. The study by Rogelio and Santiago looked into screening for retinopathy in patients with gestational diabetes mellitus(GDM). Their data did not support screening to be done in this population. A study had previously reported that GDM has aprevalence of 14% in the Philippines making GDM a disease that is worth addressing.12 On a related note, several internationalguidelines define how GDM can be diagnosed.13 The Philippine Obstetrics and Gynecology Society advocates for a one-stepapproach (a single OGTT using a 75-g anhydrous glucose load with fasting blood sugar ≥92 mg/dL, and a 2-hour level of<126 mg/dL). The one-step approach may be more convenient for patients as it also needs a single visit. A recent report fromAustralia, which also follows a one-step screening process, showed at least a 25% overdiagnosis and its consequent need forfurther testing and the patient anxiety that goes with it.14 An earlier US study also showed 50% more women diagnosed withGDM using the one-step approach compared to a two-step one.15 To be fair, the US study, similar to another one done alsoin Australia, showed no significant differences in the pregnancy outcomes between the two approaches.16 Although a localstudy identified numerical differences in pregnancy outcomes (e.g., risk for primary caesarean section, large for gestational ageinfants, etc.) comparing the two criteria, these were not found to be statistically significant.13 Perhaps there is a need to lookinto this matter again using larger cohorts. As the Philippines gears up for Universal Healthcare, the outcomes of screeningfor GDM can become even more important. The article by Arcilla, et al., on validation of foreign instruments to assess disease and treatment outcomes representsanother area where local data is needed.17 Such validation seeks to investigate whether an instrument developed elsewhere willlikewise yield accurate – and comparable – data for which it was intended. The BREAST-Q is a patient-reported outcomeinstrument designed to evaluate outcomes among women undergoing different types of breast surgery.18 The authors foundhigh internal consistency, test-retest reliability, and acceptability. But there was only low to moderate construct validity inthe Filipino cohort. Among other findings, the authors report respondents having difficulty in understanding some languagetranslations, and even negative reactions to some of the questions. The authors recommend further studies with a largernumber of respondents including those who have undergone nipple reconstruction. The initial results also note that it may bebetter to interpret the “sexual well-being” subscale separately because of the influence that culture may play. The study of Manalili, et al. looked into hemoperfusion as an intervention for COVID-19. The authors report a highmortality and a long length of hospital stay. To put this into perspective, the period of study was from April to September 2020,early in the pandemic period when little is relatively known about the disease. Since then, we know more about COVID-19,with vaccination and anti-virals being available that could alter the disease severity. As of December 2021, local experts donot recommend the use of hemoperfusion among patients diagnosed with COVID-19 mostly because of low certainty ofevidence.19 The option to use it in COVID-19 patients with clinical deterioration despite standard medical therapy includingtocilizumab is however still suggested. The study published here would have been more interesting if there was a comparisonof the outcomes with a similar group who did not undergo hemoperfusion. But it certainly illustrates how generating localdata and local experience goes a long way in examining relevant medical practice/s in our Philippine setting. Case reports help to enhance clinical knowledge by describing the profile and management of patients who have anuncommon or rare disease or may have presented atypically.20-22 We have the opportunity in this issue to share four of theserare cases. The report submitted by Terencio, et al. on the combination of COVID-19 and Guillain-Barre syndrome (GBS)allows us better understanding of COVID-19 and its neurologic complications. As we continue to gain more importantinformation on COVID-19, describing the possibility of GBS as a possible consequence can help clinicians anticipate additionaltreatments as in this case. The same is true for the report submitted by Ablaza and Salonga-Quimpo on abdominal dyskinesia(with its more colorful description as “belly dancer dyskinesia”). Then we have the case of SOLAMEN syndrome, reported by Maceda and colleagues. This case is more dramatic in thatit presents with disfigurement of the patient. Its management is more nuanced as it requires a multidisciplinary approachto address all the affected body parts.23,24 Unfortunately, it also has a strong genetic component as well as predilection tomalignancy which would require longer-term care. Another genetic disease, X-linked dystonia parkinsonism, is likewisereported in this issue in the article by Jamora and others. It is a rare movement disorder that is highly prevalent in Panay Islandin the Philippines.25-28 All cases described so far have been linked to Filipino ancestry, suggesting a single genetic founder andgenetic homogeneity. Although extremely rare globally, the prevalence of XDP in the Philippines is 0.31 per 100,000; and inPanay Island, 5.74 per 100,000. Ninety-five percent of affected individuals are males; the average age is 44 years (20–70 years);and the average age at onset is 39 years (12–64 years).27 Cases in patients of Filipino descent have been described in othercountries.29 The report published here is of particular interest as it is the first time the procedure called Unilateral TranscranialMagnetic Resonance-guided Focused Ultrasound Pallidothalamic Tractotomy has been tried for this condition; a conditionwhich leads to significant progressive disability but no definite treatment.27 All of these case reports may well be the first ones in the Philippines and we have it published here in Acta MedicaPhilippina. I am certain there will be many more insightful studies done locally that will be published – and had been published – inthis journal. These are testament to the recognition that even as we are able to think following the highest global standards,we are also able to act (and do studies) locally in ways that are beneficial to our own Philippine community. Joven Jeremius Q. Tanchuco, MD, MHA Department of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology College of Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila REFERENCES1. Philippine National Health Research System. National Unified Health Research Agenda 2017-2022 [Internet]. [cited 2022 Sep 9]. Available from: https://www.healthresearch.ph/index.php/nuhra2. National Unified Health Research Agenda 2017-2022. Philippine National Health Research System [Internet]. [cited 2022 Sep 9].Available from: https://doh.gov.ph/sites/default/files/publications/NUHRA.pdf3. Schmid S. The Discovery of HIV-1. Nature Communications [Internet]. [cited 2022 Sep 9]. Available from: https://www.nature.com/articles/d42859-018-00003-x#:~:text=In%201983%2C%20Luc%20Montagnier’s%20team,AIDS)%2C%20such%20as%20lymphadenopathy.4. Curran JW, Jaffe HW, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). AIDS: the early years and CDC’s response. MMWR Suppl.2011 Oct; 60(4):64-9.5. Sencer DJ. The AIDS Epidemic in the United States, 1981-early 1990s. Centers of Disease Control and Prevention [Internet]. [cited2022 Sep 12]. Available from: https://www.cdc.gov/museum/online/story-of-cdc/aids/index.html6. Restar A, Nguyen M, Nguyen K, Adia A, Nazareno J, Yoshioka E, et al. Trends and emerging directions in HIV risk and prevention researchin the Philippines: A systematic review of the literature. PLoS One. 2018 Dec;13(12):e0207663. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.02076637. Adia AC, Bermudez ANC, Callahan MW, Hernandez LI, Imperial RH, Operario D. “An Evil Lurking Behind You”: Drivers, Experiences,and Consequences of HIV-Related Stigma Among Men Who Have Sex With Men With HIV in Manila, Philippines. AIDS Educ Prev.2018 Aug;30(4):322-334. doi: 10.1521/aeap.2018.30.4.3228. Mateo R Jr, Sarol JN Jr, Poblete R. HIV/AIDS in the Philippines. AIDS Educ Prev. 2004 Jun;16(3 Suppl A):43-52. doi: 10.1521/aeap.16.3.5.43.355199. Farr AC, Wilson DP. An HIV epidemic is ready to emerge in the Philippines. J Int AIDS Soc. 2010 Apr;13:16. doi: 10.1186/1758-2652-13-1610. Cousins S. The fastest growing HIV epidemic in the western Pacific. Lancet HIV. 2018 Aug;5(8):e412-e413. doi: 10.1016/S2352-3018(18)30182-611. de Lind van Wijngaarden JW, Ching AD, Settle E, van Griensven F, Cruz RC, Newman PA. “I am not promiscuous enough!”: Exploringthe low uptake of HIV testing by gay men and other men who have sex with men in Metro Manila, Philippines. PLoS One. 2018Jul;13(7):e0200256. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.020025612. Litonjua AD, Waspadji S, Pheng CS, Phin KL, Deerochanowong C, Gomez MHS, et al. AFES Study Group on Diabetes in Pregnancy.Philipp J Intern Med. 1996 Mar-Apr; 34(2):67-68.13. Urbanozo H, Isip-Tan IT. 2014. Association of Gestational Diabetes Mellitus Diagnosed using the IADPSG and the POGS 75-gramOral Glucose Tolerance Test Cut-off Values with Adverse Perinatal Outcomes in the Philippine General Hospital. J ASEAN Fed EndocrSoc. 2014;29(2):157-162. doi: 10.15605/jafes.029.02.0914. Doust JA, Glasziou PP, dʼEmden MC. A large trial of screening for gestational diabetes mellitus in the United States highlights theneed to revisit the Australian diagnostic criteria. Med J Aust. 2022 Feb;216(3):113-115. doi: 10.5694/mja2.5138815. Hillier TA, Pedula KL, Ogasawara KK, Vesco KK, Oshiro CES, Lubarsky SL, et al. A Pragmatic, Randomized Clinical Trial ofGestational Diabetes Screening. N Engl J Med. 2021 Mar;384(10): 895-904. doi: 10.1056/NEJMoa202602816. Meloncelli NJL, Barnett AG, D’Emden M, De Jersey SJ. Effects of Changing Diagnostic Criteria for Gestational Diabetes Mellitus inQueensland, Australia. Obstet Gynecol. 2020 May;135(5):1215-1221. doi: 10.1097/AOG.000000000000379017. Elangovan N, Sundaravel E. Method of preparing a document for survey instrument validation by experts. MethodsX. 2021 Apr;8:101326. doi: 10.1016/j.mex.2021.10132618. BREAST-Q User’s Manual Version 2.0 May 2015. Copyright © 2012 Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center [Internet]. [cited 2022Sep 12]. Available from: https://www.rcseng.ac.uk › breastq-usermanual-2015.19. Philippine COVID-19 Living Clinical Practice Guidelines. Institute of Clinical Epidemiology, National Institutes of Health, UP Manilaand the Philippine Society of Microbiology and Infectious Diseases [Internet]. [cited 2022 Sep 1]. Available from: https://www.psmid.org/hemoperfusion-evidence-summary-2/20. Ortega-Loubon C, Culquichicón C, Correa R. The Importance of Writing and Publishing Case Reports During Medical Training.Cureus. 2017 Dec;9(12):e1964. doi: 10.7759/cureus.196421. Case Reports. CARE Case Report Guidelines [Internet]. [cited 2022 Sep 12]. Available from: https://www.care-statement.org/case-reports22. Carey JC. The importance of case reports in advancing scientific knowledge of rare diseases. Adv Exp Med Biol. 2010; 686:77-86.doi: 10.1007/978-90-481-9485-8_523. Caux F, Plauchu H, Chibon F, Faivre L, Fain O, Vabres P, et al. Segmental overgrowth, lipomatosis, arteriovenous malformation andepidermal nevus (SOLAMEN) syndrome is related to mosaic PTEN nullizygosity. Eur J Hum Genet. 2007 Jul;15(7):767-73. doi: 10.1038/sj.ejhg.520182324. Gupta SK, Sushantika, Abdelmaksoud A. Isolated SOLAMEN Syndrome. Indian J Dermatol. 2021 Sep-Oct; 66(5):561-563. doi:10.4103/ijd.IJD_675_20.25. Domingo A, Westenberger A, Lee LV, Braenne I, Liu T, Vater I, et al. New insights into the genetics of X-linked dystonia-parkinsonism(XDP, DYT3). Eur J Hum Genet. 2015 Oct;23(10):1334-40. doi: 10.1038/ejhg.2014.29226. Lee LV, Munoz EL, Tan KT, Reyes MT. Sex linked recessive dystonia parkinsonism of Panay, Philippines (XDP). Mol Pathol. 2001Dec;54(6):362-368.27. Lee LV, Rivera C, Teleg RA, Dantes MB, Pasco PMD, Jamora RDG, et al. The unique phenomenology of sex-linked dystonia parkinsonism(XDP, DYT3, “Lubag”). Int J Neurosci. 2011;121 Suppl 1:3-11. doi: 10.3109/00207454.2010.52672828. Wilhelmsen KC, Weeks DE, Nygaard TG, Moskowitz CB, Rosales RL, dela Paz DC, et al. Genetic mapping of “Lubag” (X-linkeddystonia-parkinsonism) in Filipino kindred to the pericentromeric region of the X chromosome. Ann Neurol. 1991 Feb;29(2):124-31.doi: 10.1002/ana.41029020329. Rosales RL. X-linked dystonia parkinsonism: clinical phenotype, genetics and therapeutics. J Mov Disord. 2010 Oct;3(2):32–8. doi:10.14802/jmd.10009.

Introduction Ireland did not have a tradition of printed cookbooks prior to the 20th century. As a consequence, Irish culinary manuscripts from before this period are an important primary source for historians. This paper makes the case that the manuscripts are a unique way of accessing voices that have quotidian concerns seldom heard above the dominant narratives of conquest, colonisation and famine (Higgins; Dawson). Three manuscripts are examined to see how they contribute to an understanding of Irish social and culinary history. The Irish banking crisis of 2008 is a reminder that comments such as the one in the title of this paper may be more then a casual remark, indicating rather an underlying anxiety. Equally important is the evidence in the manuscripts that Ireland had a domestic culinary tradition sited within the culinary traditions of the British Isles. The terms “vernacular”, representing localised needs and traditions, and “polite”, representing stylistic features incorporated for aesthetic reasons, are more usually applied in the architectural world. As terms, they reflect in a politically neutral way the culinary divide witnessed in the manuscripts under discussion here. Two of the three manuscripts are anonymous, but all are written from the perspective of a well-provisioned house. The class background is elite and as such these manuscripts are not representative of the vernacular, which in culinary terms is likely to be a tradition recorded orally (Gold). The first manuscript (NLI, Tervoe) and second manuscript (NLI, Limerick) show the levels of impact of French culinary influence through their recipes for “cullis”. The Limerick manuscript also opens the discussion to wider social concerns. The third manuscript (NLI, Baker) is unusual in that the author, Mrs. Baker, goes to great lengths to record the provenance of the recipes and as such the collection affords a glimpse into the private “polite” world of the landed gentry in Ireland with its multiplicity of familial and societal connections. Cookbooks and Cuisine in Ireland in the 19th Century During the course of the 18th century, there were 136 new cookery book titles and 287 reprints published in Britain (Lehmann, Housewife 383). From the start of the 18th to the end of the 19th century only three cookbooks of Irish, or Anglo-Irish, authorship have been identified. The Lady’s Companion: or Accomplish’d Director In the whole Art of Cookery was published in 1767 by John Mitchell in Skinner-Row, under the pseudonym “Ceres,” while the Countess of Caledon’s Cheap Receipts and Hints on Cookery: Collected for Distribution Amongst the Irish Peasantry was printed in Armagh by J. M. Watters for private circulation in 1847. The modern sounding Dinners at Home, published in London in 1878 under the pseudonym “Short”, appears to be of Irish authorship, a review in The Irish Times describing it as being written by a “Dublin lady”, the inference being that she was known to the reviewer (Farmer). English Copyright Law was extended to Ireland in July 1801 after the Act of Union between Great Britain and Ireland in 1800 (Ferguson). Prior to this, many titles were pirated in Ireland, a cause of confusion alluded to by Lehmann when she comments regarding the Ceres book that it “does not appear to be simply a Dublin-printed edition of an English book” (Housewife 403). This attribution is based on the dedication in the preface: “To The Ladies of Dublin.” From her statement that she had a “great deal of experience in business of this kind”, one may conclude that Ceres had worked as a housekeeper or cook. Cheap Receipts and Hints on Cookery was the second of two books by Catherine Alexander, Countess of Caledon. While many commentators were offering advice to Irish people on how to alleviate their poverty, in Friendly Advice to Irish Mothers on Training their Children, Alexander was unusual in addressing her book specifically to its intended audience (Bourke). In this cookbook, the tone is of a practical didactic nature, the philosophy that of enablement. Given the paucity of printed material, manuscripts provide the main primary source regarding the existence of an indigenous culinary tradition. Attitudes regarding this tradition lie along the spectrum exemplified by the comments of an Irish journalist, Kevin Myers, and an eminent Irish historian, Louis Cullen. Myers describes Irish cuisine as a “travesty” and claims that the cuisine of “Old Ireland, in texture and in flavour, generally resembles the cinders after the suttee of a very large, but not very tasty widow”, Cullen makes the case that Irish cuisine is “one of the most interesting culinary traditions in Europe” (141). It is not proposed to investigate the ideological standpoints behind the various comments on Irish food. Indeed, the use of the term “Irish” in this context is fraught with difficulty and it should be noted that in the three manuscripts proposed here, the cuisine is that of the gentry class and representative of a particular stratum of society more accurately described as belonging to the Anglo-Irish tradition. It is also questionable how the authors of the three manuscripts discussed would have described themselves in terms of nationality. The anxiety surrounding this issue of identity is abating as scholarship has moved from viewing the cultural artifacts and buildings inherited from this class, not as symbols of an alien heritage, but rather as part of the narrative of a complex country (Rees). The antagonistic attitude towards this heritage could be seen as reaching its apogee in the late 1950s when the then Government minister, Kevin Boland, greeted the decision to demolish a row of Georgian houses in Dublin with jubilation, saying that they stood for everything that he despised, and describing the Georgian Society, who had campaigned for their preservation, as “the preserve of the idle rich and belted earls” (Foster 160). Mac Con Iomaire notes that there has been no comprehensive study of the history of Irish food, and the implications this has for opinions held, drawing attention to the lack of recognition that a “parallel Anglo-Irish cuisine existed among the Protestant elite” (43). To this must be added the observation that Myrtle Allen, the doyenne of the Irish culinary world, made when she observed that while we have an Irish identity in food, “we belong to a geographical and culinary group with Wales, England, and Scotland as all counties share their traditions with their next door neighbour” (1983). Three Irish Culinary Manuscripts The three manuscripts discussed here are held in the National Library of Ireland (NLI). The manuscript known as Tervoe has 402 folio pages with a 22-page index. The National Library purchased the manuscript at auction in December 2011. Although unattributed, it is believed to come from Tervoe House in County Limerick (O’Daly). Built in 1776 by Colonel W.T. Monsell (b.1754), the Monsell family lived there until 1951 (see, Fig. 1). The house was demolished in 1953 (Bence-Jones). William Monsell, 1st Lord Emly (1812–94) could be described as the most distinguished of the family. Raised in an atmosphere of devotion to the Union (with Great Britain), loyalty to the Church of Ireland, and adherence to the Tory Party, he converted in 1850 to the Roman Catholic religion, under the influence of Cardinal Newman and the Oxford Movement, changing his political allegiance from Tory to Whig. It is believed that this change took place as a result of the events surrounding the Great Irish Famine of 1845–50 (Potter). The Tervoe manuscript is catalogued as 18th century, and as the house was built in the last quarter of the century, it would be reasonable to surmise that its conception coincided with that period. It is a handsome volume with original green vellum binding, which has been conserved. Fig. 1. Tervoe House, home of the Monsell family. In terms of culinary prowess, the scope of the Tervoe manuscript is extensive. For the purpose of this discussion, one recipe is of particular interest. The recipe, To make a Cullis for Flesh Soups, instructs the reader to take the fat off four pounds of the best beef, roast the beef, pound it to a paste with crusts of bread and the carcasses of partridges or other fowl “that you have by you” (NLI, Tervoe). This mixture should then be moistened with best gravy, and strong broth, and seasoned with pepper, thyme, cloves, and lemon, then sieved for use with the soup. In 1747 Hannah Glasse published The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy. The 1983 facsimile edition explains the term “cullis” as an Anglicisation of the French word coulis, “a preparation for thickening soups and stews” (182). The coulis was one of the essential components of the nouvelle cuisine of the 18th century. This movement sought to separate itself from “the conspicuous consumption of profusion” to one where the impression created was one of refinement and elegance (Lehmann, Housewife 210). Reactions in England to this French culinary innovation were strong, if not strident. Glasse derides French “tricks”, along with French cooks, and the coulis was singled out for particular opprobrium. In reality, Glasse bestrides both sides of the divide by giving the much-hated recipe and commenting on it. She provides another example of this in her recipe for The French Way of Dressing Partridges to which she adds the comment: “this dish I do not recommend; for I think it an odd jumble of thrash, by that time the Cullis, the Essence of Ham, and all other Ingredients are reckoned, the Partridges will come to a fine penny; but such Receipts as this, is what you have in most Books of Cookery yet printed” (53). When Daniel Defoe in The Complete English Tradesman of 1726 criticised French tradesmen for spending so much on the facades of their shops that they were unable to offer their customers a varied stock within, we can see the antipathy spilling over into other creative fields (Craske). As a critical strategy, it is not dissimilar to Glasse when she comments “now compute the expense, and see if this dish cannot be dressed full as well without this expense” at the end of a recipe for the supposedly despised Cullis for all Sorts of Ragoo (53). Food had become part of the defining image of Britain as an aggressively Protestant culture in opposition to Catholic France (Lehmann Politics 75). The author of the Tervoe manuscript makes no comment about the dish other than “A Cullis is a mixture of things, strained off.” This is in marked contrast to the second manuscript (NLI, Limerick). The author of this anonymous manuscript, from which the title of this paper is taken, is considerably perplexed by the term cullis, despite the manuscript dating 1811 (Fig. 2). Of Limerick provenance also, but considerably more modest in binding and scope, the manuscript was added to for twenty years, entries terminating around 1831. The recipe for Beef Stake (sic) Pie is an exact transcription of a recipe in John Simpson’s A Complete System of Cookery, published in 1806, and reads Cut some beef steaks thin, butter a pan (or as Lord Buckingham’s cook, from whom these rects are taken, calls it a soutis pan, ? [sic] (what does he mean, is it a saucepan) [sic] sprinkle the pan with pepper and salt, shallots thyme and parsley, put the beef steaks in and the pan on the fire for a few minutes then put them to cool, when quite cold put them in the fire, scrape all the herbs in over the fire and ornament as you please, it will take an hour and half, when done take the top off and put in some coulis (what is that?) [sic]. Fig. 2. Beef Stake Pie (NLI, Limerick). Courtesy of the National Library of Ireland. Simpson was cook to Lord Buckingham for at least a year in 1796, and may indeed have travelled to Ireland with the Duke who had several connections there. A feature of this manuscript are the number of Cholera remedies that it contains, including the “Rect for the cholera sent by Dr Shanfer from Warsaw to the Brussels Government”. Cholera had reached Germany by 1830, and England by 1831. By March 1832, it had struck Belfast and Dublin, the following month being noted in Cork, in the south of the country. Lasting a year, the epidemic claimed 50,000 lives in Ireland (Fenning). On 29 April 1832, the diarist Amhlaoibh Ó Súilleabháin notes, “we had a meeting today to keep the cholera from Callan. May God help us” (De Bhaldraithe 132). By 18 June, the cholera is “wrecking destruction in Ennis, Limerick and Tullamore” (135) and on 26 November, “Seed being sown. The end of the month wet and windy. The cholera came to Callan at the beginning of the month. Twenty people went down with it and it left the town then” (139). This situation was obviously of great concern and this is registered in the manuscript. Another concern is that highlighted by the recommendation that “this receipt is as good as the bank. It has been obligingly given to Mrs Hawkesworth by the chief book keeper at the Bank of Ireland” (NLI, Limerick). The Bank of Ireland commenced business at St. Mary’s Abbey in Dublin in June 1783, having been established under the protection of the Irish Parliament as a chartered rather then a central bank. As such, it supplied a currency of solidity. The charter establishing the bank, however, contained a prohibitory clause preventing (until 1824 when it was repealed) more then six persons forming themselves into a company to carry on the business of banking. This led to the formation, especially outside Dublin, of many “small private banks whose failure was the cause of immense wretchedness to all classes of the population” (Gilbert 19). The collapse that caused the most distress was that of the Ffrench bank in 1814, founded eleven years previously by the family of Lord Ffrench, one of the leading Catholic peers, based in Connacht in the west of Ireland. The bank issued notes in exchange for Bank of Ireland notes. Loans from Irish banks were in the form of paper money which were essentially printed promises to pay the amount stated and these notes were used in ordinary transactions. So great was the confidence in the Ffrench bank that their notes were held by the public in preference to Bank of Ireland notes, most particularly in Connacht. On 27 June 1814, there was a run on the bank leading to collapse. The devastation spread through society, from business through tenant farmers to the great estates, and notably so in Galway. Lord Ffrench shot himself in despair (Tennison). Williams and Finn, founded in Kilkenny in 1805, entered bankruptcy proceedings in 1816, and the last private bank outside Dublin, Delacours in Mallow, failed in 1835 (Barrow). The issue of bank failure is commented on by writers of the period, notably so in Dickens, Thackery, and Gaskill, and Edgeworth in Ireland. Following on the Ffrench collapse, notes from the Bank of Ireland were accorded increased respect, reflected in the comment in this recipe. The receipt in question is one for making White Currant Wine, with the unusual addition of a slice of bacon suspended from the bunghole when the wine is turned, for the purpose of enriching it. The recipe was provided to “Mrs Hawkesworth by the chief book keeper of the bank” (NLI, Limerick). In 1812, a John Hawkesworth, agent to Lord CastleCoote, was living at Forest Lodge, Mountrath, County Laois (Ennis Chronicle). The Coote family, although settling in County Laois in the seventeenth century, had strong connections with Limerick through a descendent of the younger brother of the first Earl of Mountrath (Landed Estates). The last manuscript for discussion is the manuscript book of Mrs Abraham Whyte Baker of Ballytobin House, County Kilkenny, 1810 (NLI, Baker). Ballytobin, or more correctly Ballaghtobin, is a townland in the barony of Kells, four miles from the previously mentioned Callan. The land was confiscated from the Tobin family during the Cromwellian campaign in Ireland of 1649–52, and was reputedly purchased by a Captain Baker, to establish what became the estate of Ballaghtobin (Fig. 3) To this day, it is a functioning estate, remaining in the family, twice passing down through the female line. In its heyday, there were two acres of walled gardens from which the house would have drawn for its own provisions (Ballaghtobin). Fig. 3. Ballaghtobin 2013. At the time of writing the manuscript, Mrs. Sophia Baker was widowed and living at Ballaghtobin with her son and daughter-in-law, Charity who was “no beauty, but tall, slight” (Herbert 414). On the succession of her husband to the estate, Charity became mistress of Ballaghtobin, leaving Sophia with time on what were her obviously very capable hands (Nevin). Sophia Baker was the daughter of Sir John Blunden of Castle Blunden and Lucinda Cuffe, daughter of the first Baron Desart. Sophia was also first cousin of the diarist Dorothea Herbert, whose mother was Lucinda’s sister, Martha. Sophia Baker and Dorothea Herbert have left for posterity a record of life in the landed gentry class in rural Georgian Ireland, Dorothea describing Mrs. Baker as “full of life and spirits” (Herbert 70). Their close relationship allows the two manuscripts to converse with each other in a unique way. Mrs. Baker’s detailing of the provenance of her recipes goes beyond the norm, so that what she has left us is not just a remarkable work of culinary history but also a palimpsest of her family and social circle. Among the people she references are: “my grandmother”; Dorothea Beresford, half sister to the Earl of Tyrone, who lived in the nearby Curraghmore House; Lady Tyrone; and Aunt Howth, the sister of Dorothea Beresford, married to William St Lawrence, Lord Howth, and described by Johnathan Swift as “his blue eyed nymph” (195). Other attributions include Lady Anne Fitzgerald, wife of Maurice Fitzgerald, 16th knight of Kerry, Sir William Parsons, Major Labilen, and a Mrs. Beaufort (Fig. 4). Fig. 4. Mrs. Beauforts Rect. (NLI, Baker). Courtesy of the National Library of Ireland. That this Mrs. Beaufort was the wife of Daniel Augustus Beaufort, mother of the hydrographer Sir Francis Beaufort, may be deduced from the succeeding recipe supplied by a Mrs. Waller. Mrs. Beaufort’s maiden name was Waller. Fanny Beaufort, the elder sister of Sir Francis, was Richard Edgeworth’s fourth wife and close friend and confidante of his daughter Maria, the novelist. There are also entries for “Miss Herbert” and “Aunt Herbert.” While the Baker manuscript is of interest for the fact that it intersects the worlds of the novelist Maria Edgeworth and the diarist Dorothea Herbert, and for the societal references that it documents, it is also a fine collection of recipes that date back to the mid-18th century. An example of this is a recipe for Sligo pickled salmon that Mrs. Baker, nee Blunden, refers to in an index that she gives to a second volume. Unfortunately this second volume is not known to be extant. This recipe features in a Blunden family manuscript of 1760 as referred to in Anelecta Hibernica (McLysaght). The recipe has also appeared in Cookery and Cures of Old Kilkenny (St. Canices’s 24). Unlike the Tervoe and Limerick manuscripts, Mrs. Baker is unconcerned with recipes for “cullis”. Conclusion The three manuscripts that have been examined here are from the period before the famine of 1845–50, known as An Gorta Mór, translated as “the big hunger”. The famine preceding this, Bliain an Áir (the year of carnage) in 1740–1 was caused by extremely cold and rainy weather that wiped out the harvest (Ó Gráda 15). This earlier famine, almost forgotten today, was more severe than the subsequent one, causing the death of an eight of the population of the island over one and a half years (McBride). These manuscripts are written in living memory of both events. Within the world that they inhabit, it may appear there is little said about hunger or social conditions beyond the walls of their estates. Subjected to closer analysis, however, it is evident that they are loquacious in their own unique way, and make an important contribution to the narrative of cookbooks. Through the three manuscripts discussed here, we find evidence of the culinary hegemony of France and how practitioners in Ireland commented on this in comparatively neutral fashion. An awareness of cholera and bank collapses have been communicated in a singular fashion, while a conversation between diarist and culinary networker has allowed a glimpse into the world of the landed gentry in Ireland during the Georgian period. References Allen, M. “Statement by Myrtle Allen at the opening of Ballymaloe Cookery School.” 14 Nov. 1983. Ballaghtobin. “The Grounds”. nd. 13 Mar. 2013. ‹http://www.ballaghtobin.com/gardens.html›. Barrow, G.L. “Some Dublin Private Banks.” Dublin Historical Record 25.2 (1972): 38–53. Bence-Jones, M. A Guide to Irish Country Houses. London: Constable, 1988. Bourke, A. Ed. Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing Vol V. Cork: Cork UP, 2002. Craske, M. “Design and the Competitive Spirit in Early and Mid 18th Century England”, Journal of Design History 12.3 (1999): 187–216. Cullen, L. The Emergence of Modern Ireland. London: Batsford, 1981. Dawson, Graham. “Trauma, Memory, Politics. The Irish Troubles.” Trauma: Life Stories of Survivors. Ed. Kim Lacy Rogers, Selma Leydesdorff and Graham Dawson. New Jersey: Transaction P, 2004. De Bhaldraithe,T. Ed. Cín Lae Amhlaoibh. Cork: Mercier P, 1979. Ennis Chronicle. 12–23 Feb 1812. 10 Feb. 2013 ‹http://astheywere.blogspot.ie/2012/12/ennis-chronicle-1812-feb-23-feb-12.html› Farmar, A. E-mail correspondence between Farmar and Dr M. Mac Con Iomaire, 26 Jan. 2011. Fenning, H. “The Cholera Epidemic in Ireland 1832–3: Priests, Ministers, Doctors”. Archivium Hibernicum 57 (2003): 77–125. Ferguson, F. “The Industrialisation of Irish Book Production 1790-1900.” The Oxford History of the Irish Book, Vol. IV The Irish Book in English 1800-1891. Ed. J. Murphy. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2011. Foster, R.F. Luck and the Irish: A Brief History of Change from 1970. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2008. Gilbert, James William. The History of Banking in Ireland. London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1836. Glasse, Hannah. The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy by a Lady: Facsimile Edition. Devon: Prospect, 1983. Gold, C. Danish Cookbooks. Seattle: U of Washington P, 2007. Herbert, D. Retrospections of an Outcast or the Life of Dorothea Herbert. London: Gerald Howe, 1929. Higgins, Michael D. “Remarks by President Michael D. Higgins reflecting on the Gorta Mór: the Great famine of Ireland.” Famine Commemoration, Boston, 12 May 2012. 18 Feb. 2013 ‹http://www.president.ie/speeches/ › Landed Estates Database, National University of Galway, Moore Institute for Research, 10 Feb. 2013 ‹http://landedestates.nuigalway.ie/LandedEstates/jsp/family-show.jsp?id=633.› Lehmann, G. The British Housewife: Cookery books, cooking and society in eighteenth-century Britain. Totnes: Prospect, 1993. ---. “Politics in the Kitchen.” 18th Century Life 23.2 (1999): 71–83. Mac Con Iomaire, M. “The Emergence, Development and Influence of French Haute Cuisine on Public Dining in Dublin Restaurants 1900-2000: An Oral History”. Vol. 2. PhD thesis. Dublin Institute of Technology. 2009. 8 Mar. 2013 ‹http://arrow.dit.ie/tourdoc/12›. McBride, Ian. Eighteenth Century Ireland: The Isle of Slaves. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 2009. McLysaght, E.A. Anelecta Hibernica 15. Dublin: Irish Manuscripts Commission, 1944. Myers, K. “Dinner is served ... But in Our Culinary Dessert it may be Korean.” The Irish Independent 30 Jun. 2006. Nevin, M. “A County Kilkenny Georgian Household Notebook.” Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 109 (1979): 5–18. (NLI) National Library of Ireland. Baker. 19th century manuscript. MS 34,952. ---. Limerick. 19th century manuscript. MS 42,105. ---. Tervoe. 18th century manuscript. MS 42,134. Ó Gráda, C. Famine: A Short History. New Jersey: Princeton UP, 2009. O’Daly, C. E-mail correspondence between Colette O’Daly, Assistant Keeper, Dept. of Manuscripts, National Library of Ireland and Dorothy Cashman. 8 Dec. 2011. Potter, M. William Monsell of Tervoe 1812-1894. Dublin: Irish Academic P, 2009. Rees, Catherine. “Irish Anxiety, Identity and Narrative in the Plays of McDonagh and Jones.” Redefinitions of Irish Identity: A Postnationalist Approach. Eds. Irene Gilsenan Nordin and Carmen Zamorano Llena. Bern: Peter Lang, 2010. St. Canice’s. Cookery and Cures of Old Kilkenny. Kilkenny: Boethius P, 1983. Swift, J. The Works of the Rev Dr J Swift Vol. XIX Dublin: Faulkner, 1772. 8 Feb. 2013. ‹http://www.google.ie/search?tbm=bks&hl=en&q=works+of+jonathan+swift+Vol+XIX+&btnG=› Tennison, C.M. “The Old Dublin Bankers.” Journal of the Cork Historical and Archeological Society 1.2 (1895): 36–9.

Staples of early United States Internet meme culture were sold via digital auctions for cryptocurrency (except one, which was sold for cash) throughout 2021. Through these transactions, Internet memes, or “the linguistic, image, audio, and video texts created, circulated, and transformed by countless cultural participants across vast networks and collectives” (Milner 1), were “minted” as non-fungible tokens—a marker within cryptocurrency economy that denotes the level of originality or irreplaceability of an (often digital) artifact (Wired). Early 2021 saw Internet memes (memes, hereafter) and non-fungible tokens (NFTs, hereafter) articulated to one another when a series of trades ignited a “buying frenzy”. In February 2021, the original animation file of the Nyan Cat meme (a rendering of a flying cat with a Pop-Tart body) was sold for 300 Ethereum, or US$600,000 (Griffith; Kay); in April 2021, the original photo file of the Disaster Girl meme (an image of a smiling child in front of a burning home) sold for 180 ETH, or nearly US$500,000 (BBC News); in May 2021, the original video file of the viral YouTube video “Charlie Bit My Finger” (wherein an infant bites the finger of their older sibling with glee) was sold for US$760,999, but no cryptocurrency was exchanged for this auction (Evans); in June 2021, the original image of the Shiba Inu who became Doge (image of a dog looking contemplative, often with text around the dog’s face) was sold for a record-breaking (for memes) 1,696.9 ETH, or US$4 million (Rosenblatt). Other notable memes were sold around this time, such as Bad Luck Brian (an unflattering school picture of a teenager who became synonymous with embarrassing social situations), Overly Attached Girlfriend (wide-eyed teenager who was portrayed as obsessive over their significant other), and Success Kid (an infant clenching their fist with a sense of achievement), but for lower prices (Wired; Dash; Gallagher). All the memes sold during this frenzy feature either animals or white individuals, and none of the creators or subjects of the original files are Black. That said, mainstream Internet culture, specifically within the United States, is predicated upon the Othering and exploitation of Black cultural production (Brock 97, 124; Benjamin). The fungible constitution of US Black culture is replete within digital cultures, from contemporary discussions of digital blackface in white use of memes featuring Black folks to express emotion (J.L. Green; Jackson, “Digital Blackface”, White Negroes) and/or using imagery featuring Black folks without permission (J.L. Green; Nakamura; Matamoros-Fernández). The advent of meme-based NFTs, however, offers new areas of inquiry into the triangulation of race, fungibility, and US digital cultures. I approach this cultural phenomenon with two general queries: What cultural and racial legacies of non/fungibility are present in the dynamics of memes becoming NFTs? What are the implications in digital media and US culture? Fungibility and Black Cultural Production As this issue explores, fungibility is a quality of interchangeable, performing persons or objects, but a turn to US Afro-pessimism illustrates how fungibility is a central quality to racialisation. (Continental African scholars coined Afro-pessimism, and its original formulation was markedly different from the US counterpart, which emerged with little to no engagement with the existing African canon. Afropessimism 1.0, as Greg Thomas names it, focusses on the postcolonial economic conditions across the continent. Importantly, there is an undergirding optimism, “the urge to positive social change”, to the inquiries into the poverty, colonial extractivism, and more; Amrah qtd. in Thomas 283; Rieff; de B’béri and Louw.) Fungibility, in US-borne Afro-pessimist literature, is used to describe (1) a major tenet of slavery wherein Black bodies are treated as interchangeable objects rather than human actors, and (2) how the afterlife of slavery continues to structure everyday experiences for Black folks (Bilge; Hartman; Wilderson, III et al.). US Afro-pessimism argues that slavery instantiated an ontological structure that articulates humanity as irreconcilable with Blackness and further articulates whiteness as for what (or whom) the Black body performs and labours (Bilge; Douglass et al.; Wilderson, III and Soong). Within the US, the fungibility of the Black body means it is always already vulnerable to and violable by “the whims of the [non-Black] world” (Wilderson, III 56; see also: Hartman; Lindsey). Indeed, Wilderson, building off Hartman, asserts, “the violence-induced fungibility of Blackness allows for its appropriation by White psyches as ‘property of enjoyment’” (89). The fungibility of Blackness aides in white “transpos[ition of Black] cultural gestures, the stuff of symbolic intervention onto another worldly good, a commodity of style” (Wilderson, III 56). This expropriation of Black digital “imaginative labour” by US white mainstream culture is part and parcel to Internet practices (Iloh; Lockett; Jackson). bell hooks argues white US mainstream culture treats Black cultural production as the “spice, [the] seasoning that can liven up the dull dish that is mainstream white culture” (21). By the same token, US white mainstream culture “desire[s] … sustained ‘labor’ … of a dark Other” that seeks to contiunously exploit fungible Black production (31). The constitutive fungibility of Blackness enriches, even if just affectively, the non-fungibility of whiteness; this parasitic relationship has extended to digital culture, with white actors extracting Black meme culture. Internet memes, until the advent of NFTs, did not necessarily provide monetary gain for the creators or original owners. For example, the creator of the iconic phrase “on fleek”, Kayla Newman (aka Peaches Monroee) is regularly discussed when considering the exploitation of Black digital culture (Parham; Maguire; Hazlehurst). The term came from a Vine of Newman hyping herself up in the front-facing camera of her smartphone—“We in this bitch! Finna get crunk. Eyebrows on fleek. Da fuq”—and quickly went viral. Maguire’s insightful analysis of Newman’s viral fame underscores the exploitation and appropriation of Black girl cultural production within the US. Maguire turns toward the legal intricacies of copyright and property as Newman sought ownership of her iconic phrase; however, Vats’s work on the legal rhetorics of intellectual property note its racial exclusivity in the US. (Moreton-Robinson traces similar white supremacist ownership within Australian contexts.) Meaning, only white actors benefit from such legal rhetorics. These forbearances point to the larger cultural legacies of fungibility that alienate Black bodies from their cultural production. US Black digital culture is alienated from the individuals who perform the imaginative labour that benefits and enriches whiteness (Wilderson, III; hooks). The legacies of mass enslavement fundamentally structured the capital and libidinal economies of US culture (Wilderson, III et al.; Spillers; Brock), therefore it stands to reason, like other forms of hegemonic ideologies, that such structuring logics of anti-Blackness are foundational to digital US culture (Benjamin; Brock; Towns; Matamoros-Fernández). Iloh, Williams, and Michele Jackson separately argue that the foundation of mainstream US Internet culture is indebted to the labour of Black users. However, as Brock argues, US Internet culture is a medium by which whiteness marks itself as the default even though Black labour, individuals, and culture are regularly exploited to perpetuate white engagement. Jackson specifically notes that the white performance of US Black culture “financially, artistically, socially, and intellectually” rewards white and other non-Black actors for demonstrating their understanding of Black cultural productions (Jackson, White Negroes 5; see also: hooks; Nakamura). Black individuals are not (fairly) compensated for this labour, even as white individuals gain clout. Newman’s term “on fleek” became a staple of US Vine and broader Internet culture, spawning a hashtag (#EyebrowsOnFleek) and being featured in multiple brand commercials (Maguire). Newman notes that she did not consider trademarking the term because she did not realise how quickly it would spread, allowing corporations and other actors to capitalise on her term free of charge (Hazlehurst; Maguire). Usage of the term became a signpost of the in-crowd within US millennial popular culture (Maguire). However, when Newman later launched a hair extensions company utilising her phrase (On Fleek Hair Extensions), she was resoundingly criticised. During a GoFundMe campaign to jumpstart the business, white digital actors accused Newman of milking her fame (Parham; Hazlehurst; Maguire). Mainstream digital actors forbade Newman’s ownership of her own labour after exploiting her creation throughout its popularity, marking her imaginative labour as fungible. These cultural dynamics exemplify of how anti-Blackness proliferates US digital culture, marking Black cultural labour as fungible and as the (shared) property of white actors. Whiteness regularly dichotomises itself against Blackness, needing the denigration and de-humanisation of Blackness to constitute whiteness’s perceived racial superiority (Wilderson, III et al.; Hartman; Thomas). Since Blackness has been constituted as fungible, alienating the labouring bodies from their production, whiteness (implicitly) constitutes itself as non-fungible. Thus, under this paradigm, white actors, their bodies, and their (property’s) cultural production are constituted as non-fungible, as the foil to fungible Blackness. Of course, anti-Blackness uses fungibility as a means of enriching whiteness, first evidenced by the logics of the Atlantic Slave Trade and extending throughout contemporary US culture. Newman’s iconic “on fleek” was easily detached from her (removing product from labourer) for the benefit of celebrities and companies. I argue that NFTs further these logics; as the next section explores, non-fungible tokens capacitate white monetisation of Black cultural labour. Non-Fungibility and Non-Black Cultural Agency The sale of meme-based NFTs offers a modern illustration of the fungibility of Black cultural production. Importantly, every seller of meme-based NFTs has been non-Black, with most being white or white-passing. NFTs, thus, seemingly give non-Black actors the agency to “reclaim” meme imagery via monetisation. Contemporary US meme culture is directly created by, influenced by, and appropriated from US Black (digital) culture (Jackson, White Negroes; Iloh; Brock; J.L. Green; Nakamura). Black cultural actors used memes largely as a space to share the joys and pains of Black US life (Brock); however, the connectivity of the Internet offered avenues for extraction and appropriation by non-Black actors (Iloh; Nakamura; J.L. Green; Matamoros-Fernández). Meme-based NFTs extend these anti-Black logics by monetising the cultural impact of certain memes. Specifically, memes are considered valuable only when minted as an NFT, which seeks to transform the fungible by a non-fungible agent. This section turns to the tensions between non-Black cultural agency over Black cultural influence within US Internet culture, using the Disaster Girl meme as an illustration. Memes, because of their participatory nature, require a certain level of fungibility to perpetuate circulation (Milner; Moreno-Almeida; Shifman). While certain digital actors proffer the original textual (e.g. #UKnowUrBlackWhen, a popular hashtag for Black users sharing experiences specific to US Black culture), graphic (e.g. Fail/Win, a popular meme genre for posting images of everyday chores tagged as Fail or Win), and/or contextual (e.g. Pepper Spray Cop, a meme genre where a police officer is pepper spraying protestors is photoshopped into different scenes) facets of a meme, these same characteristics must be manipulable for the meme to flourish (Parham; Jenkins; Huntington). Further, original creators must have an alienable relation to their cultural production, a “letting go” of the meme, so it may become part of broader cultural milieu, ever-evolving (Shifman; Jenkins). Minting memes into NFTs, however, reverses and obfuscates this cultural and imaginative labour by minting the original image. The sale of the Disaster Girl meme photograph as an NFT exhibits this erasure. The meme orginates from a photo Dave Roth took of his daughter, Zoë Roth, at a 2005 control-burn of a home in their neighbourhood (Fazio; Staff). D. Roth eventually submitted the image of his white, brown-haired daughter slyly smiling as the house burns in the background to a handful of photo contests, winning them (ibid.). The image was published online in 2008 and quickly circulated among social media platforms. Memes emerged as Internet users remixed the original image, either with text or by photoshopping Z. Roth into new disasters, thus dubbing her Disaster Girl (Green, Refinery). Since, Z. Roth’s four-year-old self has been “endlessly repurposed as a vital part of meme canon” (Fazio). Gesturing to the fungibility of meme culture, Z. Roth said she “love[s] seeing them because [she]’d never make any of them [her]self” (qtd in Fazio), meaning she (and her father) had willingly alienated themselves from the meme imagery. The agency to willingly turn over cultural production is solely attributable to non-Black bodies within the logics of fungible Blackness. Z. Roth’s non-participation did not prevent her from monetising the original meme, however. On 17 April 2021, Z. Roth sold the original photo file of the Disaster Girl meme (Fazio). Roth notes the creation and selling of an NFT is “the only thing memes can do to take control” (qtd. in Fazio). To exhibit agency of minting an NFT, Z. Roth collapses memes’ identities into the original image rather than the participation, remix, and becoming that meme culture involves. Memes, by nature, require the repeated and continual labour of digital public actors to continue circulating (Shifman; Milner; Jenkins). The stronger the meme’s circulatory impact, the more cultural heft it carries. However, the Roth family could only ever sell the original image. The minting of an NFT, for Z. Roth, “was a way for her to take control over a situation that she has felt powerless over since elementary school” (Fazio). Here, Z. Roth is further exerting non-Black agency to wilfully reclaim the previously fungible object. Ironically, the very thing Z. Roth is wanting to exert control over is what gives value to the meme in the first place. The virality and longevity of the Disaster Girl meme is its value, but given the fungibility of meme culture, this labour is easily obfuscated. As noted, memes must exhibit a certain level of fungibility to regenerate throughout digital cultures in various iterations; memes also require the fungible Black cultural production, especially within the US. Brock argues the capacity to laugh through pain or chaos is a characteristic of US Black humour and foundational to contemporary US meme humour. The Disaster Girl meme exemplifies the influences of US Black cultural humour both in the comedic frame—smiling in the face of disaster—and the composition of image—looking directly into the camera as if to break the fourth wall (Outley et al.; Brock). These facets influence the affectivity of the Disaster Girl image, or its capacity to move audiences to add their own remix to the meme. Remix is not only an inherently Black practice (Navas et al.), but it is also the lifeblood of meme culture and Internet culture more broadly. Iloh, Jackson, and Williams separately argue the proliferation of Black digital culture in the US means much of what enters mainstream US culture was shaped by Black users. Therefore, Black imaginative labour is an absent presence at the heart of Disaster Girl (or any) meme’s popularity—the popularity that made it valuable as an NFT. Minting the original image as a meme-based NFT consumes the labour of digital public actors to realise a value for the image owner. According to Cervenak, “NFTs can be seen as a tool for creators to be made whole for the work they put in” creating the original image (qtd. in Notopoulos). However, in memes the “work [being] put in”, the imaginative labour generating the memes, is that of various digital public actors. Neither the digital public actors, specifically Black public actors, nor the US Black cultural production and labour are recognised within the NFT economy. The reversion of memes back to the original image attempts to erase the Black cultural labour that generated the meme’s value. The work of digital public actors must be seen as both interchangeable and working in the service of the original “owner” of meme imagery to facilitate the trade of meme-based NFTs. Unlike Newman, Z. Roth was lauded for the monetisation of her meme-fame. Indeed, Newman’s imaginative labour needed to be obfuscated for the appropriation of “on fleek” by non-Black US culture. Z. Roth did very little labour in the invention and circulation of the Disaster Girl meme; however, her agency within anti-Black US culture created the conditions of possibility for her minting of the NFT. The dynamics of NFTs, Black US cultural labour, and anti-Blackness allow for the simultaneous obfuscation and appropriation of fungible meme-culture. Just as enslavement alienated Black bodies from the profits of their labour, NFTs similarly erase Black cultural production from the monetary benefit; NFTs (further) digitise these paradigms of anti-Blackness in US digital culture. Conclusion This essay has just barely chipped the surface on the articulations of race, fungibility, and NFTs. The arguments contained within demonstrate the legacies of fungible Blackness, which US Afro-pessimism links to the structuring logics of the Atlantic Slave Trade, and their manifestation in contemporary digital culture, specifically via meme-based NFTs. First, the essay traced the needed alienation and appropriation of Black cultural labour within US culture. Translating these practices to meme culture, the essay argues the minting of meme-based NFTs is a non-fungible agency only available to non-Black actors. There remains much to be explored, especially regarding equitable cultural practices. 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