Journal articles on the topic 'Multimedia (Art) – Preservation'

The constant development of multimedia technologies and, as a result, their rapid spread among countries around the world has been a general trend in digital art in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. This phenomenon, as practice shows, comes out top among other creative activities. With the help of multimedia technologies it is possible to optimize multimedia systems in figurative and meaningful value relations. An important role here is given to the development of a unigue multimedia “language”, which harmoniously combines technical, creative and value-oriented components.This article presents an analysis of the use of the submersive method in solving scenario-design problems for the preservation of elements of cultural heritage through the use of 3D mapping and video projection in exhibition space design and for projections onto the facades of architectural landmarks. The content of such video projections and specific characteristics of the artistic imag-es they draw upon depend on the functional purpose of the context in which the interactive work is presented. There remains a need for greater scientific understanding of the phenomenon of in-teractive art, in the interests of improving professional design practices in the preservation of cul-tural heritage works.

The paper features the multimedia means employed to arrange an interactive space in public buildings. The advancement of computer technologies contributed to the development of the multimedia kind of art, with its versatility, multiplicity, and distinctness. Multimedia art can be integrated into the design of an objective-spatial environment in two ways: mechanical (implemented through the use of kinetic art objects, or kinetic deep spatial art) and multimedia (achieved through the use of sensory technologies and the creation of interactive projections onto surfaces). The author explored the approaches to the development of objective-spatial environment through multimedia objects: an imaginative approach based on the formation of the objective-spatial environment focusing on the generation of imagery and artistic expressiveness of the interior; functional utilitarian approach contributing to the arrangement of an objective-spatial environment dominated by the functionality of objects filling the interior. The paper reasons the possibility to integrate Yevhen Lysyk’s stage design ideas with the multimedia technical means to produce an interactive dynamic design as an artistic performance within the public building. It would contribute to the preservation of artworks by the brilliant scenographer still used in contemporary repertoire, and also add to the diversity of space, make bright imagery of the interior, and underlie its functionality. Moreover, with the help of modern digital technologies, we can increase the range of supporters of Yevhen Lysyk’s art to cultivate the feeling of the beautiful and the love for genuine art.

The author chronicles the history of Mexico's Centro Nacional de las Artes (National Center for the Arts) in Mexico City, and in particular the Multimedia Center, a space dedicated to the creation and teaching of the arts and preservation of cultural heritage through the use of new technologies such as CD-ROMs, the Internet and teleconferencing, as well as exhibitions. After 10 years of operation, the Multimedia Center faces new types of challenges as the new technologies become successfully integrated into creative practice. In response to the changing environment, the center is moving toward collaborations with similar institutions internationally and toward new funding models.

The multimedia performances of the Architecture Is Art Festival explore the connections of architecture, theatre, and architecture in theatre to voice a number of concerns relating to heritage preservation and technological development, historical memory and current politics. The interrogatives raised by these performances are intimately connected with the ontology of Hong Kong identity and testify to the spirit of traveling—through cultures, media, and disciplines—and the attitude of questioning that has become synonymous with Zuni Icosahedron.

Information and multimedia technologies that have been developed during the past couple of years provided new e-tools to memory institutions (viz. museum, libraries, galleries, etc.), reviving the valuable treasure made by generation of people. Digital libraries (DLs) are such powerful contemporary tools for cultural heritage presentation, preservation and archiving. However, DLs power will increase significantly if they use mechanisms for ubiquitous sharing of their e-artefacts and they distribute attractive content in the social networks, reflecting community demands and needs. This paper presents a service for automatic sharing of iconographical artefacts and full collections from the Bulgarian Iconographical Digital Library to selected Facebook communities. In this case the service will be used for widely promotion of knowledge about East-Christian Iconographical Art and Culture, but I could be used not only for this and not only in this domain.

The development of Information Technology and Digital Humanities has brought numerous significant changes to the Cultural Heritage domain. The Digital Humanities has become a dynamic and fertile research field, and new projects and opportunities are constantly flourishing. The BYZART project perfectly fits this context. This project is coordinated by the Department of History and Cultures of the University of Bologna, embracing a wide consortium of partners from Bulgaria, Greece and Italy. It aims at enhancing Byzantine and Post-Byzantine artistic and cultural heritage within the Europeana platform. This project will enrich the existing Europeanacollections with about 75,000 new cultural and artistic multimedia objects relevant to Byzantine history and culture, including collections of digitized photos, video and audio content, and 3-D surveys and reconstructions. We have also established a liaison between the new materials and Byzantine-related content already existing on Europeana. The archival material collected and digitized by the BYZART consortium is of the greatest cultural and art-historical importance, but until now, it has not been properly evaluated or published. For this reason, BYZART aims to guarantee the preservation and evaluation of significant cultural heritage objects from a wide range of contexts, while also making them accessible to scholarly and general audiences alike.

Multimedia archives face the problem of obsolescing and degrading analogue media (e.g., speech and music recordings and video art). In response, researchers in the field have recently begun studying ad hoc tools for the preservation and access of historical analogue documents. This paper investigates the active preservation process of audio tape recordings, specifically focusing on possible means for compensating equalization errors introduced in the digitization process. If the accuracy of corrective equalization filters is validated, an archivist or musicologist would be able to experience the audio as a historically authentic document such that their listening experience would not require the recovery of the original analogue audio document or the redigitization of the audio. Thus, we conducted a MUSHRA-inspired perception test (n = 14) containing 6 excerpts of electronic music (3 stimuli recorded NAB and 3 recorded CCIR). Participants listened to 6 different equalization filters for each stimulus and rated them in terms of similarity. Filters included a correctly digitized “Reference,” an intentionally incorrect “Foil” filter, and a subsequent digital correction of the Foil filter that was produced with a MATLAB script. When stimuli were collapsed according to their filter type (NAB or CCIR), no significant differences were observed between the Reference and MATLAB correction filters. As such, the digital correction appears to be a promising method for compensation of equalization errors although future study is recommended, specifically containing an increased sample size and additional correction filters for comparison.

Providing as an example the Virtual Museum of Bulgarian Musical Theatre, institutionalized as an independent and constantly evolving Internet platform at the Museum of the Bulgarian Musical Theater (MBMT), this study represents a new contribution to the application of digital technologies to management and cultural promotion. The research answers questions regarding the current development and applications of digital technologies for designing multimedia content aiming to represent cultural heritage. The results offer an original virtual museum constructing method for interactive access to archival samples of performances in the following genres: opera, ballet, operetta, and musical. Additionally, the museum offers access to a presentation of the achievements of music and stage art through permanent thematic collections of repertoire programs, up-to-date information about the creative process of artists, conductors, directors, scenographers, choreographers. Keywords: Digitization, Preservation, Cultural Heritage, Digital Collections, Musical Theatre, Opera, Ballet

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> Directorate of Cultural Heritage Preservation of Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality had started an Inventory Project in 2015, for gathering the varying information of historical and cultural assets. Although there had been previous studies conducted by various institutions or local establishments, the absence of accessibility to whole updated database of historical values was a matter of concern, both for government and research studies. For this reason, it was aimed to create and update Istanbul Historical Database. The Directorate assumed the responsibility of creating the database and providing its accessibility through web and publications. It was also aimed to provide accurate information and multimedia, not only for existing but also further projects in respect of cultural heritage and preservation. There have been 41 people from different professions such as architects, restorers, urban planners, archaeologists and art historians being employed in this work. A huge amount of data including old maps, photographs, documents, drawings and projects were brought together and classified according to their contents. Afterwards, all registered values including monuments, civil architectural or urban elements were visited, observed and photographed. Also some buildings or assets were proposed to Preservation Boards to be registered. Furthermore, 74 types of data including location, architectural description, conservation state, materials, problems and bibliography were recorded. Database allows printing 4 types of inventory forms representing current state of the value. Database was integrated with spatial data to produce analytical maps. Database created by the project has been shared via internet and books to lead other projects about cultural heritage.</p>

Abstract. 3D documentation and visualization of cultural heritage has a great significance in preserving the memories and history, and supports cultural tourism. It is of great importance to study the 3D reconstruction of cultural relics and historic sites. Preservation, visualization of valuable cultural heritage has always been a difficult challenge. With the developments of photogrammetry, terrestrial laser scanning, 3D models were able to obtained quickly and accurately. In this paper we present the survey and 3D modelling of an ancient temple, Banteay Srei, situated in Angkor, which has long been admired as a “Precious Gem” of Khmer Art for its miniature size of structures and exceptional refinement of the sculptures. The survey was performed with FARO Focus3D 330 and FARO Focus3D 120 terrestrial laser scanners, a micro unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) (DJI Phantom 4 Pro) and a digital camera (Nikon D90). Once the acquired scans were properly merged, a 3D model was generated from the global point cloud, and plans, sections and elevations were extracted from it for restoration purposes. A short multimedia video was also created for the “Digital Banteay Srei”. In the paper we will discuss all the steps and challenges addressed to provide the 3D model of Banteay Srei Temple.

Due to its low storage cost and fast query speed, hashing has been recognized to accomplish similarity search in largescale multimedia retrieval applications. Particularly, supervised hashing has recently received considerable research attention by leveraging the label information to preserve the pairwise similarities of data points in the Hamming space. However, there still remain two crucial bottlenecks: 1) the learning process of the full pairwise similarity preservation is computationally unaffordable and unscalable to deal with big data; 2) the available category information of data are not well-explored to learn discriminative hash functions. To overcome these challenges, we propose a unified Semantic-Aware DIscrete Hashing (SADIH) framework, which aims to directly embed the transformed semantic information into the asymmetric similarity approximation and discriminative hashing function learning. Specifically, a semantic-aware latent embedding is introduced to asymmetrically preserve the full pairwise similarities while skillfully handle the cumbersome n×n pairwise similarity matrix. Meanwhile, a semantic-aware autoencoder is developed to jointly preserve the data structures in the discriminative latent semantic space and perform data reconstruction. Moreover, an efficient alternating optimization algorithm is proposed to solve the resulting discrete optimization problem. Extensive experimental results on multiple large-scale datasets demonstrate that our SADIH can clearly outperform the state-of-the-art baselines with the additional benefit of lower computational costs.

The traditional culture existing in the city experienced considerable changes in the course of the last century. Rather than comprising continuous, gradual development, this change involved several radical cultural shifts, taking place in the 20th century (e. g. in the beginning of the century, in the 1960s, and 1990s). The article compares the urban, social and cultural changes in order to determine periods when the traditional culture experienced the most crucial transformations and when various new phenomena appeared. A clear shift in the urban culture took place in the 1960s in Lithuania, when a political “warming” of sorts could be felt and the pressure of the communist ideology was somewhat lighter. The economic growth was followed by the formation of the consumer society (although a rather different one from that emerging in the liberal countries), taking place in Vilnius, Kaunas, and other cities. The 1960s and the subsequent decades were characterized by a considerable variety of the urban culture in Lithuania, especially in its capital city. In the musical sphere, the state-supported academic music, the professionally performed folk music, and the show music were particularly thriving; but performances of jazz, rock and authentic folklore also gained momentum.The Lithuanian Folklore Theater, which started its activity in 1968 in Vilnius, can be presented as a typical example of the altered tradition. Director of this theater Povilas Mataitis and his wife, scenographer Dalia Mataitienė managed to achieve a subtle harmony between the folk tradition and their individual artistic expression, uniting in their performances elements of folklore and the modern art, and using small artistic forms, so typical to the folk art, to create complicate ambivalent compositions. Nevertheless, the stylistic shifts of the 1960s were best reflected in the rock music. The swinging two-part rhythm and open expressions of the individual feelings embodied a radical stylistic change at that time (although such means of expression are completely common and trivial today). Starting from the 1960s these innovations affected not only the urban composers, but also the folksong creators at the countryside.The significant cultural shift took place also after the Lithuanian independence was regained in 1990. The Soviet past was rejected, the Western notion of culture was willingly adopted, and the patterns of cultural life and financing were increasingly altered. The formerly state-supported cultural institutions and performers had to adapt to the free-market. At first, the cultural shift of the 1990s resembled an avalanche: the former unified whole – the coherent image of the national culture created during the Soviet times was shattered. Composers and authors plagued by various difficulties found respite, though, in the new kinds of the available information, the opened possibilities of getting to know the global culture, which had been hitherto almost impossible to gain access to. The epoch of postmodernity, characterized by free associations between various historical and cultural signs, was favorable to the continuation of traditions; therefore various transformations of folklore quickly appeared, musical styles from different periods and nations were abundant, and all sorts of their hybrids were created. A new thing establishing itself on the Vilnius pavement was hip hop – the Afro-American music and life style, born in the suburbs of New York. It was increasingly adopted and furthered by the Vilnius inhabitants, born in the concrete districts of the city, whose youth coincided with the years of the post-Soviet economic “shock-therapy”.The traditional music found its place in the city as well, growing as a moss on a stone. It is now performed both in the great ceremonious halls and in the small, stuffy premises, or simply outside during spring and summer. The city of the 21st century is characterized by such cultural phenomena as urban folklore, bard songs, live music, street music, post-folklore, indigenous culture, Baltic music, pagan art, improvisational music, underground music, etc. Urban tradition is a multifaceted and a multileveled one, its continuation constantly involves connecting different musical styles and respective communities.In the urban environment, the preservation of the folk music is no longer the concern of exclusively the representatives of the folklore movement; authors of different kinds are also involved, including the jazz and rock musicians, visual artists, IT specialists, and actors. Nowadays, the third generation is gradually involved into the urban folklore movement, as its pioneers, having already become grandparents, bring their grandchildren into the same halls and yards of the Old Town, where they used to perform in their youth. At the same time, new cultural wave created by the contemporary young people rises from the underground clubs, multimedia or electronic music labs, and artistic workshops. The young keep always creating something new, but this should not be regarded as a threat to the preservation of the urban folk tradition.

Preserving national culture must start from preserving and maintaining traditional cultures that exist in various regions of the archipelago. The main of national culture is regional culture, it means that preserving national culture must start from preserving regional culture. Preservation of national culture can be done with a system of cultural inheritance through education which can begin with art learning in elementary schools. Art learning in elementary schools can be given by introducing the traditional arts of the archipelago to elementary school’s students as generations of cultural heirs. However, the most common obstacles that have found among elementary school’s teachers are they don’t understand the knowledge and science of art in depth and don’t have the skills to practice art, especially dance, so that art learning in schools is often neglected. To overcome this, there is a need for new innovations that can help teachers in teaching art, especially dance for elementary school’s students by creating Indonesian dance creations that are based on the traditional dances of Bengkulu, namely ‘Kejei’ Dance and ‘Andun’ Dance. The purpose of this study is to preserve the culture of the archipelago by creating dance creations of the archipelago as a form of cultural inheritance in introducing the culture of the archipelago to elementary school’s students. This creation method adopts the approach of Alma M. Hawkins which consists of stages of exploration, improvisation, and composition. The results of the research are the creation of Indonesian dance creations that are based on traditional dances so as to produce new dance creations, namely the ‘Kedun’ Dance and ‘Gegelea Beregam ‘ Dance by developing aspects of motion, floor patterns, dance music accompaniment, makeup and clothing, dancers, duration of performance, and venue. Creating new creation dance, it is hoped.Keywords: cultural inheritage, archipelago creation dance. AbstrakMelestarikan budaya nasional harus dimulai dari menjaga dan memelihara budaya tradisional yang ada diberbagai daerah nusantara. Akar budaya nasional adalah budaya daerah, artinya untuk melestarikan budaya nasional harus dimulai dari melestarikan budaya daerah. Pelestarian budaya nasional dapat dilakukan dengan sistem pewarisan budaya melalui pendidikan yang dapat diawali dengan pembelajaran seni di sekolah dasar. Pembelajaran seni di Sekolah Dasar dapat diberikan dengan mengenalkan seni tradisional nusantara pada anak usia sekolah dasar sebagai generasi pewaris budaya. Tetapi, terdapat kendala yang paling banyak ditemukan di kalangan guru-guru kelas di Sekolah Dasar bahwasanya mereka kurang memahami pengetahuan dan ilmu seni secara mendalam serta tidak memiliki keterampilan dalam berolah seni khususnya seni tari sehingga pembelajaran seni di sekolah pun sering diabaikan. Untuk mengatasi hal tersebut, perlu adanya inovasi baru yang dapat membantu para guru dalam mengajarkan seni khususnya seni tari pada anak usia sekolah dasar dengan cara menciptakan tari kreasi nusantara yang berpijak dari tari tradisional Provinsi Bengkulu yaitu Tari Kejei dan Tari Andun. Tujuan penelitian ini yaitu melestarikan budaya nusantara dengan menciptakan tari kreasi nusantara sebagai bentuk langkah pewarisan budaya dalam mengenalkan budaya nusantara pada anak usia sekolah dasar. Metode penciptaan ini mengadopsi pendekatan Alma M. Hawkins yang terdiri dari tahap eksplorasi, improvisasi, dan komposisi. Hasil penelitian berupa penciptaan tari kreasi nusantara yang berpijak dari tari tradisonal sehingga menghasilkan tari kreasi baru yaitu Tari Kedun dan Tari Gegelea Beregam dengan mengembangkan aspek gerak, pola lantai, iringan musik tari, tata rias dan busana, penari, durasi waktu pertunjukan, dan tempat pertunjukan. Dengan terciptanya tari kreasi baru diharapkan dapat menambah khazanah budaya nusantara yang dapat dimanfaatkan dan diseminasikan untuk meningkatkan kualitas pendidik di sekolah dasar.Kata Kunci: pewarisan budaya, tari kreasi nusantara. Authors: Pamela Mikaresti : Universitas TerbukaHerlinda Mansyur : Universitas Negeri Padang References: Asyhar, Rayandra. (2011). Kreatif Mengembangkan Media Pembelajaran. Jakarta: GP Press.BSNP. (2006). Standar Isi Untuk Satuan Pendidikan Dasar dan Menengah, Standar Kompetensi dan Kompetensi Dasar SD. Jakarta: BSNP.Dewi, Ni Made Lisa Anggara dkk. (2020). Tari Kreasi Cangak Congak. Bengkulu: BK Press.Kurdi, Aserani. (2011). Bahan Diklat Seni Budaya Seni Musik SMK Negeri 1 Tanjung. Tanjung: SMK Negeri 1 Tanjung.Kusumastuti, Eny. (2014). Penerapan Model Pembelajaran Seni Tari Terpadu pada Siswa Sekolah Dasar. Jurnal Mimbar Sekolah Dasar Vol. 1 No. 1. Diakses secara online pada bulan Februari 2021.Lestari, W., & Totok Sumaryanto, F. (2014). Pengembangan Model Pelatihan Apresiasi Senitari Daerah Setempat pada Guru Sekolah Dasar di Kota Semarang. Prosiding Konferensi Ilmiah Tahunan Himpunan Evaluasi Pendidikan Indonesia (HEPI) Tahun 2014.Nurdin, Syafrudin dan Andriantoni. (2016). Kurikulum dan Pembelajaran. Jakarta: Raja Grafindo Persada.Oktovan, R. N., Suryamah, D., & Dwiatmini, S. (2021). Pewarisan Budaya dalam Kesenian Bringbrung di Kelurahan Ledeng, Kecamatan Cidadap Hilir, Kota Bandung. Jurnal Budaya Etnika, 4(2), 114-125.Paluseri, Dais Darmawan dkk. (2017). Penetapan Warisan Budaya Tak Benda Indonesia Tahun 2017. Jakarta: Direktorat Warisan dan Diplomasi Budaya Direktorat Jenderal Kebudayaan Kementerian Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan.Rusman. (2012). Model-Model Pembelajaran: Mengembangkan Profesionalisme Guru. Jakarta: RajaGrafindo Persada.Sapitri, Y. (2016). Aplikasi Motif Tanduk dalam Pengembangan Motif Hias Batik Garutan (Doctoral dissertation, Universitas Pendidikan Indonesia). Sari, M. (2012). Peran Literasi Sains dalam Ekonomi Global. Literasi SAINS, 3(1), 13-13.Susanti, D. (2015). Penerapan Metode Penciptaan Alma Hawkins Dalam Karya Tari Gundah Kancah. Ekspresi Seni: Jurnal Ilmu Pengetahuan Dan Karya Seni, 17(1), 41-56.Syefriani, S. (2016). Tari Kreasi Baru Zapin Seribu Suluk Pada Masyarakat Pasir Pengaraian Kabupaten Rokan Hulu. KOBA, 3(1), 13-13.Tamara, Y. M. C., & Desyandri, D. (2019). Peningkatan Penguasaan Lagu Daerah Nusantara Menggunakan Multimedia Adobe Flash CS6 di Kelas V SDN 05 Air Tawar Barat. e-Journal Pembelajaran Inovasi, Jurnal Ilmiah Pendidikan Dasar, 7(9).Trilling dan Fadel. (2009). 21st Century Skills: Learning for Life in Our Times. Jossey Bass: USA.Wiflihani, W. (2012). Kontribusi Seni Bagi Pendidikan. JUPIIS: Jurnal Pendidikan Ilmu-ilmu Sosial, 4(1).Wulandari, S. (2012). Pelatihan Tari bagi Anak-Anak Sekolah Dasar di Sanggar Dede Nono Rukmana Kabupaten Kuningan (Doctoral dissertation, Universitas Pendidikan Indonesia). Yulianti, I. (2015). Pewarisan Nilai-Nilai Budaya Masyarakat Adat Cikondang Dalam Pembelajaran Sejarah Di Madrasah Aliyah Al-Hijrah. Candrasangkala: Jurnal Pendidikan dan Sejarah, 1(1), 112-133

Audiovisual (A/V) materials in archival collections require unique consideration during archival processing. Historically, A/V materials have often been underdescribed, or relegated to a “Multimedia” series at the end of a finding aid with little detail related to format, condition, or content. This article examines past approaches to processing audiovisual materials in archival collections through a review of the literature, open-source tools, and local processing manuals. This study includes two case studies, a high-level, department-wide survey and a large-scale, item-level inventory, and demonstrates the value of gaining intellectual control of A/V materials in the archives. The article argues that many legacy finding aids, including those created with a “minimal processing” approach, are often not detailed enough for the accurate, holistic evaluation necessary when planning for A/V preservation and digitization projects. The article concludes by describing the positive outcomes of reevaluating legacy finding aids and conducting an item-level accounting of A/V holdings.

The expansion of medical knowledge supported by rapid progress of information technologies led to important changes of medical education concept, as well as volume and content of medical curriculum. Anatomy teaching has gone through many restrictive measures. First, the number of lessons has been reduced and subsequently focus from systematic and regional anatomy has been moved to clinical anatomy with the aim of practical integration of knowledge in clinical conditions. Today the justification of cadaver dissection that is considered to be the backbone of traditional anatomy teaching is being questioned. Numerous problems are associated with the cadavers use in teaching, including their accessibility, preservation and ethical justification. Cadaver dissection has alternatives in real anatomical models, as well as in virtual multimedia, ranging from simple linear to sophisticated, interactive, augmentative reality. Although, the use of modern technologies is estimated by some lecturers as the act of dehumanization of medicine and criticized as insufficiently student oriented, it is considered justified only as a supplement to traditional dissection method and demonstration on cadaver material. Anatomists are put in front of very delicate task to integrate the positive aspects of traditional and modern teaching, with the aim to motivate students and provide conditions for better knowledge retention. This paper deals with problems and challenges facing contem?porary anatomy teaching from the perspective of the Department of Anatomy, Faculty of Medicine Novi Sad.

Актуальность статьи обусловлена проблемой трансформации системы музыкального образования в контексте глобализации и медиатизации. Целью исследования является методологическое осмысление процесса музыкального образования в России и Китае. В качестве методологической основы представлена эстетико-философская концепция М.М. Бахтина, основанная на идее и интерпретации диалога как способа взаимодействия с явлениями и объектами культуры и искусства, а также показана значимость междисциплинарного диалога для становления систем музыкального образования разных стран. В статье выделены формы педагогического взаимодействия: вариативность тьюторского сопровождения; полихудожественный подход; расширение учебных программ; внедрение мультимедийных технологий; сохранение и развитие гуманистических традиций; визуализация учебной информации. Авторами осуществлен анализ влияния медиатизации на появление интерактивных и дистанционных форм обучения в цифровой среде. Дана содержательная характеристика цифровых компетенций педагога-музыканта, необходимых для осуществления инновационной деятельности в современном виртуальном образовательном пространстве. The relevance of the article is due to the problem of the transformation of the music education system in the context of globalization and mediatization. The purpose of the study is a methodological understanding of the process of music education in Russia and China. As a methodological basis, M.M. Bakhtin's aesthetic and philosophical concept is presented, based on the idea and interpretation of dialogue as a way of interacting with phenomena and objects of culture and art, and the importance of interdisciplinary dialogue for the formation of musical education systems in different countries is shown. The article highlights the forms of pedagogical interaction: variability of tutor’s support; poly-artistic approach; expansion of curricula; introduction of multimedia technologies; preservation and development of humanistic traditions; visualization of educational information. The authors analyzed the influence of mediatization on the emergence of interactive and distance learning forms in the digital environment. A meaningful characteristic of the digital competencies of a teacher-musician necessary for the implementation of innovative activities in the modern virtual educational space is given.

Introduction In October 2008, the UK’s National Videogame Archive became a reality and after years of negotiation, preparation and planning, this partnership between Nottingham Trent University’s Centre for Contemporary Play research group and The National Media Museum, accepted its first public donations to the collection. These first donations came from Sony’s Computer Entertainment Europe’s London Studios who presented the original, pre-production PlayStation 2 EyeToy camera (complete with its hand-written #1 sticker) and Harmonix who crossed the Atlantic to deliver prototypes of the Rock Band drum kit and guitar controllers along with a slew of games. Since then, we have been inundated with donations, enquiries and volunteers offering their services and it is clear that we have exciting and challenging times ahead of us at the NVA as we seek to continue our collecting programme and preserve, conserve, display and interpret these vital parts of popular culture. This essay, however, is not so much a document of these possible futures for our research or the challenges we face in moving forward as it is a discussion of some of the issues that make game preservation a vital and timely undertaking. In briefly telling the story of the genesis of the NVA, I hope to draw attention to some of the peculiarities (in both senses) of the situation in which videogames currently exist. While considerable attention has been paid to the preservation and curation of new media arts (e.g. Cook et al.), comparatively little work has been undertaken in relation to games. Surprisingly, the games industry has been similarly neglectful of the histories of gameplay and gamemaking. Throughout our research, it has became abundantly clear that even those individuals and companies most intimately associated with the development of this form, do not hold their corporate and personal histories in the high esteem we expected (see also Lowood et al.). And so, despite the well-worn bluster of an industry that proclaims itself as culturally significant as Hollywood, it is surprisingly difficult to find a definitive copy of the boxart of the final release of a Triple-A title let alone any of the pre-production materials. Through our journeys in the past couple of years, we have encountered shoeboxes under CEOs’ desks and proud parents’ collections of tapes and press cuttings. These are the closest things to a formalised archive that we currently have for many of the biggest British game development and publishing companies. Not only is this problematic in and of itself as we run the risk of losing titles and documents forever as well as the stories locked up in the memories of key individuals who grow ever older, but also it is symptomatic of an industry that, despite its public proclamations, neither places a high value on its products as popular culture nor truly recognises their impact on that culture. While a few valorised, still-ongoing, franchises like the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are repackaged and (digitally) re-released so as to provide continuity with current releases, a huge number of games simply disappear from view once their short period of retail limelight passes. Indeed, my argument in this essay rests to some extent on the admittedly polemical, and maybe even antagonistic, assertion that the past business and marketing practices of the videogames industry are partly to blame for the comparatively underdeveloped state of game preservation and the seemingly low cultural value placed on old games within the mainstream marketplace. Small wonder, then, that archives and formalised collections are not widespread. However antagonistic this point may seem, this essay does not set out merely to criticise the games industry. Indeed, it is important to recognise that the success and viability of projects such as the NVA is derived partly from close collaboration with industry partners. As such, it is my hope that in addition to contributing to the conversation about the importance and need for formalised strategies of game preservation, this essay goes some way to demonstrating the necessity of universities, museums, developers, publishers, advertisers and retailers tackling these issues in partnership. The Best Game Is the Next Game As will be clear from these opening paragraphs, this essay is primarily concerned with ‘old’ games. Perhaps surprisingly, however, we shall see that ‘old’ games are frequently not that old at all as even the shiniest, and newest of interactive experiences soon slip from view under the pressure of a relentless industrial and institutional push towards the forthcoming release and the ‘next generation’. More surprising still is that ‘old’ games are often difficult to come by as they occupy, at best, a marginalised position in the contemporary marketplace, assuming they are even visible at all. This is an odd situation. Videogames are, as any introductory primer on game studies will surely reveal, big business (see Kerr, for instance, as well as trade bodies such as ELSPA and The ESA for up-to-date sales figures). Given the videogame industry seems dedicated to growing its business and broadening its audiences (see Radd on Sony’s ‘Game 3.0’ strategy, for instance), it seems strange, from a commercial perspective if no other, that publishers’ and developers’ back catalogues are not being mercilessly plundered to wring the last pennies of profit from their IPs. Despite being cherished by players and fans, some of whom are actively engaged in their own private collecting and curation regimes (sometimes to apparently obsessive excess as Jones, among others, has noted), videogames have, nonetheless, been undervalued as part of our national popular cultural heritage by institutions of memory such as museums and archives which, I would suggest, have largely ignored and sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented them. Most of all, however, I wish to draw attention to the harm caused by the videogames industry itself. Consumers’ attentions are focused on ‘products’, on audiovisual (but mainly visual) technicalities and high-definition video specs rather than on the experiences of play and performance, or on games as artworks or artefact. Most damagingly, however, by constructing and contributing to an advertising, marketing and popular critical discourse that trades almost exclusively in the language of instant obsolescence, videogames have been robbed of their historical value and old platforms and titles are reduced to redundant, legacy systems and easily-marginalised ‘retro’ curiosities. The vision of inevitable technological progress that the videogames industry trades in reminds us of Paul Duguid’s concept of ‘supersession’ (see also Giddings and Kennedy, on the ‘technological imaginary’). Duguid identifies supersession as one of the key tropes in discussions of new media. The reductive idea that each new form subsumes and replaces its predecessor means that videogames are, to some extent, bound up in the same set of tensions that undermine the longevity of all new media. Chun rightly notes that, in contrast with more open terms like multimedia, ‘new media’ has always been somewhat problematic. Unaccommodating, ‘it portrayed other media as old or dead; it converged rather than multiplied; it did not efface itself in favor of a happy if redundant plurality’ (1). The very newness of new media and of videogames as the apotheosis of the interactivity and multimodality they promise (Newman, "In Search"), their gleam and shine, is quickly tarnished as they are replaced by ever-newer, ever more exciting, capable and ‘revolutionary’ technologies whose promise and moment in the limelight is, in turn, equally fleeting. As Franzen has noted, obsolescence and the trail of abandoned, superseded systems is a natural, even planned-for, product of an infatuation with the newness of new media. For Kline et al., the obsession with obsolescence leads to the characterisation of the videogames industry as a ‘perpetual innovation economy’ whose institutions ‘devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products. However, it is my contention here that the supersessionary tendency exerts a more serious impact on videogames than some other media partly because the apparently natural logic of obsolescence and technological progress goes largely unchecked and partly because there remain few institutions dedicated to considering and acting upon game preservation. The simple fact, as Lowood et al. have noted, is that material damage is being done as a result of this manufactured sense of continual progress and immediate, irrefutable obsolescence. By focusing on the upcoming new release and the preview of what is yet to come; by exciting gamers about what is in development and demonstrating the manifest ways in which the sheen of the new inevitably tarnishes the old. That which is replaced is fit only for the bargain bin or the budget-priced collection download, and as such, it is my position that we are systematically undermining and perhaps even eradicating the possibility of a thorough and well-documented history for videogames. This is a situation that we at the National Videogame Archive, along with colleagues in the emerging field of game preservation (e.g. the International Game Developers Association Game Preservation Special Interest Group, and the Keeping Emulation Environments Portable project) are, naturally, keen to address. Chief amongst our concerns is better understanding how it has come to be that, in 2009, game studies scholars and colleagues from across the memory and heritage sectors are still only at the beginning of the process of considering game preservation. The IGDA Game Preservation SIG was founded only five years ago and its ‘White Paper’ (Lowood et al.) is just published. Surprisingly, despite the importance of videogames within popular culture and the emergence and consolidation of the industry as a potent creative force, there remains comparatively little academic commentary or investigation into the specific situation and life-cycles of games or the demands that they place upon archivists and scholars of digital histories and cultural heritage. As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, one of the key tasks of the project of game preservation is to draw attention to the consequences of the concentration, even fetishisation, of the next generation, the new and the forthcoming. The focus on what I have termed ‘the lure of the imminent’ (e.g. Newman, Playing), the fixation on not only the present but also the as-yet-unreleased next generation, has contributed to the normalisation of the discourses of technological advancement and the inevitability and finality of obsolescence. The conflation of gameplay pleasure and cultural import with technological – and indeed, usually visual – sophistication gives rise to a context of endless newness, within which there appears to be little space for the ‘outdated’, the ‘superseded’ or the ‘old’. In a commercial and cultural space in which so little value is placed upon anything but the next game, we risk losing touch with the continuities of development and the practices of play while simultaneously robbing players and scholars of the critical tools and resources necessary for contextualised appreciation and analysis of game form and aesthetics, for instance (see Monnens, "Why", for more on the value of preserving ‘old’ games for analysis and scholarship). Moreover, we risk losing specific games, platforms, artefacts and products as they disappear into the bargain bucket or crumble to dust as media decay, deterioration and ‘bit rot’ (Monnens, "Losing") set in. Space does not here permit a discussion of the scope and extent of the preservation work required (for instance, the NVA sets its sights on preserving, documenting, interpreting and exhibiting ‘videogame culture’ in its broadest sense and recognises the importance of videogames as more than just code and as enmeshed within complex networks of productive, consumptive and performative practices). Neither is it my intention to discuss here the specific challenges and numerous issues associated with archival and exhibition tools such as emulation which seek to rebirth code on up-to-date, manageable, well-supported hardware platforms but which are frequently insensitive to the specificities and nuances of the played experience (see Newman, "On Emulation", for some further notes on videogame emulation, archiving and exhibition and Takeshita’s comments in Nutt on the technologies and aesthetics of glitches, for instance). Each of these issues is vitally important and will, doubtless become a part of the forthcoming research agenda for game preservation scholars. My focus here, however, is rather more straightforward and foundational and though it is deliberately controversial, it is my hope that its casts some light over some ingrained assumptions about videogames and the magnitude and urgency of the game preservation project. Videogames Are Disappearing? At a time when retailers’ shelves struggle under the weight of newly-released titles and digital distribution systems such as Steam, the PlayStation Network, Xbox Live Marketplace, WiiWare, DSiWare et al bring new ways to purchase and consume playable content, it might seem strange to suggest that videogames are disappearing. In addition to what we have perhaps come to think of as the ‘usual suspects’ in the hardware and software publishing marketplace, over the past year or so Apple have, unexpectedly and perhaps even surprising themselves, carved out a new gaming platform with the iPhone/iPod Touch and have dramatically simplified the notoriously difficult process of distributing mobile content with the iTunes App Store. In the face of this apparent glut of games and the emergence and (re)discovery of new markets with the iPhone, Wii and Nintendo DS, videogames seem an ever more a vital and visible part of popular culture. Yet, for all their commercial success and seemingly penetration the simple fact is that they are disappearing. And at an alarming rate. Addressing the IGDA community of game developers and producers, Henry Lowood makes the point with admirable clarity (see also Ruggill and McAllister): If we fail to address the problems of game preservation, the games you are making will disappear, perhaps within a few decades. You will lose access to your own intellectual property, you will be unable to show new developers the games you designed or that inspired you, and you may even find it necessary to re-invent a bunch of wheels. (Lowood et al. 1) For me, this point hit home most persuasively a few years ago when, along with Iain Simons, I was invited by the British Film Institute to contribute a book to their ‘Screen Guides’ series. 100 Videogames (Newman and Simons) was an intriguing prospect that provided us with the challenge and opportunity to explore some of the key moments in videogaming’s forty year history. However, although the research and writing processes proved to be an immensely pleasurable and rewarding experience that we hope culminated in an accessible, informative volume offering insight into some well-known (and some less-well known) games, the project was ultimately tinged with a more than a little disappointment and frustration. Assuming our book had successfully piqued the interest of our readers into rediscovering games previously played or perhaps investigating games for the first time, what could they then do? Where could they go to find these games in order to experience their delights (or their flaws and problems) at first hand? Had our volume been concerned with television or film, as most of the Screen Guides are, then online and offline retailers, libraries, and even archives for less widely-available materials, would have been obvious ports of call. For the student of videogames, however, the choices are not so much limited as practically non-existant. It is only comparatively recently that videogame retailers have shifted away from an almost exclusive focus on new releases and the zeitgeist platforms towards a recognition of old games and systems through the creation of the ‘pre-owned’ marketplace. The ‘pre-owned’ transaction is one in which old titles may be traded in for cash or against the purchase of new releases of hardware or software. Surely, then, this represents the commercial viability of classic games and is a recognition on the part of retail that the new release is not the only game in town. Yet, if we consider more carefully the ‘pre-owned’ model, we find a few telling points. First, there is cold economic sense to the pre-owned business model. In their financial statements for FY08, ‘GAME revealed that the service isn’t just a key part of its offer to consumers, but its also represents an ‘attractive’ gross margin 39 per cent.’ (French). Second, and most important, the premise of the pre-owned business as it is communicated to consumers still offers nothing but primacy to the new release. That one would trade-in one’s old games in order to consume these putatively better new ones speaks eloquently in the language of obsolesce and what Dovey and Kennedy have called the ‘technological imaginary’. The wire mesh buckets of old, pre-owned games are not displayed or coded as treasure troves for the discerning or completist collector but rather are nothing more than bargain bins. These are not classic games. These are cheap games. Cheap because they are old. Cheap because they have had their day. This is a curious situation that affects videogames most unfairly. Of course, my caricature of the videogame retailer is still incomplete as a good deal of the instantly visible shopfloor space is dedicated neither to pre-owned nor new releases but rather to displays of empty boxes often sporting unfinalised, sometimes mocked-up, boxart flaunting titles available for pre-order. Titles you cannot even buy yet. In the videogames marketplace, even the present is not exciting enough. The best game is always the next game. Importantly, retail is not alone in manufacturing this sense of dissatisfaction with the past and even the present. The specialist videogames press plays at least as important a role in reinforcing and normalising the supersessionary discourse of instant obsolescence by fixing readers’ attentions and expectations on the just-visible horizon. Examining the pages of specialist gaming publications reveals them to be something akin to Futurist paeans dedicating anything from 70 to 90% of their non-advertising pages to previews, interviews with developers about still-in-development titles (see Newman, Playing, for more on the specialist gaming press’ love affair with the next generation and the NDA scoop). Though a small number of publications specifically address retro titles (e.g. Imagine Publishing’s Retro Gamer), most titles are essentially vehicles to promote current and future product lines with many magazines essentially operating as delivery devices for cover-mounted CDs/DVDs offering teaser videos or playable demos of forthcoming titles to further whet the appetite. Manufacturing a sense of excitement might seem wholly natural and perhaps even desirable in helping to maintain a keen interest in gaming culture but the effect of the imbalance of popular coverage has a potentially deleterious effect on the status of superseded titles. Xbox World 360’s magnificently-titled ‘Anticip–O–Meter’ ™ does more than simply build anticipation. Like regular features that run under headings such as ‘The Next Best Game in The World Ever is…’, it seeks to author not so much excitement about the imminent release but a dissatisfaction with the present with which unfavourable comparisons are inevitably drawn. The current or previous crop of (once new, let us not forget) titles are not simply superseded but rather are reinvented as yardsticks to judge the prowess of the even newer and unarguably ‘better’. As Ashton has noted, the continual promotion of the impressiveness of the next generation requires a delicate balancing act and a selective, institutionalised system of recall and forgetting that recovers the past as a suite of (often technical) benchmarks (twice as many polygons, higher resolution etc.) In the absence of formalised and systematic collecting, these obsoleted titles run the risk of being forgotten forever once they no longer serve the purpose of demonstrating the comparative advancement of the successors. The Future of Videogaming’s Past Even if we accept the myriad claims of game studies scholars that videogames are worthy of serious interrogation in and of themselves and as part of a multifaceted, transmedial supersystem, we might be tempted to think that the lack of formalised collections, archival resources and readily available ‘old/classic’ titles at retail is of no great significance. After all, as Jones has observed, the videogame player is almost primed to undertake this kind of activity as gaming can, at least partly, be understood as the act and art of collecting. Games such as Animal Crossing make this tendency most manifest by challenging their players to collect objects and artefacts – from natural history through to works of visual art – so as to fill the initially-empty in-game Museum’s cases. While almost all videogames from The Sims to Katamari Damacy can be considered to engage their players in collecting and collection management work to some extent, Animal Crossing is perhaps the most pertinent example of the indivisibility of the gamer/archivist. Moreover, the permeability of the boundary between the fan’s collection of toys, dolls, posters and the other treasured objects of merchandising and the manipulation of inventories, acquisitions and equipment lists that we see in the menus and gameplay imperatives of videogames ensures an extensiveness and scope of fan collecting and archival work. Similarly, the sociality of fan collecting and the value placed on private hoarding, public sharing and the processes of research ‘…bridges to new levels of the game’ (Jones 48). Perhaps we should be as unsurprised that their focus on collecting makes videogames similar to eBay as we are to the realisation that eBay with its competitiveness, its winning and losing states, and its inexorable countdown timer, is nothing if not a game? We should be mindful, however, of overstating the positive effects of fandom on the fate of old games. Alongside eBay’s veneration of the original object, p2p and bittorrent sites reduce the videogame to its barest. Quite apart from the (il)legality of emulation and videogame ripping and sharing (see Conley et al.), the existence of ‘ROMs’ and the technicalities of their distribution reveals much about the peculiar tension between the interest in old games and their putative cultural and economic value. (St)ripped down to the barest of code, ROMs deny the gamer the paratextuality of the instruction manual or boxart. In fact, divorced from its context and robbed of its materiality, ROMs perhaps serve to make the original game even more distant. More tellingly, ROMs are typically distributed by the thousand in zipped files. And so, in just a few minutes, entire console back-catalogues – every game released in every territory – are available for browsing and playing on a PC or Mac. The completism of the collections allows detailed scrutiny of differences in Japanese versus European releases, for instance, and can be seen as a vital investigative resource. However, that these ROMs are packaged into collections of many thousands speaks implicitly of these games’ perceived value. In a similar vein, the budget-priced retro re-release collection helps to diminish the value of each constituent game and serves to simultaneously manufacture and highlight the manifestly unfair comparison between these intriguingly retro curios and the legitimately full-priced games of now and next. Customer comments at Amazon.co.uk demonstrate the way in which historical and technological comparisons are now solidly embedded within the popular discourse (see also Newman 2009b). Leaving feedback on Sega’s PS3/Xbox 360 Sega MegaDrive Ultimate Collection customers berate the publisher for the apparently meagre selection of titles on offer. Interestingly, this charge seems based less around the quality, variety or range of the collection but rather centres on jarring technological schisms and a clear sense of these titles being of necessarily and inevitably diminished monetary value. Comments range from outraged consternation, ‘Wtf, only 40 games?’, ‘I wont be getting this as one disc could hold the entire arsenal of consoles and games from commodore to sega saturn(Maybe even Dreamcast’ through to more detailed analyses that draw attention to the number of bits and bytes but that notably neglect any consideration of gameplay, experientiality, cultural significance or, heaven forbid, fun. “Ultimate” Collection? 32Mb of games on a Blu-ray disc?…here are 40 Megadrive games at a total of 31 Megabytes of data. This was taking the Michael on a DVD release for the PS2 (or even on a UMD for the PSP), but for a format that can store 50 Gigabytes of data, it’s an insult. Sega’s entire back catalogue of Megadrive games only comes to around 800 Megabytes - they could fit that several times over on a DVD. The ultimate consequence of these different but complementary attitudes to games that fix attentions on the future and package up decontextualised ROMs by the thousand or even collections of 40 titles on a single disc (selling for less than half the price of one of the original cartridges) is a disregard – perhaps even a disrespect – for ‘old’ games. Indeed, it is this tendency, this dominant discourse of inevitable, natural and unimpeachable obsolescence and supersession, that provided one of the prime motivators for establishing the NVA. As Lowood et al. note in the title of the IGDA Game Preservation SIG’s White Paper, we need to act to preserve and conserve videogames ‘before it’s too late’.ReferencesAshton, D. ‘Digital Gaming Upgrade and Recovery: Enrolling Memories and Technologies as a Strategy for the Future.’ M/C Journal 11.6 (2008). 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/86›.Buffa, C. ‘How to Fix Videogame Journalism.’ GameDaily 20 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/how-to-fix-videogame-journalism/69202/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: How to Become a Better Videogame Journalist.’ GameDaily 28 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-how-to-become-a-better-videogame-journalist/69236/?biz=1. ———. ‘Opinion: The Videogame Review – Problems and Solutions.’ GameDaily 2 Aug. 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-the-videogame-review-problems-and-solutions/69257/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: Why Videogame Journalism Sucks.’ GameDaily 14 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-why-videogame-journalism-sucks/69180/?biz=1›. Cook, Sarah, Beryl Graham, and Sarah Martin eds. Curating New Media, Gateshead: BALTIC, 2002. Duguid, Paul. ‘Material Matters: The Past and Futurology of the Book.’ In Gary Nunberg, ed. The Future of the Book. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1996. 63–101. French, Michael. 'GAME Reveals Pre-Owned Trading Is 18% of Business.’ MCV 22 Apr. 2009. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.mcvuk.com/news/34019/GAME-reveals-pre-owned-trading-is-18-per-cent-of-business›. Giddings, Seth, and Helen Kennedy. ‘Digital Games as New Media.’ In J. Rutter and J. Bryce, eds. Understanding Digital Games. London: Sage. 129–147. Gillen, Kieron. ‘The New Games Journalism.’ Kieron Gillen’s Workblog 2004. 13 June 2009 ‹http://gillen.cream.org/wordpress_html/?page_id=3›. Jones, S. The Meaning of Video Games: Gaming and Textual Strategies, New York: Routledge, 2008. Kerr, A. The Business and Culture of Digital Games. London: Sage, 2006. Lister, Martin, John Dovey, Seth Giddings, Ian Grant and Kevin Kelly. New Media: A Critical Introduction. London and New York: Routledge, 2003. Lowood, Henry, Andrew Armstrong, Devin Monnens, Zach Vowell, Judd Ruggill, Ken McAllister, and Rachel Donahue. Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. Monnens, Devin. ‘Why Are Games Worth Preserving?’ In Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. ———. ‘Losing Digital Game History: Bit by Bit.’ In Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. Newman, J. ‘In Search of the Videogame Player: The Lives of Mario.’ New Media and Society 4.3 (2002): 407-425.———. ‘On Emulation.’ The National Videogame Archive Research Diary, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.nationalvideogamearchive.org/index.php/2009/04/on-emulation/›. ———. ‘Our Cultural Heritage – Available by the Bucketload.’ The National Videogame Archive Research Diary, 2009. 10 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.nationalvideogamearchive.org/index.php/2009/04/our-cultural-heritage-available-by-the-bucketload/›. ———. Playing with Videogames, London: Routledge, 2008. ———, and I. Simons. 100 Videogames. London: BFI Publishing, 2007. Nutt, C. ‘He Is 8-Bit: Capcom's Hironobu Takeshita Speaks.’ Gamasutra 2008. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/3752/›. Radd, D. ‘Gaming 3.0. Sony’s Phil Harrison Explains the PS3 Virtual Community, Home.’ Business Week 9 Mar. 2007. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.businessweek.com/innovate/content/mar2007/id20070309_764852.htm?chan=innovation_game+room_top+stories›. Ruggill, Judd, and Ken McAllister. ‘What If We Do Nothing?’ Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009. ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. 16-19.

>> See video of presentation (28 min.) The primary goal of scholarly communication is improving human knowledge and sharing is the key to achieve this goal: sharing ideas, sharing methodologies, sharing of results, sharing data, information and knowledge. Although the concept of sharing applies to all phases of scholarly communication, most often the only visible part is the final publication, with the journal article as a most common type. The traditional characteristics of the present journals allow only limited possibilities for sharing the knowledge. Basic functions, registration, dissemination, certification, and storage, are still present but they are no more effective in the network environment. Registration is too slow, there are various barriers to dissemination, certification system has many shortcomings, and used formats are not suitable for the long term preservation and storage. Although the journals today are digital and various powerful technologies are available, they are still focused on their unaltered printed versions. This presentation will discuss possible evolution of journal article to become more compliant with users' needs and to enable “the four R’s of openness” – reuse, redistribute, revise and remix (Hilton, Wiley, Stein, & Johnson, 2010).Several aspects of openness will be presented and discussed: open access, open data, open peer review, open authorship, and open formats. With digital technology which has become indispensable in the creation, collection, processing and storage of data in all scientific disciplines the way of conducting scientific research has changed and the concept of "data-driven science" has been introduced (Ware & Mabe, 2009). Sharing research data enhances the capabilities of reproducing the results, reuse maximizes the value of research, accelerating the advancement of science, ensuring transparency of scientific research, reducing the possibility of bias in the interpretation of results and increasing the credibility of published scientific knowledge. The open peer review can ensure full transparency of the entire process of assessment and help to solve many problems in the present scholarly publishing. Through the process of the open peer review each manuscript can be immediately accessible, reviewers can publicly demonstrate their expertise and could be rewarded, and readers can be encouraged to make comments and views and to become active part of the scholarly communication process. The trend to to describe the author's contribution is also present, which will certainly lead to a reduced number of “ghost”, "guest" and "honorary" authors, and will help to establish better standards for author’s identification.Various web technologies can be used also for the semantic enhancement of the article. One of the most important aspects of semantic publication is the inclusion of the research data, to make them available to the user as an active data that can be manipulated. It is possible to integrate data from external sources, or to merge the data from different resources (data fusion) (Shotton, 2012), so the reader can gain further understanding of the presented data. Additional options provide merging data from different articles, with the addition of the component of time. Other semantic enhancement can include enriched bibliography, interactive graphical presentations, hyperlinks to external resources, tagged text, etc.Instead of mostly static content, journals can offer readers dynamic content that includes multimedia, "living mathematics", “executable articles”, etc. Videos highlighting critical points in the research process, 3D representations of chemical compounds or art works, audio clips with the author's reflections and interviews, and animated simulations or models of ocean currents, tides, temperature and salinity structure, can became soon common part of every research article. The diversity of content and media, operating systems (GNU / Linux, Apple Mac OSX, Microsoft Windows), and software tools that are available to researchers, suggests the usage of the appropriate open formats. Different formats have their advantages and disadvantages and it would be necessary to make multiple formats available, some of which are suitable for "human" reading (including printing on paper), and some for machine reading that can be used by computers without human intervention. Characteristics and possibilities of several formats will be discussed, including XML as the most recommended format, which can enable granulate document structure as well as deliver semantics to the human reader or to the computer.Literature:Hilton, J. I., Wiley, D., Stein, J., & Johnson, A. (2010). The Four R’s of Openness and ALMS Analysis: Frameworks for Open Educational Resources. Open Learning: The Journal of Open, Distance and E-Learning, 25(1), 37–44. doi:10.1080/02680510903482132Shotton, D. (2012). The Five Stars of Online Journal Articles - a Framework for Article Evaluation. D-Lib Magazine, 18(1/2), 1–16. doi:10.1045/january2012-shottonWare, M., & Mabe, M. (2009). The stm report (p. 68).

Homestuck is a hypermediated webcomic adventure that tells its story through music, animation, gameplay and even the structural features of its Web site interface. But it has also been 1) published in print as a book series and 2) ported to a new host to preserve content that used Flash Player, which is now obsolete. Both print publication and digital port simultaneously reproduce and recreate the first iteration of Homestuck – that is, they do and do not adapt it. This article uses adaptation theory to approach the under-researched question of the transition of a work from a digital format to print and porting. It identifies key sites of adaptation in what might otherwise be called versions and discusses the consequences of changes in medium/mode. The article highlights areas where the interactive mode must be adapted to showing or telling and explores how new interactive modes can emerge from a codex. It argues that Homestuck’s metafictional narratives in particular must be adapted in these new versions because they arise from an interactive relationship with the reader. Because the earlier webcomic has now been wholly replaced by the port, understanding these changes as adaptation allows us to see what is at stake the preservation of digital-born works. Homestuck’s versions show adaptation theory to be a vital lens for understanding the consequences of the differences that arise when multimedia digital-born works are reproduced with other technologies, an occurence that will only grow more frequent over time.

Introduction: Cities as Open-Ended Place-Making Events The shaping and development of cities can be understood as a “place-making” process. Through the assemblage of diverse human and non-human elements—including various social and natural elements—abstract space gains meaning and is transformed into the more concrete form of place (Jaffe and Koning). Indeed, people, nature, arts, and architecture can all contribute to constituting a city, and depending on how these elements engage with each other, each city can be shaped differently, which makes cities “inherently dynamic and heterogeneous” (Jaffe and Koning 24). Furthermore, as these various elements and their meanings can accumulate, be changed, or even diminish over time, place boundaries can also be constantly renegotiated or rebuilt. In other words, place can be characterised as its “throwntogetherness” (Massey 283), which represents temporal and spatial shifts accumulated and woven together in a place, and place-making can be understood as an open-ended event that involves various acts of “territorial meaning-making” (Jaffe and Koning 23). In line with this understanding of place-making as a dynamic, ongoing process, by investigating changes in the ways that local communities engage with cultural heritage, the study reported here explores how cultural heritage can contribute to the development of a city. Among many other meaning-making elements that may constitute a city, a cultural heritage itself may represent or enfold the dynamics and heterogeneity of a place. The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) defines heritage as “our legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations. Our cultural and natural heritage are both irreplaceable sources of life and inspiration” (UNESCO). This definition suggests that heritage embodies history imbued with value and meaning for today and for the future. Cultural heritage may mobilise or recollect emotions, memories, and experiences, which may generate new cultures and values (Chung and Lee). Cultural heritage is not only a primary means of creating and nurturing a collective identity (Graham, Ashworth, and Tunbridge). It can also be refashioned and commodified as a marketable and consumable product. In other words, cultural heritage may contribute to the shaping of regional identities and the development of cultural products that may affect local communities socially and economically. Against this backdrop, this article examines how, as a constitutive element of a city, cultural heritage can add different kinds of values and meanings in accordance with the ways that the local communities perceive and engage with cultural heritage. To this end, this research presents a case study of the South Korean city of Andong, recognised as a cultural city with abundant tangible and intangible cultural heritages. Specifically, by adopting a qualitative approach that combines archival research, fieldwork, and observation, we trace Andong’s regional history and the changes in its cultural policies from the 1950s to the 2000s. We discuss Andong’s regional development with regard to using and refashioning cultural heritage. In so doing, we argue that conserving cultural heritage and facilitating heritage tourism—agendas seemingly in competition with each other—can complement sustainable regional development. We suggest that reconceptualising cities by drawing on the convergence of virtual and actual spaces, which involves the digitisation of cultural heritage, may open up new possibilities for extending the value and meaning of cultural heritage, as well as reconciling competing agendas and achieving sustainable regional development. Andong, the Capital of Korean Spirit Korea and other East Asian countries have accumulated heritages from regional folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism. Andong has abundance of both tangible and intangible heritages related to Korean folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism, some of which are listed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites (e.g. the Hahoe Folk Village, the Bongjeongsa Buddhist temple, and the Dosanseowon and Byeongsanseowon Confucian academies). Even though Andong is not in a metropolitan area and has a small population compared to many other Korean cities, its abundant and diverse heritage has made it a recognised cultural city. As of 2021, the number of cultural assets designated in Andong, according to the Korean Cultural Heritage Protection Act, is 333. This number is the second largest in the country, after Gyeongju, the capital of the Silla Kingdom (57 BC–935 AD). Andong is the origin of a traditional Korean folk religion called “Seongjusinang”. Practitioners of this religion worship household spirits who protect a house. Andong has also inherited various folk games and performances, such as Chajeonnori (fig. 1) and Notdaribalgi (fig. 2). In addition, Buseoksa, a Buddhist temple located in Yeongju in the greater Andong area, led the development of Buddhist culture during the Three Kingdoms period (57 BC–668 AD) and the Goryeo period (918–1392). During the Joseon Dynasty, Confucianism also flourished through the initiative of Toegye Yi Hwang and Seoae Ryu Seong-ryong, both of whom were well-recognised Korean Confucian scholars. In fact, Andong has a particularly solid Confucian tradition with its twenty-six private Confucian educational institutions, called “Seowon” (fig. 3), and other villages and buildings representing Confucian philosophy, rituals, and customs. Fig. 1: Chajeonnori: a folk game involving team battles. Fig. 2: Notdaribalgi: a female folk performance that involves making a human bridge. Fig. 3: Dosanseowon Confucian Academy (listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2019). Preserving these diverse cultural artefacts and traditions is one of the main reasons that Andong claims to be the capital of Korean moral and spiritual culture (Steinmetz; K.I. Lee). Andong has been using and spreading the slogan “The Capital of Korean Spirit” since 2003, when former mayor Kim Hwi Dong started using the slogan for the first time to shape and develop the city's identity to share Andong's spiritual culture. The slogan officially became a registered brand at the Korean Intellectual Property Office in 2006. Cultural Heritage and Authenticity As briefly outlined in the previous section, Andong has diverse tangible and intangible heritages, and they are at the heart of the city’s identity. In contrast to other elements that constitute a city, cultural heritage is often regarded as an object of protection and preservation. Indeed, a cultural heritage has a fundamental, inherent value, as it manifests history, which may significantly influence how people form individual and collective identities and consolidate a sense of community. Therefore, preservation and restoration have often served as the primary approaches to cultural heritage. Particularly in the Korean context—as discussed in detail in the next section—conservation used to be prioritised in heritage management. However, in more recent times, cultural heritage has been recognised as an asset or resource for urban development; accordingly, many cities, including Andong, have become increasingly interested in heritage tourism as a means of promoting their city’s brand and boosting the local economy. The emergence of the concept of “existential authenticity” may be relevant to the paradigm shift in approaches to cultural heritage. In fact, “authenticity” is an elusive concept that can be interpreted in different ways. In the field of tourism, it conventionally has been considered related to toured objects. For example, “objective authenticity”, which is characterised as identifiable and measurable, is gauged in terms of whether a toured object is genuine or fake (Wang). Another type of object-related authenticity is “constructive authenticity”, which denotes authenticity as a negotiable quality constructed by perspectives, beliefs, expectations, or ideologies, rather than an inherent property (Wang; see also Boonzaaier and Wels). From this perspective, origins or traditions can be understood as a projection of images, preferences, or expectations; thus, copies or reproductions may also be considered authentic. Even though these two approaches are significantly different, both notions are oriented to “experiences of the authentic” (Moore et al.). By contrast, “existential authenticity” involves tourists’ experiences, that is, “personal or intersubjective feelings activated by the liminal process of tourist activities”, whereby people feel “more authentic and more freely self-expressed than in everyday life” (Wang 351–352). In other words, conservation may not be the only method for protecting cultural heritage and preserving its authenticity. Rather, heritage tourism, which provides tourists with authentic experiences, can be a way of adding new meanings and values to cultural heritage. This also suggests that not only cultural heritage as authentic objects, but also experiences of cultural heritage, can contribute to the territorial meaning-making process and constitute a city. In line with this understanding of different types of authenticity, the next section examines how Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage have changed over time. The Evolution of Cultural Policies: The Conservation of Cultural Heritage vs. Regional Development The development of Korean cultural policies needs to be understood in relation to the idiosyncrasy of Korean historical and societal contexts. After the Japanese colonial rule (1910–1945) and the Korean War (1950–1953), one of the primary concerns of the Korean government was to reconstruct the country and restore national pride by building and developing a Korean cultural identity. Against this background, Korean cultural policies until the 1980s were mainly oriented towards repairing, restoring, and preserving traditional culture rather than fostering tourism and leisure to pursue a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim; Min). In this regard, it is worth noting that the first Korean Folk Art Festival, as part of the national policy, was hosted to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the Korean government in 1958, when Korea was still going through the aftermath of the Korean War, which ended up with the destruction of cultural and natural heritage in Korea. The festival was a kind of competition where regions presented their representative intangible cultural heritages, particularly folk performances. The Gyeongsangbuk-do province, led by Andong, participated in this competition by restoring Hahoebyeolsinguttallori (mask dance play originating from Hahoe Village [fig. 4], hereafter Hahoe Mask Dance [fig. 5]) and Notdaribalgi (female folk play [fig. 2]) with the support of Andong City, and the province won the presidential prize. Fig. 4: Hahoe Village: the origin of the Hahoe Mask Dance. Fig. 5: Performers in the Hahoe Mask Dance. Initially, the Korean Folk Art Festival was planned as a one-off kind of event. However, it became a recurring annual event to propagate and promote the national culture with governmental support under the Park Jung Hee regime (1963–1979) that pursued a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim). Afterwards, this event was developed in complementary relations with the Cultural Properties Protection Law established in 1962 as part of the legislation of heritage management and other regional folk festivals, which provided regional governments and local communities with a motivation for the discovery and restoration of cultural heritage. Traditional cultural heritages dispersed in many regions started to be discovered and restored with the massive administrative support of regional governments to take part in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Once a cultural heritage presented at the festival was awarded, the heritage was customarily designated as a national cultural property by the Cultural Properties Protection Law. This designation helps cultural heritage gain social authority and receive public attention (H.-D. Yoo). Furthermore, a heritage designated as a national cultural property was required to be reintroduced to the public, often through local events such as regional folk festivals, which reinforced local communities’ pride in their regional culture. In this scenario, Andong actively participated in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Indeed, a number of cultural performances have been officially designated as national and regional intangible cultural properties, including the Hahoe Mask Dance mentioned above, which have become representative of Andong’s regional culture, offering a foundation for its development as a cultural city. Cultural policies, however, were still limited to preservation and restoration pursuing objective authenticity until the 1980s. It appeared to lack an awareness that cultural heritage could be used for the regeneration or development of cities in the 1980s (Kim and Kim). The conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have often been regarded as competing agendas, because cultural heritage is normally considered to be different from other tourism resources. Indeed, authenticity is a fundamental value sought in cultural heritage. Therefore, preservation and restoration often used to be primary approaches to cultural heritage. However, as discussed in the previous section, authenticity is not merely a binary concept that differentiates between the real and the fake in terms of the accurate representation of the past, but it can be a generative value that can be constituted or negotiated based on various perspectives, beliefs, and experiences (see Wang; K.-H. Kim; Waitt). Furthermore, the commodification of cultural heritage does not necessarily violate the intrinsic meaning and authenticity of heritage; rather, it may produce new meanings and values (Cohen). In this context, it is worth noting that the first Andong Mask Dance Festival hosted in 1997 paved the way for the development of tourism resources using cultural heritage in Andong and the globalisation of its regional culture. In fact, in the mid-1990s, Korea was going through interesting political events that significantly affected its culture and society. “Globalisation” was declared a national vision by former president Kim Young-sam in 1995, and the local self-governance of municipalities was reimplemented in the same year. In other words, Korean cultural policies were oriented towards “globalisation” and “localisation” during this period (see also Park). Against this background, Andong organised and hosted an international festival for the first time ever in 1997—the Andong Mask Dance Festival—by refashioning a traditional mask dance—the Hahoe Mask Dance. The Hahoe Mask Dance was a festive drama performance in Hahoe Village, but its inheritance was interrupted during the Japanese colonial period. Afterwards, as mentioned earlier, it was restored after the establishment of the Korean government and designated as a national cultural property. It then became the main theme of an annual festival, which attracts one million tourists to the city every year. In other words, the Hahoe Mask Dance is not only one of the most representative, well-known cultural heritages of Andong, but it also has an emblematic significance in the sense that it embodies the history of Andong’s cultural development. In particular, the Andong Mask Dance Festival immensely contributed to enhancing the awareness of cultural heritage as a tourism resource that may foster cultural economy in the local community and influenced the paradigm shift of approaches to cultural heritage from traditional artefacts or customs to be preserved to tourism resources. Most of the cultural events that took place in Andong after the first Andong Mask Dance Festival aimed to boost tourism. Indeed, the Andong Mask Dance Festival brought about important changes to Andong’s cultural development in the 2000s. Festivals that refashioned cultural heritage and tourists’ experiences began to be important elements of Andong’s character as a city. In accordance with the emergence of tourism as a means for cultural development, Andong experienced another remarkable change in its cultural development during the 2000s: increased interest in tangible cultural heritage as a local resource for tourism and place marketing. From the establishment of the Cultural Properties Protection Law until the 2000s, the preservation and utilisation of cultural heritage in Andong was primarily focussed on intangible cultural properties. This was mainly because the legal ownership of cultural heritage was clearly stated in the law, and thus Andong was able to manage architectural conservation without many challenges; thus, tangible cultural heritage tended to be relatively neglected in favour of the preservation and management of intangible cultural properties. However, in 2000, the Korean national government invested 470 billion KRW (approximately US$382 million) into the restoration and renovation of cultural heritage sites in eleven regions, including Andong. Even though this project did not produce immediate, significant touristic effects, many architectural heritage sites and traditional villages in Andong were renovated as part of the project. This provided the local community with an opportunity to see how tangible cultural heritage could act as an asset for place marketing and tourism. Furthermore, there was another event that motivated the use of architectural heritage to promote tourism in the early 2000s: the Tourism Promotion Act, which permits the use of architectural heritages for the purpose of accommodating commercial businesses, led to the addition of “Traditional Korean housing experiencing business” in the list of tourism business categories. This change also accelerated the utilisation of tangible cultural heritage as a tourism resource. In this context, place marketing combining tangible and intangible cultural assets has increased since the 2000s. In fact, before the 2000s, many cultural events lacked a coherent link between tangible and intangible cultural properties. For example, even though the Hahoe Mask Dance originated in Hahoe Village, the dance performance was often performed as an independent event outside Hahoe Village. However, since tangible cultural heritage—particularly architectural heritage—emerged as a local tourism resource, Andong has been developing cultural and artistic events relevant to heritage sites and the interesting narratives and storytelling that connect various heritages and make tourists develop emotional attachments to Andong and its cultural heritage (see D.Y. Lee). This shows that Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage began to seek the existential authenticity in tourism that may provide tourists with meaningful experiences. Future Directions: Redefining the City As has already been discussed, not only cultural heritage itself, but also national and regional policies, perspectives, experiences, meanings, and values have all contributed to making Andong a recognised cultural city. Notably, Andong’s development can be summarised as the adoption of diverse approaches to cultural heritage along with changes in social agendas and cultural policies. Even though the conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have at times been regarded as competing interests, for Andong—a city that has a large number of tangible heritages that come with enormous costs related to preservation and maintenance—the commodification of cultural heritage might be unavoidable. Indeed, the conservation of its heritage as well as regional development through the use of its heritage as a tourism resource are the two goals that Andong should achieve to ensure that it experiences sustainable future development. Doing so would allow it to fulfil the local community’s need and desire to take pride in its identity as a cultural city and boost its cultural economy. In this regard, we suggest that digitising cultural heritage and incorporating virtual spaces (e.g. the metaverse) into actual places may offer new possibilities for reconciling the conservation of cultural heritage with the need for regional development by allowing us to preserve and manage cultural heritage efficiently while enriching our cultural experience and enabling us to experience various kinds of authenticity. In the first place, digitisation represents an alternative way to preserve and maintain cultural heritage. Digital technologies can accurately scan and measure cultural heritages and readily reproduce a perfect replica of those cultural heritages, whether actual or virtual, which can serve to protect genuine cultural heritages from unwanted or inevitable damage. Once the data on a cultural artefact have been digitised, it is theoretically possible to preserve the digitised heritage forever without deterioration (Koshizuka and Sakamura; D. Hwan Yoo). Moreover, even though digitised artefacts are not objectively authentic, replicas and reproductions created from them may provide tourists with authentic, meaningful experiences in a constructive or existential sense. Furthermore, virtual space may offer a site in which past and present cultures can freely encounter and resonate with each other by facilitating the deterritorialisation and reterritorialisation of people and heritage, which may also lead us to an immersive and creative cultural experience. Indeed, various technologies—such as 3D animation, virtual reality, augmented reality, stereoscopic presentation, and 4K ultra high-definition immersive presentation—can create diverse kinds of virtual environment in which tourists can enjoy immersive interactivity and realistically experience heritage objects (Park, Muhammad, and Ahn). Indeed, as illustrated in a case study (D. Hwan Yoo), the digital restoration of Andong’s historical sites (i.e. using digital data collection and archiving as well as 2D and 3D modelling technologies, which reproduce landscapes and architecture in a virtual environment for museum content) may provide a novel cultural experience that fosters existential authenticity across actual and virtual spaces. To sum up, territorial meaning-making may involve the mobilisation of memories, experiences, and imaginations that are attached not only to actual heritage at actual heritage sites, but also to digitised heritage in virtual spaces, and the place that emerges from such a meaning-making process may be the contemporary city we live in. Acknowledgments This work was supported by the School of Languages and Cultures, University of Queensland, under the 2021 ECR Research Support Scheme, and the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Korea and the National Research Foundation of Korea (NRF-2021S1A6A3A01097826). Sources The figures used in this article are public works by the Cultural Heritage Administration of the Republic of Korea (https://www.heritage.go.kr), and the figures are used according to the Korea Open Government Licence. The data sources are as follows: 1: Chajeonnori — https://bit.ly/3Mn1Q9X 2: Notdaribalgi — https://bit.ly/3uVsn8k 3: Dosanseowon — https://bit.ly/3JUAplX 4: The Hahoe Village — https://bit.ly/3rzTlQz 5: The Hahoe Mask Dance — https://bit.ly/3uXg2jR References Boonzaaier, Chris, and Harry Wels. “Authenticity Lost? The Significance of Cultural Villages in the Conservation of Heritage in South Africa.” Journal of Heritage Tourism 13.2 (2018): 181–193. Chung, Hokyung, and Jongoh Lee. “A Study on Cultural Urban Regeneration Using Modern Industrial Resources: Focusing on the Site-Specific Cultural Places of Gunsan, South Korea.” Land 10.11 (2021): 1184. Cohen, Erik. “Authenticity and Commoditization in Tourism.” Annals of Tourism Research 15 (1988): 371–386. 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Lee, K.I. “10 Years since Proclaiming ‘The Capital of Korean Spirit’: Re-Evaluted Andong’s Value.” YNA 2016. Massey, Doreen. For Space. London: Sage, 2005. Min, Woong-ki. “An Exploratory Study on Tourism Plicies and Characteristics of Tourism Industry since Korea’s Liberation from Japan.” The Journal of History and Korean Practical Thought Studies 58 (2015): 267–290. Moore, Kevin, et al. “Authenticity in Tourism Theory and Experience. Practically Indispensable and Theoretically Mischievous?” Annals of Tourism Research 89 (2021): n.p. Park, Eun Sil. “The Study on Developments and Direction of Urban Regeneration and Cultural Policy.” The Journal of Cultural Policy (Korea Culture & Tourism Institute) 17 (2005): 11–39. Park, Jin-ho, Tufail Muhammad, and Jae-hong Ahn. “The 3D Reconstruction and Visualization of Seokguram Grotto World Heritage Site.” 2014 International Conference on Virtual Systems & Multimedia (VSMM) (2014): 180–183. 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Introduction Many anthropologists and other academics have attempted to argue that the spread of technology is a global homogenising force, socialising the remaining indigenous groups across the planet into an indistinct Western "monoculture" focussed on consumption, where they are rapidly losing their cultural distinctiveness. In many cases, these intellectuals -– people such as Jerry Mander -- often blame the diffusion of television (particularly through new innovations that are allowing it to penetrate further into rural areas, such as satellite and cable) as a key force in the effort to "assimilate" indigenous groups and eradicate their unique identities. Such writers suggest that indigenous groups can do nothing to resist the onslaught of the technologically, economically, and aesthetically superior power of Western television. Ironically, while often protesting the plight of indigenous groups and heralding their need for cultural survival, these authors often fail to recognise these groups’ abilities to fend for themselves and preserve their cultural integrity. On the other side of the debate are visual anthropologists and others who are arguing that indigenous groups are quickly becoming savvy to Western technologies, and that they are now using them for cultural revitalisation, linguistic revival, and the creation of outlets for the indigenous voice. In this school of thought, technology is seen not so much as a threat to indigenous groups, but instead as a remarkable opportunity to reverse the misfortunes of these groups at the hands of colonisation and national programmes of attempted assimilation. From this perspective, the rush of indigenous groups to adopt new technologies comes hand-in-hand with recent efforts to assert their tribal sovereignty and their independence. Technology has become a "weapon" in their struggle for technological autonomy. As a result, many are starting their own television stations and networks, and thus transforming the way television operates in their societies -– away from global monocultures and toward local interests. I hypothesise that in fact there is no correlation between television viewing and acculturation, and that, in fact, the more familiar people are with the technology of television and the current way the technology is utilised, the more likely they are to be interested in using it to revive and promote their own culture. Whatever slight negative effect exists depends on the degree to which local people can understand and redirect how that technology is used within their own cultural context. However, it should be stated that for terms of this investigation, I consider the technologies of "video" and "television" to be identical. One is the recording aspect, and the other the distribution aspect, of the same technology. Once people become aware that they can control what is on the television screen through the instrumentality of video, they immediately begin attempting to assert cultural values through it. And this is precisely what is going on on the Cheyenne River Reservation. This project is significant because the phenomenon of globalisation is real and Western technologies such as video, radio, and PCs are spreading throughout the world, including the "Fourth World" of the planet’s indigenous peoples. However, in order to deal with the phenomenon of globalisation, anthropologists and others may need to deal more realistically with the phenomenon of technological diffusion, which operates far less simply than they might assume. Well-meaning anthropologists seeking to "protect" indigenous groups from the "invasion" of technologies which will change their way of life may be doing these groups a disservice. If they turned some of their effort away from fending off these technologies and toward teaching indigenous groups how to use them, perhaps they might have a better result in creating a better future for them. I hope this study will show a more productive model for dealing with technological diffusion and what effects it has on cultural change in indigenous societies. There have been very few authors that have dealt with this topic head-on. One of the first to do so was Pace (1993), who suggested that some Brazilian Indians were acculturating more quickly as a result of television finally coming to their remote villages in the 1960s. Molohon (1984) looked at two Cree communities, and found that the one which had more heavy television viewing was culturally closer to its neighboring white towns. Zimmerman (1996) fingered television as one of the key elements in causing Indian teenagers to lose their sense of identity, thus putting them at higher risk for suicide. Gillespie (1995) argued that television is actually a ‘weapon’ of national states everywhere in their efforts to assimilate and socialise indigenous and other ethnic minority groups. In contrast, authors like Weiner (1997), Straubhaar (1991), and Graburn (1982) have all critiqued these approaches, suggesting that they deny subjectivity and critical thinking to indigenous TV audiences. Each of these researchers suggest, based on their field work, that indigenous people are no more likely than anybody else to believe that the things they see on television are true, and no more likely to adopt the values or worldviews promoted by Western TV programmers and advertisers. In fact, Graburn has observed that the Inuit became so disgusted with what they saw on Canadian national television, that they went out and started their own TV network in an effort to provide their people with meaningful alternatives on their screens. Bell (1995) sounds a cautionary note against studies like Graburn’s, noting that the efforts of indigenous New Zealanders to create their own TV programming for local markets failed, largely because they were crowded out by the "media imperialism" of outside international television. Although the indigenous groups there tried to put their own faces on the screen, many local viewers preferred to see the faces of J.R. Ewing and company, and lowered the ratings share of these efforts. Salween (1991) thinks that global media "cultural imperialism" is real -– that it is an objective pursued by international television marketers -– and suggests a media effects approach might be the best way to see whether it works. Woll (1987) notes that historically many ethnic groups have formed their self-images based on the way they have been portrayed onscreen, and that so far these portrayals have been far from sympathetic. In fact, even once these groups started their own cinemas or TV programmes, they unconsciously perpetuated stereotypes first foisted on them by other people. This study tends to side with those who have observed that indigenous people do not tend to "roll over" in the wake of the onslaught of Western television. Although cautionary studies need to be examined carefully, this research will posit that although the dominant forces controlling TV are antithetical to indigenous groups and their goals, the efforts of indigenous people to take control of their TV screens and their own "media literacy" are also increasing. Thus, this study should contribute to the viewpoint that perhaps the best way to save indigenous groups from cultural eradication is to give them access to television and show them how to set up their own stations and distribute their own video programming. In fact, it appears to be the case that TV, the Internet, and electronic 'new media' are helping to foster a process of cultural renewal, not just among the Lakota, but also among the Inuit, the Australian aborigines, and other indigenous groups. These new technologies are helping them renew their native languages, cultural values, and ceremonial traditions, sometimes by giving them new vehicles and forms. Methods The research for this project was conducted on the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation headquartered in Eagle Butte, South Dakota. Participants chosen for this project were Lakota Sioux who were of the age of consent (18 or older) and who were tribal members living on the reservation. They were given a survey which consisted of five components: a demographic question section identifying their age, gender, and individual data; a technology question section identifying what technologies they had in their home; a TV question section measuring the amount of television they watched; an acculturation question section determining their comparative level of acculturation; and a cultural knowledge question section determining their knowledge of Lakota history. This questionnaire was often followed up by unstructured ethnographic interviews. Thirty-three people of mixed age and gender were given this questionnaire, and for the purposes of this research paper, I focussed primarily on their responses dealing with television and acculturation. These people were chosen through strictly random sampling based on picking addresses at random from the phone book and visiting their houses. The television section asked specifically how many hours of TV they watched per day and per week, what shows they watched, what kinds of shows they preferred, and what rooms in their home had TVs. The acculturation section asked them questions such as how much they used the Lakota language, how close their values were to Lakota values, and how much participation they had in traditional indigenous rituals and customs. To assure open and honest responses, each participant filled out a consent form, and was promised anonymity of their answers. To avoid data contamination, I remained with each person until they completed the questionnaire. For my data analysis, I attempted to determine if there was any correlation (Pearson’s coefficient r of correlation) between such things as hours of TV viewed per week or years of TV ownership with such things as the number of traditional ceremonies they attended in the past year, the number of non-traditional Lakota values they had, their fluency in the Lakota language, their level of cultural knowledge, or the number of traditional practices and customs they had engaged in in their lives. Through simple statistical tests, I determined whether television viewing had any impact on these variables which were reasonable proxies for level of acculturation. Findings Having chosen two independent variables, hours of TV watched per week, and years of TV ownership, I tested if there was any significant correlation between them and the dependent variables of Lakota peoples’ level of cultural knowledge, participation in traditional practices, conformity of values to non-Lakota or non-traditional values, fluency in Lakota, and participation in traditional ceremonies (Table 1). These variables all seemed like reasonable proxies for acculturation since acculturated Lakota would know less of their own culture, go to fewer ceremonies, and so on. The cultural knowledge score was based on how many complete answers the respondents knew to ‘fill in the blank’ questions regarding Lakota history, historical figures, and important events. Participation in traditional practices was based on how many items they marked in a survey of whether or not they had ever raised a tipi, used traditional medicine, etc. The score for conformity to non-Lakota values was based on how many items they marked with a contrary answer to the emic Lakota value system ("the seven Ws".) Lakota fluency was based on how well they could speak, write, or use the Lakota language. And ceremonial attendance was based on the number of traditional ceremonies they had attended in the past year. There were no significant correlations between either of these TV-related variables and these indexes of acculturation. Table 1. R-Scores (Pearson’s Coefficient of Correlation) between Variables Representing Television and Acculturation R-SCORES Cultural Knowledge Traditional Practices Modern Values Lakota Fluency Ceremonial Attendance Years Owning TV 0.1399 -0.0445 -0.4646 -0.0660 0.1465 Hours of TV/Week -0.3414 -0.2640 -0.2798 -0.3349 0.2048 The strongest correlation was between the number of years the Lakota person owned a television, and the number of non-Lakota (or ‘modern Western’) values they held in their value system. But even that correlation was pretty weak, and nowhere near the r-score of other linear correlations, such as between their age and the number of children they had. How much television Lakota people watched did not seem to have any influence on how much cultural knowledge they knew, how many traditional practices they had participated in, how many non-Lakota values they held, how well they spoke or used the Lakota language, or how many ceremonies they attended. Even though there does not appear to be anything unusual about their television preferences, and in general they are watching the same shows as other non-Lakota people on the reservation, they are not becoming more acculturated as a result of their exposure to television. Although the Lakota people may be losing aspects of their culture, language, and traditions, other causes seem to be at the forefront than television. I also found that people who were very interested in television production as well as consumption saw this as a tool for putting more Lakota-oriented programs on the air. The more they knew about how television worked, the more they were interested in using it as a tool in their own community. And where I was working at the Cultural Center, there was an effort to videotape many community and cultural events. The Center had a massive archive of videotaped material, but unfortunately while they had faithfully recorded all kinds of cultural events, many of them were not quite "broadcast ready". There was more focus on showing these video programmes, especially oral history interviews with elders, on VCRs in the school system, and in integrating them into various kinds of multimedia and hypermedia. While the Cultural Center had begun broadcasting (remotely through a radio modem) a weekly radio show, ‘Wakpa Waste’ (Good Morning CRST), on the radio station to the north, KLND-Standing Rock, there had never been any forays into TV broadcasting. The Cultural Center director had looked into the feasibility of putting up a television signal transmission tower, and had applied for a grant to erect one, but that grant was denied. The local cable system in Eagle Butte unfortunately lacked the technology to carry true "local access" programming; although the Channel 8 of the system carried CRST News and text announcements, there was no open channel available to carry locally produced public access programming. The way the cable system was set up, it was purely a "relay" or feed from news and channels from elsewhere. Also, people were investing heavily in satellite systems, especially the new DBS (direct broadcast satellite) receivers, and would not be able to pick up local access programmes anyway. The main problem hindering the Lakotas’ efforts to preserve their culture through TV and video was lack of access to broadcast distribution technology. They had the interest, the means, and the stock of programming to put on the air. They had the production and editing equipment, although not the studios to do a "live" show. Were they able to have more local access to and control over TV distribution technology, they would have a potent "arsenal" for resisting the drastic acculturation their community is undergoing. TV has the potential to be a tool for great cultural revitalisation, but because the technology and know-how for producing it was located elsewhere, the Lakotas could not benefit from it. Discussion I hypothesised that the effects if TV viewing on levels of indigenous acculturation would be negligible. The data support my hypothesis that TV does not seem to have a major correlation with other indices of acculturation. Previous studies by anthropologists such as Pace and Molohon suggested that TV was a key determinant in the acculturation of indigenous people in Brazil and the U.S. -– this being the theory of cultural imperialism. However, this research suggests that TV’s effect on the decline of indigenous culture is weak and inconclusive. In fact, the qualitative data suggest that the Lakota most familiar with TV are also the most interested in using it as a tool for cultural preservation. Although the CRST Lakota currently lack the means for mass broadcast of cultural programming, there is great interest in it, and new technologies such as the Internet and micro-broadcast may give them the means. There are other examples of this phenomenon worldwide, which suggest that the Lakota experience is not unique. In recent years, Australian Aborigines, Canadian Inuit, and Brazilian Kayapo have each begun ambitious efforts in creating satellite-based television networks that allow them to reach their far-flung populations with programming in their own indigenous language. In Australia, Aboriginal activists have created music television programming which has helped them assert their position in land claims disputes with the Australian government (Michaels 1994), and also to educate the Europeans of Australia about the aboriginal way of life. In Canada, the Inuit have also created satellite TV networks which are indigenous-owned and operated and carry traditional cultural programming (Valaskakis 1992). Like the Aborigines and the Inuit, the Lakota through their HVJ Lakota Cultural Center are beginning to create their own radio and video programming on a smaller scale, but are beginning to examine using the reservation's cable network to carry some of this material. Since my quantitative survey included only 33 respondents, the data are not as robust as would be determined from a larger sample. However, ethnographic interviews focussing on how people approach TV, as well as other qualitative data, support the inferences of the quantitative research. It is not clear that my work with the Lakota is necessarily generalisable to other populations. Practically, it does suggest that anthropologists interested in cultural and linguistic preservation should strive to increase indigenous access to, and control of, TV production technology. ‘Protecting’ indigenous groups from new technologies may cause more harm than good. Future applied anthropologists should work with the ‘natives’ and help teach them how to adopt and adapt this technology for their own purposes. Although this is a matter that I deal with more intensively in my dissertation, it also appears to me to be the case that, contrary to the warnings of Mander, many indigenous cultures are not being culturally assimilated by media technology, but instead are assimilating the technology into their own particular cultural contexts. The technology is part of a process of revitalisation or renewal -- although there is a definite process of change and adaptation underway, this actually represents an 'updating' of old cultural practices for new situations in an attempt to make them viable for the modern situation. Indeed, I think that the Internet, globally, is allowing indigenous people to reassert themselves as a Fourth World "power bloc" on the world stage, as linkages are being formed between Saami, Maya, Lakota, Kayapo, Inuit, and Aborigines. Further research should focus on: why TV seems to have a greater acculturative influence on certain indigenous groups rather than others; whether indigenous people can truly compete equally in the broadcast "marketplace" with Western cultural programming; and whether attempts to quantify the success of TV/video technology in cultural preservation and revival can truly demonstrate that this technology plays a positive role. In conclusion, social scientists may need to take a sidelong look at why precisely they have been such strong critics of introducing new technologies into indigenous societies. There is a better role that they can play –- that of technology ‘broker’. They can cooperate with indigenous groups, serving to facilitate the exchange of knowledge, expertise, and technology between them and the majority society. References Bell, Avril. "'An Endangered Species’: Local Programming in the New Zealand Television Market." Media, Culture & Society 17.1 (1995): 182-202. Gillespie, Marie. Television, Ethnicity, and Cultural Change. New York: Routledge, 1995. Graburn, Nelson. "Television and the Canadian Inuit". Inuit Etudes 6.2 (1982): 7-24. Michaels, Eric. Bad Aboriginal Art: Tradition, Media, and Technological Horizons. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1994. Molohon, K.T. "Responses to Television in Two Swampy Cree Communities on the West James Bay." Kroeber Anthropology Society Papers 63/64 (1982): 95-103. Pace, Richard. "First-Time Televiewing in Amazonia: Television Acculturation in Gurupa, Brazil." Ethnology 32.1 (1993): 187-206. Salween, Michael. "Cultural Imperialism: A Media Effects Approach." Critical Studies in Mass Communication 8.2 (1991): 29-39. Straubhaar, J. "Beyond Media Imperialism: Asymmetrical Interdependence and Cultural Proximity". Critical Studies in Mass Communication 8.1 (1991): 39-70. Valaskakis, Gail. "Communication, Culture, and Technology: Satellites and Northern Native Broadcasting in Canada". Ethnic Minority Media: An International Perspective. Newbury Park: Sage Publications, 1992. Weiner, J. "Televisualist Anthropology: Representation, Aesthetics, Politics." Current Anthropology 38.3 (1997): 197-236. Woll, Allen. Ethnic and Racial Images in American Film and Television: Historical Essays and Bibliography. New York: Garland Press, 1987. Zimmerman, M. "The Development of a Measure of Enculturation for Native American Youth." American Journal of Community Psychology 24.1 (1996): 295-311. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Steven Mizrach. "Natives on the Electronic Frontier: Television and Cultural Change on the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.6 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/natives.php>. Chicago style: Steven Mizrach, "Natives on the Electronic Frontier: Television and Cultural Change on the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 6 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/natives.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Steven Mizrach. (2000) Natives on the electronic frontier: television and cultural change on the Cheyenne River Sioux Reservation. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(6). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0012/natives.php> ([your date of access]).

IntroductionThe popularity of social networking sites (SNSs) bears witness to thriving movement protests worldwide. The development of new hardware technologies such as mobile devices and digital cameras, in particular, has fast enhanced visual communications among users that help document and broadcast contemporary social movements. Using social media with these technologies thus presents new opportunities for grassroots social movement organisations (SMOs) and activist groups to become narrators of their activist lives, and to promote solidarity and recognition for advancing varied civic and political agendas. With the case of a student activist group that led and organised a 10-day occupation protest in Hong Kong, this article examines the idea of new media-savvy SMOs as political curators that employ SNS platforms to (co-)create digital narratives at large-scale movement protests. Invoking the concepts of curation and choreography, it highlights how these processes can work together to encourage contentious engagement and collaboration in contemporary social movements.The New Media-Savvy SMO as Political CuratorWhereas traditional social movement studies stressed the importance of pre-existing social networks and organisational structures for collective action, developments in new information and communication technologies (ICTs) challenge the common theories of how people are drawn into and participate in social movements. In recent years, a spate of research has particularly emphasised the ability of individuals and small groups to self-organise on the Internet (e.g. Rheingold). Lately, observing the use of SNSs such as Facebook and Twitter in contemporary social movements, work in this area has focused on how SNSs enable movement diffusion through personal networks and individuals’ online activities even without either the aid or the oversight of an organisation (e.g. Shirky).However, horizontal activism self-organised by atomised new media users seems insufficient as an explanation of how many recent protest movements achieved their high tides. While the flourishing literature shows writers have correctly centred their study on the changing dynamics in control over information and the growing importance of individual users’ contributions, it fails to account for the crucial role that SMOs continue to play. In fact, recent studies consistently observe the continuing importance of SMOs in mobilising and coordinating collective actions in online environments (Bimber, Flanagin, and Stohl, Collective). Whereas new ICTs have provided activist groups with the instrument to deal with their contentious activities with less cueing and leadership from conventional institutionalised structures, SMOs have created their own new media resources. Nowadays, a significant percentage of protest participants have received their information from online platforms that are run by or affiliated with these organisations. The critical questions remain about the kinds of communication methods they utilise to activate and integrate independent activists’ networks and participation, especially in emerging social media environments.Unfortunately, existing research tends to overlook the discursive potentials and cultural dimensions in online activism while emphasising the cost-effectiveness and organisational function of new ICTs. In particular, social movement and new media scholars merely attended to the ways in which digital media enable widescale, relatively un-coordinated contributions to repositories of resources for networks of activists and interest groups, as SNS applications stress the importance of user participation, openness, and network effects in the processes of content production and sharing. However, the mere existence or even “surplus” (Shirky 27) of “second-order communal goods” (Bimber, Flanagin, and Stohl, “Reconceptualizing” 372)—a collection of resources created collectively but without a bounded community, through video-posting, tagging, and circulation practices engaged in by individuals—does not accidentally result in critical publics that come to take part in political activism. Rather, social movements are, above all, the space for manifesting ideas, choices, and a collective will, in which people produce their own history through their cultural creations and social struggles (Touraine). As such, the alteration of meaning, the struggle to define the situation, and the discursive practices carried out within a social movement are all major aspects of social movements and change (Melucci).Indeed, SMOs and marginalised communities worldwide have increasingly learnt the ability to become narrators of their activist and community lives, and to express solidarity and recognition afforded through technology adoption. The recent proliferation of social media applications and mobile digital technologies has allowed activist groups to create and distribute their own stories regarding concrete actions, ongoing campaigns, and thematic issues of protest movements on more multimedia platforms. In order to advance political ideas and collective action frames, they may bring together a variety of online content in such a way that the collated materials offer a commentary on a subject area by articulating and negotiating new media artefacts, while also inviting responses. Therefore, not only are the new media channels for activist communication comparatively inexpensive, but they also provide for a richer array of content and the possibility of greater control by SMOs over its (re-)creation, maintenance, and distribution for potential digital narrating. To understand how digital narrating takes place in contemporary protest movements with SNSs, we now turn to two analytic concepts—curation and choreography.Social Media Content Curation and Choreography Curation, as a new media practice, involves finding, categorising, and organising relevant online content on specific issues. For instance, museums and libraries may have curators to select and feature digital items for collection and display, improving the types of information accessible to a public audience. In protest movements, SMOs and political actors may also curate peer-produced content on SNS platforms so as to filter and amplify useful information for mobilising collective action. In fact, this process by SMOs and political actors is particularly important, as it helps sort and draw timely attention to these information sources, especially at times when users are faced with a large amount of noise created by millions of producers (Bennett, Segerberg, and Walker). More importantly, not only does content curating entail the selection and preservation of online materials that may facilitate collective action, but it may also involve the (re-)presentation of selected content by telling stories not being told or by telling existing stories in a different way (Fotopoulou and Couldry). In contrast to professional collecting, it is a much more deliberate process, one which clearly articulates and puts forwards (opportunities for) new meanings or new understanding of a subject (Franks). For example, when new media content is re-posted or shared in its original form but in a new context, digital narrating occurs as it may result in a new or additional layer of meaning (Baym and Shah). Therefore, more than merely expending information resources available to activists, the power of curation can be understood primarily as discursive, as users may pick up particular versions of reality in interpreting social issues and protest movements (Bekkers, Moody, and Edwards).Moreover, nowadays, social media curating is not restricted to text but also includes image and video streaming, as the development of mobile devices and digital cameras has facilitated and enhanced instant communication and information retrieval almost regardless of location. The practice of content curating with SNSs may also involve the process of choreographing with various social media modules, such as posting a series of edited pictures under an overarching schema and organising user-generated photos into an album that suggests a particular theme. Rather than simply using a single visual item designed to tell a story, the idea of choreographing is thus concerned with how curated items are seen and experienced from the users’ perspectives as it “allows curators not just to expose elements of a story but to tell a structured tale with the traditional elements of beginning, middle and end” (Franks 288).In practice, the implementation of choreography can be envisioned to bring together the practice of content curating and that of enhancing and connecting contentious engagement at protest movements. For example, when SMOs make use of images and video to help frame an issue in a more advanced way by sharing a picture with a comment added on Facebook, they may at once, whether consciously or unconsciously, suggest possible endorsement to the selected content and/or the source—may it be that of an individual user or a formal organisation—while drawing attention to the image and circulating it beyond the original network for which it was posted (Bennett, Segerberg, and Walker). As such, by posting pictures with captions and sharing user-generated photos that do not belong to the SMO but are produced by other users, curating and choreographing with social media content can create a temporary space for practicing mutual recognition and extending the relationship between the SMO and the larger public. Combined, they may therefore “entail the creation of norms and boundaries in particular user communities and their platforms” (Bennett, Segerberg, and Walker 239).This article examines the ways in which a new media-savvy SMO employed SNS platforms to (co-)create digital narratives, with the case of the 2012 Anti-National Education Movement in Hong Kong. By highlighting how social media content curating and choreographing may work together to encourage engagement and collaboration at large-scale protests, we can better understand how emerging SNS-enabled affordances can be translated into concrete contentious activities, as well as the discursive aspects and cultural expressions of using new media platforms and digital technologies in contemporary protest movements.Digital Narrating for Grassroots Mobilisation Since 2010, the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region government has undertaken “national education” curriculum reform. However, the worry about mainland-Chinese style national education in schools brought people out to defend values that were held dear in Hong Kong. Scholarism, a new media-savvy SMO founded by about 20 secondary school students in May 2011, became the first pressure group formed against the “Moral and National Education” curriculum and became the leading activist group. On 30 August 2012, about 50 members and supporters of Scholarism started occupying the public area in front of the government’s headquarters, while three of its members went on a hunger strike. At the same time, Scholarism made active use of Facebook to undertake grassroots mobilisation, prompting both online activism and offline participation. On 7 September, over 120,000 people went to Occupy Headquarters. The next day, the Chief Executive, C. Y. Leung, succumbed to the pressure and declared that the curriculum would not be imposed in Hong Kong schools. In order to initiate a grassroots mobilisation, upon the beginning of Occupy Headquarters, Scholarism carried out the new media practice of telling the story of the student hunger strikers on Facebook to create a “moral shock” (Jasper 106) among the general public. On the first day of the occupation protest, 30 August, a poster on the hunger strike was released by Scholarism on its Facebook page. Instead of providing detailed information about the protest movement, this poster was characterised by the pictures of the three student hunger strikers. The headline message simply stated “We have started the hunger strike.” This poster was very popular among Facebook users; it accumulated more than 16,000 likes.By appealing to the hardships and sufferings of the three student hunger strikers, more photos were uploaded to narrate the course of the hunger strike and the occupation protest. In particular, pictures with captions added were posted on Facebook every couple of hours to report on the student hunger strikers’ latest situation. Although the mobilising power of these edited pictures did not come from their political ideology or rational argumentation, they sought to appeal to the “martyr-hood” of the student activists. Soon thereafter, as the social media updates of the student hunger strikers spread, feelings of shock and anger grew rapidly. Most of the comments that were posted under the updates and photos of the student hunger strikers on Scholarism’s Facebook page protested against the government’s brutality.In addition, as the movement grew, Scholarism extended the self-reporting activities on Facebook from members to non-members. For instance, it frequently (self-)reported on the amount of people joining the movement days and nights. This was especially so on 7 September, when Scholarism uploaded multiple photos and text messages to report on the physical movement of the 120,000 people. As a movement strategy, the display of images of protests and rallies on the Internet can help demonstrate the legitimacy, unity, numbers, and commitment of people supporting the movement goals (Carty and Onyett). Curating and choreographing with protest images on Facebook therefore facilitated the symbolic interactions and emotional exchanges among activists for maintaining movement solidarity and consolidating activist identity.To demonstrate the public support for its organisation and the movement, Scholarism extensively reported on its own, as well as other, protest activities and efforts on Facebook against the introduction of the “Moral and National Education” curriculum, creating unprecedented parallel public records of these events. In fact, throughout the entire movement protest, Scholarism took tight photo records of protest activities, systematically organised them into albums, and uploaded them onto Facebook every day between 30 August and 8 September.Content Co-Creation for Counter-Hegemonic ExpressionsFrom a (neo-)Gramscian perspective, counter-hegemony is often embedded and embodied in music, novels, drama, movies, and so on (Boggs). An example of counter-hegemony in the traditional media is a documentary that questions the government’s involvement in a war (Cohen). Therefore, popular culture in the media may help foster counter-hegemony on the terrain of civil society in preparation for political change (Pratt). For Chinese communities in East Asia, pop music, for example, had played a significant role in organising patriotic feelings in mass protest events, such as the Tiananmen demonstrations of 1989 and the many subsequent protests in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and elsewhere against the violence of the Beijing government (Chow 153). During the occupation protest, Facebook was turned into an open and flexible discursive space, in which cutting-edge counter-hegemonic narratives were produced, distributed, and expressed. Scholarism and many individual activists adopted the social media platform to (co-)create activists’ discourses and knowledge in order to challenge the dominant political and cultural codes (Melucci). An example is a poster created by Scholarism, posted on its Facebook page on 4 September. The title message of this poster is: “This is not the government headquarters. This is our CIVIC SQUARE. Come and occupy!” This message represents a discursive intervention that seeks to “illuminate the limits of normative discourses of knowledge and power” (Lane 138). It did so by replacing the original, official name and meaning of the government headquarters as well as its authority with the counter-hegemonic idea of “civic square,” a term developed and coined by Scholarism during the occupation protest to represent the public space in front of the headquarters.Moreover, the Facebook page of Scholarism was by no means the only source of content out of which counter-hegemonic knowledge and discourses were produced. Conversely, most of the new media artefacts observed on the Facebook page of Scholarism were originally created by and posted on, and therefore re-posted and shared from, the Facebook pages of other individual or group users. They are in forms of text, picture, video, and the like that sought to undermine the legitimacy of the Hong Kong government, ridicule the rationale of the “Moral and National Education” curriculum, and discredit figures in the opposition.An example is a cartoon made by an individual user and re-posted on the Facebook page of Scholarism on 2 September, the day before schools restarted in Hong Kong after the summer break. This cartoon features a schoolboy in his school uniform, who is going to school with a bunch of identical locks tied to his head. The title message is: “School begins, keep your brain safe.” This cartoon was created to ridicule the rationale of the introduction of the “Moral and National Education” by “making visible the underlying and hidden relations of power on which the smooth operation of government repression depends” (Lane 136).Another new media artefact re-posted on the Facebook page of Scholarism was originally created by a well-known Hong Kong cartoon painter of a major local newspaper. This cartoon sought to humanise the student activists and to condemn the brutality of the Hong Kong government. It paints an imagined situation in which a public conversation between the Secretary for Education, Hak-kim Eddie Ng, and the three students on the hunger strike takes place. In this cartoon, Ng is cast as the wholesaler of the “Moral and National Education” curriculum. Holding a bottle of liquid in his hand, he says to the students: “This is the tears of the chief executive from last night. Kids, should you all go home now?”Thus, counter-hegemonic expressions did not flow unidirectionally from Scholarism to the society at large. The special role of Scholarism was indeed to curate and choreograph new media artefacts by employing social media modules such as re-posting and sharing user-generated content. In so doing, it facilitated the mobilisation of the occupation protest and instant collaboration, as it connected scattered activities, turned them into a collective, and branded it with a common identity, conviction, and/or purpose.ConclusionThis article has briefly looked at the case of a new media-savvy SMO in Hong Kong as an example of how activist groups can become political curators at large-scale protest events. In particular, it highlights the concepts of curation and choreography in explaining how emerging SNS-enabled affordances can be translated into concrete contentious activities. This article argues that, rather than simply producing and disseminating content on SNS platforms, SMOs today have learnt to actively construct stories about protest movements with social media modules such as (re-)posting edited pictures and sharing user-generated photos in order to mobilise effective political interventions and sustain a vibrant participatory culture.ReferencesBaym, Geoffrey, and Chirag Shah. “Circulating Struggle: The On-Line Flow of Environmental Advocacy Clips from the Daily Show and the Colbert Report.” Information Communication & Society 14.7 (2011): 1017–38. Bekkers, Victor, Rebecca Moody, and Arthur Edwards. “Micro-Mobilization, Social Media and Coping Strategies: Some Dutch Experiences.” Policy and Internet 3.4 (2011): 1–29. Bennett, W. Lance, Alexandra Segerberg, and Shawn Walker. “Organization in the Crowd: Peer Production in Large-Scale Networked Protests.” Information, Communication & Society 17.2 (2014): 232–60. Bimber, Bruce, Andrew J. Flanagin, and Cynthia Stohl. “Reconceptualizing Collective Action in the Contemporary Media Environment.” Communication Theory 15.4 (2005): 365–88. ———. Collective Action in Organizations. New York: Cambridge UP, 2012.Boggs, Carl. The Two Revolutions: Antonio Gramsci and the Dilemmas of Western Marxism. Boston, MA: South End P, 1984. Carty, Victoria, and Jake Onyett. “Protest, Cyberactivism and New Social Movements: The Reemergence of the Peace Movement Post 9/11.” Social Movement Studies 5.3 (2006): 229–49. Chow, Ray. “Between Colonizers: Hong Kong’s Postcolonial Self-Writing in the 1990s.” Diaspora 2.2 (1992): 151–70. Cohen, Theodore. Global Political Economy. New York: Longman, 2003. Fotopoulou, Aristea, and Nick Couldry. “Telling the Story of the Stories: Online Content Curation and Digital Engagement.” Information, Communication & Society 18.2 (2015): 235–49. Franks, Rachel. “Establishing an Emotional Connection: The Librarian as (Digital) Storyteller.” The Australian Library Journal 62.4 (2013): 285–94. Jasper, James M. The Art of Moral Protest: Culture, Biography, and Creativity in Social Movement. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Lane, Jill. “Digital Zapatistas.” The Drama Review 47.2 (2003): 129–44. Melucci, Alberto. Challenging Codes: Collective Action in the Information Age. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996.Pratt, Nicola. “Bringing Politics Back in: Examining the Link between Globalization and Democratization.” Review of International Political Economy 11.2 (2004): 311–36. Rheingold, Howard. Smart Mobs: The Next Social Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Basic Books, 2003. Shirky, Clay. Cognitive Surplus: Creativity and Generosity in a Connected Age. London: Allen Lane, 2010. Touraine, Alain. Return of the Actor: Social Theory in Postindustrial Society. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1988.

If I find out that you have bought a $90 red light sabre, Tara, well there's going to be trouble. -- Kevin Brabazon A few Saturdays ago, my 71-year old father tried to convince me of imminent responsibilities. As I am considering the purchase of a house, there are mortgages, bank fees and years of misery to endure. Unfortunately, I am not an effective Big Picture Person. The lure of the light sabre is almost too great. For 30 year old Generation Xers like myself, it is more than a cultural object. It is a textual anchor, and a necessary component to any future history of the present. Revelling in the aura of the Australian release for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, this paper investigates popular memory, an undertheorised affiliation between popular culture and cultural studies.1 The excitement encircling the Star Wars prequel has been justified in terms of 'hype' or marketing. Such judgements frame the men and women cuing for tickets, talking Yodas and light sabres as fools or duped souls who need to get out more. My analysis explores why Star Wars has generated this enthusiasm, and how cultural studies can mobilise this passionate commitment to consider notions of popularity, preservation and ephemerality. We'll always have Tattooine. Star Wars has been a primary popular cultural social formation for a generation. The stories of Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Darth Vader, Yoda, C-3PO and R2D2 offer an alternative narrative for the late 1970s and 1980s. It was a comfort to have the Royal Shakespearian tones of Alec Guinness confirming that the Force would be with us, through economic rationalism, unemployment, Pauline Hanson and Madonna discovering yoga. The Star Wars Trilogy, encompassing A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, was released between 1977 and 1983. These films have rarely slipped from public attention, being periodically 'brought back' through new cinematic and video releases. The currency of Star Wars is matched with the other great popular cultural formations of the post-war period: the James Bond series and Star Trek. One reason for the continued success of these programmes is that other writers, film makers and producers cannot leave these texts alone. Bond survives not only through Pierce Brosnan's good looks, but the 'Hey Baby' antics of Austin Powers. Star Trek, through four distinct series, has become an industry that will last longer than Voyager's passage back from the Delta Quadrant. Star Wars, perhaps even more effectively than the other popular cultural heavyweights, has enmeshed itself into other filmic and televisual programming. Films like Spaceballs and television quizzes on Good News Week keep the knowledge system and language current and pertinent.2 Like Umberto Eco realised of Casablanca, Star Wars is "a living example of living textuality" (199). Both films are popular because of imperfections and intertextual archetypes, forming a filmic quilt of sensations and affectivities. Viewers are aware that "the cliches are talking among themselves" (Eco 209). As these cinematic texts move through time, the depth and commitment of these (con)textual dialogues are repeated and reinscribed. To hold on to a memory is to isolate a moment or an image and encircle it with meaning. Each day we experience millions of texts: some are remembered, but most are lost. Some popular cultural texts move from ephemera to popular memory to history. In moving beyond individual reminiscences -- the personal experiences of our lifetime -- we enter the sphere of popular culture. Collective or popular memory is a group or community experience of a textualised reality. For example, during the Second World War, there were many private experiences, but certain moments arch beyond the individual. Songs by Vera Lynn are fully textualised experiences that become the fodder for collective memory. Similarly, Star Wars provides a sense-making mechanism for the 1980s. Like all popular culture, these texts allow myriad readership strategies, but there is collective recognition of relevance and importance. Popular memory is such an important site because it provides us, as cultural critics, with a map of emotionally resonant sites of the past, moments that are linked with specific subjectivities and a commonality of expression. While Star Wars, like all popular cultural formations, has a wide audience, there are specific readings that are pertinent for particular groups. To unify a generation around cultural texts is an act of collective memory. As Harris has suggested, "sometimes, youth does interesting things with its legacy and creatively adapts its problematic into seemingly autonomous cultural forms" (79). Generation X refers to an age cohort born between the mid-1960s and the mid-1970s. Finally cultural studies theorists have found a Grail subculture. Being depthless, ambivalent, sexually repressed and social failures, Xers are a cultural studies dream come true. They were the children of the media revolution. Star Wars is integral to this textualised database. A fan on the night of the first screening corrected a journalist: "we aren't Generation X, we are the Star Wars generation" (Brendon, in Miller 9). An infatuation and reflexivity with the media is the single framework of knowledge in which Xers operate. This shared understanding is the basis for comedy, and particularly revealed (in Australia) in programmes like The Panel and Good News Week. Television themes, lines of film dialogue and contemporary news broadcasts are the basis of the game show. The aesthetics of life transforms television into a real. Or, put another way, "individual lives may be fragmented and confused but McDonald's is universal" (Hopkins 17). A group of textual readers share a literacy, a new way of reading the word and world of texts. Nostalgia is a weapon. The 1990s has been a decade of revivals: from Abba to skateboards, an era of retro reinscription has challenged linear theories of history and popular culture. As Timothy Carter reveals, "we all loved the Star Wars movies when we were younger, and so we naturally look forward to a continuation of those films" (9). The 1980s has often been portrayed as a bad time, of Thatcher and Reagan, cold war brinkmanship, youth unemployment and HIV. For those who were children and (amorphously phrased) 'young adults' of this era, the popular memory is of fluorescent fingerless gloves, Ray Bans, 'Choose Life' t-shirts and bubble skirts. It was an era of styling mousse, big hair, the Wham tan, Kylie and Jason and Rick Astley's dancing. Star Wars action figures gave the films a tangibility, holding the future of the rebellion in our hands (literally). These memories clumsily slop into the cup of the present. The problem with 'youth' is that it is semiotically too rich: the expression is understood, but not explained, by discourses as varied as the educational system, family structures, leisure industries and legal, medical and psychological institutions. It is a term of saturation, where normality is taught, and deviance is monitored. All cultural studies theorists carry the baggage of the Birmingham Centre into any history of youth culture. The taken-for-granted 'youth as resistance' mantra, embodied in Resistance through Rituals and Subculture: The Meaning of Style, transformed young people into the ventriloquist's puppet of cultural studies. The strings of the dancing, smoking, swearing and drinking puppet took many years to cut. The feminist blade of Angela McRobbie did some damage to the fraying filaments, as did Dick Hebdige's reflexive corrections in Hiding in the Light. However, the publications, promotion and pedagogy of Gen X ended the theoretical charade. Gen X, the media sophisticates, played with popular culture, rather than 'proper politics.' In Coupland's Generation X, Claire, one of the main characters believed that "Either our lives become stories, or there's just no way to get through them." ... We know that this is why the three of us left our lives behind us and came to the desert -- to tell stories and to make our own lives worthwhile tales in the process. (8) Television and film are part of this story telling process. This intense connection generated an ironic and reflexive literacy in the media. Television became the basis for personal pleasures and local resistances, resulting in a disciplined mobilisation of popular cultural surfaces. Even better than the real thing. As the youngest of Generation Xers are now in their late twenties, they have moved from McJobs to careers. Robert Kizlik, a teacher trainer at an American community college expressed horror as the lack of 'commonsensical knowledge' from his new students. He conducted a survey for teachers training in the social sciences, assessing their grasp of history. There was one hundred percent recognition of such names as Madonna, Mike Tyson, and Sharon Stone, but they hardly qualify as important social studies content ... . I wondered silently just what it is that these students are going to teach when they become employed ... . The deeper question is not that we have so many high school graduates and third and fourth year college students who are devoid of basic information about American history and culture, but rather, how, in the first place, these students came to have the expectations that they could become teachers. (n. pag.) Kizlik's fear is that the students, regardless of their enthusiasm, had poor recognition of knowledge he deemed significant and worthy. His teaching task, to convince students of the need for non-popular cultural knowledges, has resulted in his course being termed 'boring' or 'hard'. He has been unable to reconcile the convoluted connections between personal stories and televisual narratives. I am reminded (perhaps unhelpfully) of one of the most famous filmic teachers, Mr Holland. Upon being attacked by his superiors for using rock and roll in his classes, he replied that he would use anything to instil in his students a love of music. Working with, rather than against, popular culture is an obvious pedagogical imperative. George Lucas has, for example, confirmed the Oprahfied spirituality of the current age. Obviously Star Wars utilises fables, myths3 and fairy tales to summon the beautiful Princess, the gallant hero and the evil Empire, but has become something more. Star Wars slots cleanly into an era of Body Shop Feminism, John Gray's gender politics and Rikki Lake's relationship management. Brian Johnson and Susan Oh argued that the film is actually a new religion. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away -- late 1970s California -- the known universe of George Lucas came into being. In the beginning, George created Star Wars. And the screen was without form, and void. And George said, 'Let there be light', and there was Industrial Light and Magic. And George divided the light from the darkness, with light sabres, and called the darkness the Evil Empire.... And George saw that it was good. (14) The writers underestimate the profound emotional investment placed in the trilogy by millions of people. Genesis narratives describe the Star Wars phenomenon, but do not analyse it. The reason why the films are important is not only because they are a replacement for religion. Instead, they are an integrated component of popular memory. Johnson and Oh have underestimated the influence of pop culture as "the new religion" (14). It is not a form of cheap grace. The history of ideas is neither linear nor traceable. There is no clear path from Plato to Prozac or Moses to Mogadon. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a personal trainer for the ailing spirituality of our age. It was Ewan McGregor who fulfilled the Xer dream to be the young Obi Wan. As he has stated, "there is nothing cooler than being a Jedi knight" (qtd. in Grant 15). Having survived feet sawing in Shallow Grave and a painfully large enema in Trainspotting, there are few actors who are better prepared to carry the iconographic burden of a Star Wars prequel. Born in 1971, he is the Molly Ringwall of the 1990s. There is something delicious about the new Obi Wan, that hails what Hicks described as "a sense of awareness and self- awareness, of detached observation, of not taking things seriously, and a use of subtle dry humour" (79). The metaphoric light sabre was passed to McGregor. The pull of the dark side. When fans attend The Phantom Menace, they tend to the past, as to a loved garden. Whether this memory is a monument or a ruin depends on the preservation of the analogue world in the digital realm. The most significant theoretical and discursive task in the present is to disrupt the dual ideologies punctuating the contemporary era: inevitable technological change and progress.4 Only then may theorists ponder the future of a digitised past. Disempowered groups, who were denied a voice and role in the analogue history of the twentieth century, will have inequalities reified and reinforced through the digital archiving of contemporary life. The Web has been pivotal to the new Star Wars film. Lucasfilm has an Internet division and an official Website. Between mid November and May, this site has been accessed twenty million times (Gallott 15). Other sites, such as TheForce.net and Countdown to Star Wars, are a record of the enthusiasm and passion of fans. As Daniel Fallon and Matthew Buchanan have realised, "these sites represent the ultimate in film fandom -- virtual communities where like-minded enthusiasts can bathe in the aura generated by their favourite masterpiece" (27). Screensavers, games, desktop wallpaper, interviews and photo galleries have been downloaded and customised. Some ephemeral responses to The Phantom Menace have been digitally recorded. Yet this moment of audience affectivity will be lost without a consideration of digital memory. The potentials and problems of the digital and analogue environments need to be oriented into critical theories of information, knowledge, entertainment and pleasure. The binary language of computer-mediated communication allows a smooth transference of data. Knowledge and meaning systems are not exchanged as easily. Classifying, organising and preserving information make it useful. Archival procedures have been both late and irregular in their application.5 Bocher and Ihlenfeldt assert that 2500 new web sites are coming on-line every day ("A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio"). The difficulties and problems confronting librarians and archivists who wish to preserve digital information is revealed in the Australian government's PADI (Preserving Access to Digital Information) Site. Compared with an object in a museum which may lie undisturbed for years in a storeroom, or a book on a shelf, or even Egyptian hieroglyd on the wall of a tomb, digital information requires much more active maintenance. If we want access to digital information in the future, we must plan and act now. (PADI, "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?") phics carve The speed of digitisation means that responsibility for preserving cultural texts, and the skills necessary to enact this process, is increasing the pressure facing information professionals. An even greater difficulty when preserving digital information is what to keep, and what to release to the ephemeral winds of cyberspace. 'Qualitative criteria' construct an historical record that restates the ideologies of the powerful. Concerns with quality undermine the voices of the disempowered, displaced and decentred. The media's instability through technological obsolescence adds a time imperative that is absent from other archival discussions.6 While these problems have always taken place in the analogue world, there was a myriad of alternative sites where ephemeral material was stored, such as the family home. Popular cultural information will suffer most from the 'blind spots' of digital archivists. While libraries rarely preserve the ephemera of a time, many homes (including mine) preserve the 'trash' of a culture. A red light sabre, toy dalek, Duran Duran posters and a talking Undertaker are all traces of past obsessions and fandoms. Passion evaporates, and interests morph into new trends. These objects remain in attics, under beds, in boxes and sheds throughout the world. Digital documents necessitate a larger project of preservation, with great financial (and spatial) commitments of technology, software and maintenance. Libraries rarely preserve the ephemera -- the texture and light -- of the analogue world. The digital era reduces the number of fan-based archivists. Subsequently forfeited is the spectrum of interests and ideologies that construct the popular memory of a culture. Once bits replace atoms, the recorded world becomes structured by digital codes. Only particular texts will be significant enough to store digitally. Samuel Florman stated that "in the digital age nothing need be lost; do we face the prospect of drowning in trivia as the generations succeed each other?" (n. pag.) The trivia of academics may be the fodder (and pleasures) of everyday life. Digitised preservation, like analogue preservation, can never 'represent' plural paths through the past. There is always a limit and boundary to what is acceptable obsolescence. The Star Wars films suggests that "the whole palette of digital technology is much more subtle and supple; if you can dream it, you can see it" (Corliss 65). This film will also record how many of the dreams survive and are archived. Films, throughout the century, have changed the way in which we construct and remember the past. They convey an expressive memory, rather than an accurate history. Certainly, Star Wars is only a movie. Yet, as Rushkoff has suggested, "we have developed a new language of references and self-references that identify media as a real thing and media history as an actual social history" (32). The build up in Australia to The Phantom Menace has been wilfully joyful. This is a history of the present, a time which I know will, in retrospect, be remembered with great fondness. It is a collective event for a generation, but it speaks to us all in different ways. At ten, it is easy to be amazed and enthralled at popular culture. By thirty, it is more difficult. When we see Star Wars, we go back to visit our memories. With red light sabre in hand, we splice through time, as much as space. Footnotes The United States release of the film occurred on 19 May 1999. In Australia, the film's first screenings were on 3 June. Many cinemas showed The Phantom Menace at 12:01 am, (very) early Thursday morning. The three main players of the GNW team, Paul McDermott, Mikey Robbins and Julie McCrossin, were featured on the cover of Australia's Juice magazine in costumes from The Phantom Menace, being Obi-Wan, Yoda and Queen Amidala respectively. Actually, the National Air and Space Museum had a Star Wars exhibition in 1997, titled "Star Wars: The Magic of Myth". For example, Janet Collins, Michael Hammond and Jerry Wellington, in Teaching and Learning with the Media, stated that "the message is simple: we now have the technology to inform, entertain and educate. Miss it and you, your family and your school will be left behind" (3). Herb Brody described the Net as "an overstuffed, underorganised attic full of pictures and documents that vary wildly in value", in "Wired Science". The interesting question is, whose values will predominate when the attic is being cleared and sorted? This problem is extended because the statutory provision of legal deposit, which obliges publishers to place copies of publications in the national library of the country in which the item is published, does not include CD-ROMs or software. References Bocher, Bob, and Kay Ihlenfeldt. "A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio: Effective Use of WebSearch Engines." State of Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction Website. 13 Mar. 1998. 15 June 1999 <http://www.dpi.state.wi.us/dpi/dlcl/lbstat/search2.php>. Brody, Herb. "Wired Science." Technology Review Oct. 1996. 15 June 1999 <http://www.techreview.com/articles/oct96/brody.php>. Carter, Timothy. "Wars Weary." Cinescape 39 (Mar./Apr. 1999): 9. Collins, Janet, Michael Hammond, and Jerry Wellington. Teaching and Learning with Multimedia. London: Routledge, 1997. Corliss, Richard. "Ready, Set, Glow!" Time 18 (3 May 1999): 65. Count Down to Star Wars. 1999. 15 June 1999 <http://starwars.countingdown.com/>. Coupland, Douglas. Generation X. London: Abacus, 1991. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyper-Reality. London: Picador, 1987. Fallon, Daniel, and Matthew Buchanan. "Now Screening." Australian Net Guide 4.5 (June 1999): 27. Florman, Samuel. "From Here to Eternity." MIT's Technology Review 100.3 (Apr. 1997). Gallott, Kirsten. "May the Web Be with you." Who Weekly 24 May 1999: 15. Grant, Fiona. "Ewan's Star Soars!" TV Week 29 May - 4 June 1999: 15. Hall, Stuart, and Tony Jefferson, eds. Resistance through Rituals. London: Hutchinson, 1976. Harris, David. From Class Struggle to the Politics of Pleasure: the Effects of Gramscianism on Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 1992. Hebdige, Dick. Hiding in the Light. London: Routledge, 1988. Hopkins, Susan. "Generation Pulp." Youth Studies Australia Spring 1995. Johnson, Brian, and Susan Oh. "The Second Coming: as the Newest Star Wars Film Illustrates, Pop Culture Has Become a New Religion." Maclean's 24 May 1999: 14-8. Juice 78 (June 1999). Kizlik, Robert. "Generation X Wants to Teach." International Journal of Instructional Media 26.2 (Spring 1999). Lucasfilm Ltd. Star Wars: Welcome to the Official Site. 1999. 15 June 1999 <http://www.starwars.com/>. Miller, Nick. "Generation X-Wing Fighter." The West Australian 4 June 1999: 9. PADI. "What Digital Information Should be Preserved? Appraisal and Selection." Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. 11 March 1999. 15 June 1999 <http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/what.php>. PADI. "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?" Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. <http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/why.php>. Rushkoff, Douglas. Media Virus. Sydney: Random House, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Tara Brabazon. "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.4 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php>. Chicago style: Tara Brabazon, "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 4 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Tara Brabazon. (1999) A red light sabre to go, and other histories of the present. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(4). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php> ([your date of access]).