Journal articles on the topic 'Nursing schools Australia'

Abstract As the Australian population ages the demand for nursing care which focuses on responding to the needs of the older person will increase. Few newly graduated Registered Nurses (RNs) currently enter the aged care workforce and few select a career in caring for older people; yet older people are the largest patient group in most health care environments. This research, conducted by the Australian Hartford Consortium of Gerontological Nursing Excellence (Aus-HCGNE), explored how care of the older person is currently taught in Australian schools of nursing (SoN). The interview guide included questions about: whether care of the older person is taught in separate subjects or integrated across the curriculum; academics’ qualifications; subject content; and aged care clinical placements. The head of each of the 33 Australian schools of nursing was contacted, invited to participate and asked to nominate the appropriate academics (undergraduate/curriculum co-ordinators) who would be the most appropriate person to participate in the interview. These academics were then contacted, written informed consent was obtained, interviews were scheduled and completed. This research is timely given the current Royal Commission into Aged Care Quality and Safety in Australia, one focus of which is nurses in residential aged care in respect to numbers, education and competence. This research will be completed by mid-2019. The results will be fed back to SoN to inform the development of their curricula and the preparation of future RNs who will undoubtably need to be expert in the care of older people across the health sector.

Following the devastating March 2009 Victorian bushfire disaster in rural areas of Australia, authorities reviewed strategies designed to protect communities during periods of extreme fire risk. New policy and regulation were introduced and designed to ensure that small rural communities were protected and prepared to confront a wildfire emergency during days of extreme heat or bushfire risk weather. As a result on days of declared ‘catastrophic’ bushfire weather conditions government agencies in South Australia have implemented a policy for schools (including pre-schools) to be temporarily closed. On these days community members are advised to evacuate early to safe regional centres, and to limit travel on country roads. The WADEM Guidelines for Disaster Evaluation and Research demonstrate that Basic Societal Functions (BSFs), such as education, health, transport and others, are interconnected and interdependent. For example in small rural communities in South Australia people may have a number of important roles including being parents, volunteers of emergency services while also being employed as staff of local hospitals. This project reviewed the impact of school closures and other protective measures on the availability of the rural nursing workforce and on rural hospitals. Rural hospitals in Australia are staffed, on average, by 2–8 nurses, service very small communities and are separated by great distances. As a result, small changes in the absentee rate for nurses can have a significant impact on the operation of these hospitals. This paper will argue that policy changes in other sectors, such as education, can impact on societal activities such as childcare, volunteer emergency service work, and hospital staffing, in ways that may not be anticipated unless the impact on all Basic Societal Functions are considered by policymakers.

In July 1996, La Trobe University's Schools of English, Nursing and Public Health joined forces to produce a unique program for three Writers-in-Residence. For six weeks the writers spent one day a week teaching writing techniques to clients from two Community Health Centres. In response, the clients and staff drew on their experiences of illness and health, producing autobiographical and fictional works. The Writers-in-Residence Program was funded by the Literature Board of the Australia Council. Financial support was also provided by the Public Health Branch of the Victorian Department of Health and Community Services. The writers involved were author Andrea Goldsmith, playwright Ray Mooney and poet Earl Livings. Projects involving two of these authors are described here.

The value of incorporating arts-based approaches into health promotion programs has long been recognized as useful in affecting change. Such approaches have been used in many schools across Australia and have been found to promote general well-being and mental health. Despite these positive findings, few programs have used or evaluated an integrated arts-based approach to achieve health and well-being goals. This article presents the findings of an evaluation of an integrated arts-based program focused on creativity and improving well-being in students. The findings of this evaluation suggest that students who took part in the program were more interested in art and music at the end of the program and had gained an overall increase in awareness and mindfulness and a positivity toward leisure activities. This evaluation provides some evidence to suggest that this type of program is a promising way to promote well-being in schools.

Abstract. Australia is vulnerable to the impacts of tsunamis and exposure along the SE coast of New South Wales is especially high. Significantly, this is the same area reported to have been affected by repeated large magnitude tsunamis during the Holocene. Efforts are under way to complete probabilistic risk assessments for the region but local government planners and emergency risk managers need information now about building vulnerability in order to develop appropriate risk management strategies. We use the newly revised PTVA-3 Model (Dall'Osso et al., 2009) to assess the relative vulnerability of buildings to damage from a "worst case tsunami" defined by our latest understanding of regional risk – something never before undertaken in Australia. We present selected results from an investigation of building vulnerability within the local government area of Manly – an iconic coastal area of Sydney. We show that a significant proportion of buildings (in particular, residential structures) are classified as having "High" and "Very High" Relative Vulnerability Index scores. Furthermore, other important buildings (e.g., schools, nursing homes and transport structures) are also vulnerable to damage. Our results have serious implications for immediate emergency risk management, longer-term land-use zoning and development, and building design and construction standards. Based on the work undertaken here, we recommend further detailed assessment of the vulnerability of coastal buildings in at risk areas, development of appropriate risk management strategies and a detailed program of community engagement to increase overall resilience.

While Australian teacher education programs have long had rigorous accreditation pathways at the University level they have not been subject to the same formal public or professional scrutiny typical of professions such as medicine, nursing or engineering. Professional accreditation for teacher preparation programs is relatively new and is linked to teacher registration which in itself is relatively recent in most jurisdictions. As elsewhere, the goal of accreditation is to enhance the overall quality of teacher preparation programs and to meet jurisdictional requirements for initial teacher competence.Any new system of quality control takes time to develop and to embed into professional cultures and academic processes at the university or college level. Accreditation processes are no exception and Australia is grappling to develop procedures that meet jurisdictional legislative requirements, assure the public of the quality of teacher preparation and suit the professional context for each state. As yet these procedures have not focused on professional growth, accomplished or expert teaching, or quality within specific areas of preparation. While all agree that the ultimate goal of accreditation is quality assurance- to improve teaching quality in schools, negotiating optimum pathways to quality outcomes is no easy task in a country with an education system and population as diverse as Australia.This paper considers some of the practical and institutional issues confronting teacher education providers as they come to terms with new regulatory environments that require external accreditation of teacher education to meet varying state and national policy agendas. Specifically, it focuses on issues engaging a small and regional teacher education provider, Charles Darwin University as it negotiates developing registration and accreditation requirements. It also flags the need to improve teacher quality through acknowledgement of advanced practice in teaching and expert performance in delivering teacher education.

Aim. Receiving professional help early can reduce long-term harms associated with substance use. However, little is known about the factors that influence help-seeking for substance use problems during early-mid adolescence, prior to the emergence of disorder. Given that beliefs regarding help-seeking are likely to develop early, understanding adolescent views of help-seeking during this period is likely to provide important information for prevention and intervention efforts. The current study identifies perceptions that would facilitate or prevent adolescents from seeking support for substance use problems from formal and informal help sources. Method. Thirty-four 12- to 16-year-olds from two schools in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, were recruited. A qualitative interpretative design was used, incorporating semistructured, audio-recorded interviews. Results. Three overlapping themes that reflected barriers or enablers to help-seeking were identified: approachability, confidentiality and trustworthiness, and expertise. Help-seeking was facilitated when adolescents believed that the help source would be supportive and understanding, would keep information confidential, and had expertise in the alcohol and drug field. Conversely, adolescents were reluctant to seek help from sources they believed would be judgmental, lacked expertise, or would inform their parents. Conclusions. These findings highlight perceptions that may influence help-seeking for alcohol and drug problems during adolescence. Further research is needed to determine if help-seeking can be facilitated by improving parents’ and peers’ knowledge and promoting health professionals’ expertise in working with young people’s alcohol and drug issues.

152 Background: Non-Western, non-Caucasian populations comprise 90% of the world’s estimated 3.2 billion women, living mostly in low and middle income nations. While medical advances have greatly reduced breast cancer morbidity and mortality in developed nations, those are on the rise in many low and middle income nations. The purpose of the study was to identify emerging needs and challenges observed by breast cancer thought leaders in diverse regions of the world consisting mainly of lesser developed nations to identify strategies for improving breast cancer control. Methods: 225 breast cancer medical, advocacy and policy leaders from 30 countries in Latin America, Asia, the Middle East/North and South Africa, Canada and Australia participated in this study. The study sample was composed of 203 breast cancer specialists, 12 patient advocates and 10 policy makers. Results: The most salient needs and challenges identified were to: (1) develop nurses trained in breast cancer patient and family care, management, education and clinical research (48%); (2) individualize breast cancer therapy (47%); and (3) improve understanding of the reasons for apparently higher proportions of younger women presenting with more aggressive tumors among these predominantly non-Caucasian populations (45%). Analysis of these and other needs identified evolved into 4 key themes and sub-dimensions involving nurses to improve breast cancer control: Capacity, Research, Advocacy and Access. Conclusions: The most significant need identified by this study was to increase both the capacity and capability of breast cancer nurses. A comprehensive approach to doing this would include: (1) increasing capacity to educate nurses in breast cancer patient education and related care issues in nursing schools and teaching hospitals; (2) working with local medical societies, educational institutions and governmental authorities to enable nurses to work as primary care practitioners; and (3) increasing participation of nurses in breast cancer clinical research, working with clinicians and in collaboration with breast cancer research centers of excellence from around the world.

This paper describes the development of a partnership between a university clinical school and a sub-acute health care facility in Melbourne, Australia. A brief history of nursing education is given to provide a background for the development of this collaborative model. The paper explores the partnership, what it has achieved and continues to achieve, as well as the challenges that have been faced along the way.

Objective: The aim of this study was to survey Australian universities to determine the scope of suicide prevention curricula in a range of prevocational courses. Method: Coordinators of undergraduate and postgraduate university programs for medicine, nursing, psychology, social work, theology, education, pharmacy, law and journalism were asked to complete a survey instrument to determine whether specific knowledge, attitude and skills items were included in the course content. Additional information was sought concerning the dominant method of teaching. Data were compared by discipline. An arbitrary threshold of 70% of courses within each discipline responding positively to each survey item was established as an adequate level of penetrance of that item into prevocational programs. Results: Overall, knowledge and attitudes related to suicide prevention are taught more comprehensively than are skills. Knowledge and attitude items are taught most comprehensively in medical and nursing schools, somewhat less in psychology, social work, and pharmacy, uncommonly in theology and education. Law and journalism courses currently include very little material related to suicide and suicide prevention. Skills relevant to the management of suicidal individuals and their families are taught most comprehensively in psychology, nursing and medical courses, with low penetrance into other courses. Conclusion: The greatest opportunity to increase exposure to knowledge and attitudes relevant to suicide prevention exists within education, theology, law and journalism courses. Programs directed to the development of interpersonal skills relevant to the management of suicidal individuals and their families could be introduced across the board.

The concept of using a harm-minimization approach to drug education in Australian schools has existed in both national and state government policy documents for over two decades. However, this approach appears to be ineffectively and inconsistently incorporated within the curriculum. Harm minimization emphasizes strategies that reduce the harms associated with drug use and prevent related health and social problems. Traditional drug education programs that promote abstinence as the only option may not be realistic and appear to have had limited success. School nurses in the state of Victoria have a significant role in improving both the understanding and adoption of this approach through advocacy, education, and their understanding of evidence-based practice.

An increase in the number of Indigenous health professionals is one way to help reduce the poor health outcomes of Australia’s Indigenous people. However, while Indigenous students are enrolling in Australian tertiary undergraduate nursing courses in increasing numbers, their completion rates remain lower than non-Indigenous students and many barriers hinder course completion. This critical interpretive qualitative study explores academic staff perceptions of factors enabling successful course completions by Indigenous nursing students from universities in Queensland, Australia. Content analysis of data revealed five themes: (a) Individual student characteristics; (b) Institutional structures, systems, and processes; (c) Relationships, connections, and partnerships; (d) Family and community knowledge, awareness, and understanding; and (e) Academics’ knowledge, awareness, and understanding. To increase the number of Indigenous nurses, strategies such as appointing Indigenous nursing academics; partnerships between nursing schools and Indigenous Education Support Units, and the implementation of tailored cross-cultural awareness programs for nurse academics are proposed.

Preparation for clinical practice is arguably a vital component of undergraduate nursing education with clinical laboratories widely adopted as a strategy to support student development of clinical skills. However, there is little empirical evidence about the role laboratories play in students' learning or how they assist in linking theory to practice. This study aimed to explore the current clinical laboratory practices in Schools of Nursing in regional Victoria, Australia through site visits, interviews and review of curricula. Findings revealed that approaches to laboratory learning are based on traditions rather than evidence, and have evolved in response to fiscal and environmental challenges. The predominance of teacher talk in the laboratory, has lead to acute care over other areas of practice. This study indicates a need for rigorous investigation of pedagogies that can support nursing students in preparation for clinical practice. It remains unclear if laboratory learning experiences assist students in the translation of theoretical knowledge to practice.

AbstractThis study examined associations between school sector (Government, Catholic or Independent) and depressive symptomology over the secondary school years. Six waves of data collected annually from a representative Australian sample were examined. Multilevel piecewise linear and logistic regression controlling for a variety of demographic variables and protective factors was undertaken. In all sectors, depressive symptomology decreased between 10 and 13 years of age, but significantly increased for girls at age 13. Adolescents in Catholic schools reported significantly fewer symptoms of depression compared to those in Government and Independent schools. Adolescents in Catholic schools were less likely to report clinical levels of depressed mood compared to adolescents in Government schools.

AbstractAimThis descriptive paper aims to describe the design and implementation of a community engaged primary healthcare strategy in rural Australia, the Primary Healthcare Registered Nurse: Schools-Based strategy. This strategy seeks to address the health, education and social inequities confronting children and adolescents through community engaged service provision and nursing practice.BackgroundThere have been increasing calls for primary healthcare approaches to address rural health inequities, including contextualised healthcare, enhanced healthcare access, community engagement in needs and solutions identification and local-level collaborations. However, rural healthcare can be poorly aligned to community contexts and needs and be firmly entrenched in health systems, marginalising community participation.MethodsThis strategy has been designed to enhance nursing service and practice responsiveness to the rural context, primary healthcare principles, and community experiences and expectations of healthcare. The strategy is underpinned by a cross-sector collaboration between a local health district, school education and a university department of rural health. A research framework is being developed to explore strategy impacts for service recipients, cross-sector systems, and the establishment and maintenance of a primary healthcare nursing workforce.FindingsAlthough in the early stages of implementation, key learnings have been acquired and strategic, relationship, resource and workforce gains achieved.

Indigenous cross-cultural training has been around since the 1980s. It is often seen as a way to increase the skills and competency of staff engaged in providing service to Indigenous clients and customers, teaching Indigenous students within universities and schools, or working with Indigenous communities (Fredericks and Bargallie, “Indigenous”; “Which Way”). In this article we demonstrate how such training often exposes power, whiteness, and concepts of an Indigenous “other”. We highlight how cross-cultural training programs can potentially provide a setting in which non-Indigenous participants can develop a deeper realisation of how their understandings of the “other” are formed and enacted within a “white” social setting. Revealing whiteness as a racial construct enables people to see race, and “know what racism is, what it is not and what it does” (Bargallie, 262). Training participants can use such revelations to develop their racial literacy and anti-racist praxis (Bargallie), which when implemented have the capacity to transform inequitable power differentials in their work with Indigenous peoples and organisations.What Does the Literature Say about Cross-Cultural Training? An array of names are used for Indigenous cross-cultural training, including cultural awareness, cultural competency, cultural responsiveness, cultural safety, cultural sensitivity, cultural humility, and cultural capability. Each model takes on a different approach and goal depending on the discipline or profession to which the training is applied (Hollinsworth). Throughout this article we refer to Indigenous cross-cultural training as “cultural competence” or “cultural awareness” and discuss these in relation to their application within higher education institutions. While literature on health and human services programs in Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and other nation states provide clear definitions of terms such as “cultural safety”, cultural competence or cultural awareness is often lacking a concise and consistent definition.Often delivered as a half day or a one to two-day training course, it is unrealistic to think that Indigenous cultural competence can be achieved through one’s mere attendance and participation. Moreover, when courses centre on “cultural differences” and enable revelations about those differences they are in danger of presenting idealised notions of Indigeneity. Cultural competence becomes a process through which an Indigenous “other” is objectified, while very little is offered by way of translating knowledge and skills into practice when working with Indigenous peoples.What this type of learning has the capacity to do is oversimplify and reinforce racism and racist stereotypes of Indigenous peoples and Indigenous cultures. What is generally believed is that if non-Indigenous peoples know more about Indigenous peoples and cultures, relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples will somehow improve. The work of Goenpul scholar Aileen Moreton-Robinson is vital to draw on here, when she asks, has the intellectual investment in defining our cultural differences resulted in the valuing of our knowledges? Has the academy become a more enlightened place in which to work, and, more important, in what ways have our communities benefited? (xvii)What is revealed in a range of studies – whether centring on racism and discrimination or the ongoing disparities across health, education, incarceration, employment, and more – is that despite forty plus years of training focused on understanding cultural differences, very little has changed. Indigenous knowledges continue to be devalued and overlooked. Everyday and structural racisms shape everyday experiences for Indigenous employees in Australian workplaces such as the Australian Public Service (Bargallie) and the Australian higher education sector (Fredericks and White).As the literature demonstrates, the racial division of labour in such institutions often leaves Indigenous employees languishing on the lower rungs of the employment ladder (Bargallie). The findings of an Australian university case study, discussed below, highlights how power, whiteness, and concepts of “otherness” are exposed and play out in cultural competency training. Through their exposure, we argue that better understandings about Indigenous Australians, which are not based on culture difference but personal reflexivity, may be gained. Revealing What Was Needed in the Course’s Foundation and ImplementationThis case study is centred within a regional Australian university across numerous campuses. In 2012, the university council approved an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander strategy, which included a range of initiatives, including the provision of cross-cultural training for staff. In developing the training, a team explored the evidence as it related to university settings (Anning; Asmar; Butler and Young; Fredericks; Fredericks and Thompson; Kinnane, Wilks, Wilson, Hughes and Thomas; McLaughlin and Whatman). This investigation included what had been undertaken in other Australian universities (Anderson; University of Sydney) and drew on the recommendations from earlier research (Behrendt, Larkin, Griew and Kelly; Bradley, Noonan, Nugent and Scales; Universities Australia). Additional consultation took place with a broad range of internal and external stakeholders.While some literature on cross-cultural training centred on the need to understand cultural differences, others exposed the problems of focusing entirely on difference (Brach and Fraser; Campinha-Bacote; Fredericks; Spencer and Archer; Young). The courses that challenged the centrality of cultural difference explained why race needed to be at the core of its training, highlighting its role in enabling discussions of racism, bias, discrimination and how these may be used as means to facilitate potential individual and organisational change. This approach also addressed stereotypes and Eurocentric understandings of what and who is an Indigenous Australian (Carlson; Gorringe, Ross and Forde; Hollinsworth; Moreton-Robinson). It is from this basis that we worked and grew our own training program. Working on this foundational premise, we began to separate content that showcased the fluidity and diversity of Indigenous peoples and refrained from situating us within romantic notions of culture or presenting us as an exotic “other”. In other words, we embraced work that responded to non-Indigenous people’s objectified understandings and expectations of us. For example, the expectation that Indigenous peoples will offer a Welcome to Country, performance, share a story, sing, dance, or disseminate Indigenous knowledges. While we recognise that some of these cultural elements may offer enjoyment and insight to non-Indigenous people, they do not challenge behaviours or the nature of the relationships that non-Indigenous people have with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (Bargallie; Fredericks; Hollinsworth; Westwood and Westwood; Young).The other content which needed separating were the methods that enabled participants to understand and own their standpoints. This included the use of critical Indigenous studies as a form of analysis (Moreton-Robinson). Critical race theory (Delgado and Stefancic) was also used as a means for participants to interrogate their own cultural positionings and understand the pervasive nature of race and racism in Australian society and institutions (McLaughlin and Whatman). This offered all participants, both non-Indigenous and Indigenous, the opportunity to learn how institutional racism operates, and maintains discrimination, neglect, abuse, denial, and violence, inclusive of the continued subjugation that exists within higher education settings and broader society.We knew that the course needed to be available online as well as face-to-face. This would increase accessibility to staff across the university community. We sought to embed critical thinking as we began to map out the course, including the theory in the sections that covered colonisation and the history of Indigenous dispossession, trauma and pain, along with the ongoing effects of federal and state policies and legislations that locates racism at the core of Australian politics. In addition to documenting the ongoing effects of racism, we sought to ensure that Indigenous resistance, agency, and activism was highlighted, showing how this continues, thus linking the past to the contemporary experiences of Indigenous peoples.Drawing on the work of Bargallie we wanted to demonstrate how Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples experience racism through systems and structures in their everyday work with colleagues in large organisations, such as universities. Participants were asked to self-reflect on how race impacts their day-to-day lives (McIntosh). The final session of the training focused on the university’s commitment to “Closing the Gap” and its Reconciliation Action Plan (RAP). The associated activity involved participants working individually and in small groups to discuss and consider what they could contribute to the RAP activities and enact within their work environments. Throughout the training, participants were asked to reflect on their personal positioning, and in the final session they were asked to draw from these reflections and discuss how they would discuss race, racism and reconciliation activities with the governance of their university (Westwood and Westwood; Young).Revelations in the Facilitators, Observers, and Participants’ Discussions? This section draws on data collected from the first course offered within the university’s pilot program. During the delivery of the in-person training sessions, two observers wrote notes while the facilitators also noted their feelings and thoughts. After the training, the facilitators and observers debriefed and discussed the delivery of the course along with the feedback received during the sessions.What was noticed by the team was the defensive body language of participants and the types of questions they asked. Team members observed how there were clear differences between the interest non-Indigenous participants displayed when talking about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and a clear discomfort when they were asked to reflect on their own position in relation to Indigenous people. We noted that during these occasions some participants crossed their arms, two wrote notes to each other across the table, and many participants showed discomfort. When the lead facilitator raised this to participants during the sessions, some expressed their dislike and discomfort at having to talk about themselves. A couple were clearly unhappy and upset. We found this interesting as we were asking participants to reflect and talk about how they interpret and understand themselves in relation to Indigenous people and race, privilege, and power.This supports the work of DiAngelo who explains that facilitators can spend a lot of time trying to manage the behaviour of participants. Similarly, Castagno identifies that sometimes facilitators of training might overly focus on keeping participants happy, and in doing so, derail the hard conversations needed. We did not do either. Instead, we worked to manage the behaviours expressed and draw out what was happening to break the attempts to silence racial discussions. We reiterated and worked hard to reassure participants that we were in a “safe space” and that while such discussions may be difficult, they were worth working through on an individual and collective level.During the workshop, numerous emotions surfaced, people laughed at Indigenous humour and cried at what they witnessed as losses. They also expressed anger, defensiveness, and denial. Some participants revelled in hearing answers to questions that they had long wondered about; some openly discussed how they thought they had discovered a distant Aboriginal relative. Many questions surfaced, such as why hadn’t they ever been told this version of Australian history? Why were we focusing on them and not Aboriginal people? How could they be racist when they had an Aboriginal friend or an Aboriginal relative?Some said they felt “guilty” about what had happened in the past. Others said they were not personally responsible or responsible for the actions of their ancestors, questioning why they needed to go over such history in the first place? Inter-woven within participants’ revelations were issues of racism, power, whiteness, and white privilege. Many participants took a defensive stance to protect their white privilege (DiAngelo). As we worked through these issues, several participants started to see their own positionality and shared this with the group. Clearly, the revelation of whiteness as a racial construct was a turning point for some. The language in the group also changed for some participants as revelations emerged through the interrogation and unpacking of stories of racism. Bargallie’s work exploring racism in the workplace, explains that “racism”, as both a word and theme, is primarily absent in conversations amongst non-Indigenous colleagues. Despite its entrenchment in the dialogue, it is rarely, if ever addressed. In fact, for many non-Indigenous people, the fear of being accused of racism is worse than the act of racism itself (Ahmed; Bargallie). We have seen this play out within the media, sport, news bulletins, and more. Lentin describes the act of denying racism despite its existence in full sight as “not racism”, arguing that its very denial is “a form of racist violence” (406).Through enhancing racial literacy, Bargallie asserts that people gain a better understanding of “what racism is, what racism is not and how race works” (258). Such revelations can work towards dismantling racism in workplaces. Individual and structural racism go hand-in-glove and must be examined and addressed together. This is what we wanted to work towards within the cultural competency course. Through the use of critical Indigenous studies and critical race theory we situated race, and not cultural difference, as central, providing participants with a racial literacy that could be used as a tool to challenge and dismantle racism in the workplace.Revelations in the Participant Evaluations?The evaluations revealed that our intention to disrupt the status quo in cultural competency training was achieved. Some of the discussions were difficult and this was reflected in the feedback. It was valuable to learn that numerous participants wanted to do more through group work, conversations, and problem resolution, along with having extra reading materials. This prompted our decision to include extra links to resource learning materials through the course’s online site. We also opted to provide all participants with a copy of the book Indigenous Australia for Dummies (Behrendt). The cost of the book was built into the course and future participants were thankful for this combination of resources.One unexpected concern raised by participants was that the course should not be “that hard”, and that we should “dumb down” the course. We were astounded considering that many participants were academics and we were confident that facilitators of other mandatory workplace training, for example, staff Equal Employment Opportunity (EEO), Fire Safety, Risk Management, Occupational Health and Safety, Discrimination and more, weren’t asked to “dumb down” their content. We explained to the participants what content we had been asked to deliver and knew their responses demonstrated white fragility. We were not prepared to adjust the course and dumb it down for white understandings and comfortabilities (Leonardo and Porter).Comments that were expected included that the facilitators were “passionate”, “articulate”, demonstrated “knowledge” and effectively “dealt with issues”. A couple of the participants wrote that the facilitators were “aggressive” or “angry”. This however is not new for us, or new to other Aboriginal women. We know Aboriginal women are often seen as “aggressive” and “angry”, when non-Indigenous women might be described as “passionate” or “assertive” for saying exactly the same thing. The work of Aileen Moreton-Robinson in Australia, and the works of numerous other Aboriginal women provide evidence of this form of racism (Fredericks and White; Bargallie; Bond). Internationally, other Indigenous women and women of colour document the same experiences (Lorde). Participants’ assessment of the facilitators is consistent with the racism expressed through racial microaggression outside of the university, and in other organisations. This is despite working in the higher education sector, which is normally perceived as a more knowledgeable and informed environment. Needless to say, we did not take on these comments.The evaluations did offer us the opportunity to adjust the course and make it stronger before it was offered across the university where we received further evaluation of its success. Despite this, the university decided to withdraw and reallocate the money to the development of a diversity training course that would cover all equity groups. This meant that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples would be covered along with sexual diversity, gender, disability, and people from non-English speaking backgrounds. The content focused on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples was reduced to one hour of the total course. Including Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in this way is not based on evidence and works to minimise Indigenous Australians and their inherent rights and sovereignty to just another “equity group”. Conclusion We set out to develop and deliver a cross-cultural course that was based on evidence and a foundation of 40 plus years’ experience in delivering such training. In addition, we sought a program that would align with the university’s Reconciliation Action Plan and the directions being undertaken in the sector and by Universities Australia. Through engaging participants in a process of critical thinking centring on race, we developed a training program that successfully fostered self-reflection and brought about revelations of whiteness.Focusing on cultural differences has proven ineffective to the work needed to improve the lives of Indigenous Australian peoples. 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School nurses have reported stress and worry caring for young people experiencing mental health problems, but why this occurs and how they respond has not been well-explored. In this study researchers generated a substantive theory of the experiences of secondary school nurses who encountered young people with mental health problems using the original method of grounded theory. Thirty-one Western Australian school nurse participants reported that students presented with complex mental and social health needs that were not easily resolved. This was conceptualized as an untenable burden. Participants countered this by engaging in the three-stage process of tactical prioritizing. During an initial period of strategic assimilation into the school and broader community, participants referred students to external service providers. This was frequently inadequate, and participants found themselves grappling with unmet student mental health needs. Participants responded by implementing nursing strategies for optimizing outcomes in the lives of young people, while simultaneously engaging in managing self to support their own well-being.

There have been a number of Australian memoirs written by adoptees over the last twenty years—Robert Dessaix’s A Mother’s Disgrace, Suzanne Chick’s Searching for Charmian, Tom Frame’s Binding Ties:An Experience of Adoption and Reunion in Australia, for example—as well as international adoptee narratives by Betty Jean Lifton, Florence Fisher, and A. M. Homes amongst others. These works form a component of the small but growing field of adoption life writing that includes works by “all members of the adoption triad” (Hipchen and Deans 163): adoptive parents, birthparents, and adoptees. As the broad genre of memoir becomes more theorised and mapped, many sub-genres are emerging (Brien). My own adoptee story (which I am currently composing) could be a further sub-categorisation of the adoptee memoir, that of “late discovery adoptees” (Perl and Markham), those who are either told, or find out, about their adoption in adulthood. When this is part of a life story, secrets and silences are prominent, and digging into these requires using whatever resources can be found. These include cookbooks, recipes written by hand, and the scraps of paper shoved between pages. There are two cookbooks from my adoptive mother’s belongings that I have kept. One of them is titled Miss Tuxford’s Modern Cookery for the Middle Classes: Hints on Modern Gas Stove Cooking, and this was published around 1937 in England. It’s difficult to date this book exactly, as there is no date in my copy, but one of the advertisements (for Bird’s Custard, I think; the page is partly obscured by an Orange Nut Loaf recipe from a Willow baking pan that has been glued onto the page) is headed with a date range of 1837 to 1937. It has that smell of long ago that lingers strongly even now, out of the protective custody of my mother’s storage. Or should I say, out of the range of my adoptive father’s garbage dump zeal. He loved throwing things away, but these were often things that I saw as valuable, or at least of sentimental value, worth keeping for the memories they evoked. Maybe my father didn’t want to remember. My mother was brimming with memories, I discovered after her death, but she did not reveal them during her life. At least, not to me, making objects like these cookbooks precious in my reconstruction of the lives I know so little about, as well as in the grieving process (Gibson).Miss Tuxford (“Diplomée Board of Education, Gold Medallist, etc”) produced numerous editions of her book. My mother’s is now fragile, loose at the spine and browned with age. There are occasional stains showing that the bread and cakes section got the most use, with the pages for main meals of meat and vegetables relatively clean. The author divided her recipes into the main chapters of Soups (lentil, kidney, sheep’s head broth), Sauces (white, espagnol, mushroom), Fish (“It is important that all fish is fresh when cooked” (23)), Meats (roasted, boiled, stuffed; roast rabbit, boiled turkey, scotch collop), Vegetables (creamed beetroot, economical salad dressing, potatoes baked in their skins), Puddings and Sweets (suet pastry, Yorkshire pudding, chocolate tarts, ginger cream), Bread and Cakes (household bread, raspberry sandwich cake, sultana scones, peanut fancies), Icings and Fillings, Invalid Cookery (beef tea, nourishing lemonade, Virol pudding), Jams, Sweetmeats and Pickles (red currant jelly, piccalilli) and Miscellaneous Dishes including Meatless Recipes (cheese omelette, mock white fish, mock duck, mock goose, vegetarian mincemeat). At the back, Miss Tuxford includes sections on gas cooking hints, “specimen household dinners” (206), and household hints. There is then a “Table of Foods in Season” (208–10) taking the reader through the months and the various meats and vegetables available at those times. There is a useful index and finally an advertisement for an oven cleaner on the last page (which is glued to the back cover). There are food and cookery advertisements throughout the book, but my favourite is the one inside the front cover, for Hartley’s jam, featuring two photographs of a little boy. The first shows him looking serious, and slightly anxious, the second wide-eyed and smiling, eager for his jam. The text tells mothers that “there’s nothing like plenty of bread and Hartley’s for a growing boy” (inside front cover). I love the simple appeal to making your little boy happy that is contained within this tiny narrative. Did my mother and father eat this jam when they were small? By 1937, my mother was twenty-one, not yet married, living with her mother in Weston-super-Mare. She was learning secretarial skills—I have her certificate of proficiency in Pitman’s shorthand—and I think she and my father had met by then. Perhaps she thought about when she would be giving her own children Hartley’s jam, or something else prepared from Miss Tuxford’s recipes, like the Christmas puddings, shortbread, or chocolate cake. She would not have imagined that no children would arrive, that twenty-five years of marriage would pass before she held her own baby, and this would be one who was born to another woman. In the one other cookbook I have kept, there are several recipes cut out from newspapers, and a few typed or handwritten recipes hidden within the pages. This is The Main Cookery Book, in its August 1944 reprint, which was written and compiled by Marguerite K. Gompertz and the “Staff of the Main Research Kitchen”. My mother wrote her name and the date she obtained the cookbook (31 January 1945) on the first blank page. She had been married just over five years, and my father may, or may not, have still been in the Royal Air Force. I have only a sketchy knowledge of my adoptive parents. My mother was born in Newent, Gloucestershire, and my father in Bromley, Kent; they were both born during the first world war. My father served as a navigator in the Royal Air Force in the second world war in the 1940s, received head and psychological injuries and was invalided out before the war ended. He spent some time in rehabilitation, there being letters from him to my mother detailing his stay in one hospital in the 1950s. Their life seemed to become less and less secure as the years passed, more chaotic, restless, and unsettled. By the time I came into their lives, they were both nearly fifty, and moving from place to place. Perhaps this is one reason why I have no memory of my mother cooking. I cannot picture her consulting these cookbooks, or anything more modern, or even cutting out the recipes from newspapers and magazines, because I do not remember seeing her do it. She did not talk to me about cooking, we didn’t cook together, and I do not remember her teaching me anything about food or its preparation. This is a gap in my memory that is puzzling. There is evidence—the books and additional paper recipes and stains on the pages—that my mother was involved in the world of the kitchen. This suggests she handled meats, vegetables, and flours, kneaded, chopped, mashed, baked, and boiled all manners of foods. But I cannot remember her doing any of it. I think the cooking must have been a part of her life before me, when she lived in England, her home country, which she loved, and when she still had hope that children would come. It must have then been apparent that her husband was going to need support and care after the war, and I can imagine she came to realise that any dreams she had would need rearranging.What I do remember is that our meals were prepared by my father, and contained no spices, onions, or garlic because he suffered frequently from indigestion and said these ingredients made it worse. He was a big-chested man with small hips who worried he was too heavy and so put himself on diets every other week. For my father, dieting meant not eating anything, which tended to lead to binges on chocolate or cheese or whatever he could grab easily from the fridge.Meals at night followed a pattern. On Sundays we ate roast chicken with vegetables as a treat, then finished it over the next days as a cold accompaniment with salad. Other meals would feature fish fingers, mince, ham, or a cold luncheon meat with either salad or boiled vegetables. Sometimes we would have a tin of peaches in juice or ice cream, or both. No cookbooks were consulted to prepare these meals.What was my mother doing while my father cooked? She must have been in the kitchen too, probably contributing, but I don’t see her there. By the time we came back to Australia permanently in 1974, my father’s working life had come to an end, and he took over the household cookery for something to do, as well as sewing his own clothes, and repairing his own car. He once hoisted the engine out of a Morris Minor with the help of a young mechanic, a rope, and the branch of a poinciana tree. I have three rugs that he wove before I was born, and he made furniture as well. My mother also sewed, and made my school uniforms and other clothes as well as her own skirts and blouses, jackets and pants. Unfortunately, she was fond of crimplene, which came in bright primary colours and smelled of petrol, but didn’t require ironing and dried quickly on the washing line. It didn’t exactly hang on your body, but rather took it over, imposing itself with its shapelessness. The handwritten recipe for salad cream shown on the pink paper is not in my mother’s hand but my father’s. Her correction can be seen to the word “gelatine” at the bottom; she has replaced it with “c’flour” which I assume means cornflour. This recipe actually makes me a liar, because it shows my father writing about using pepper, paprika, and tumeric to make a food item, when I have already said he used no spices. When I knew him, and ate his food, he didn’t. But he had another life for forty-seven years before my birth, and these recipes with their stains and scribbles help me to begin making a picture of both his life, and my mother’s. So much of them is a complete mystery to me, but these scraps of belongings help me inch along in my thinking about them, who they were, and what they meant to me (Turkle).The Main Cookery Book has a similar structure to Miss Tuxford’s, with some variations, like the chapter titled Réchauffés, which deals with dishes using already cooked foodstuffs that only then require reheating, and a chapter on home-made wines. There are also notes at the end of the book on topics such as gas ovens and methods of cooking (boiling, steaming, simmering, and so on). What really interests me about this book are the clippings inserted by my mother, although the printed pages themselves seem relatively clean and uncooked upon. There is a recipe for pickles and chutneys torn from a newspaper, and when I look on the other side I find a context: a note about Charlie Chaplin and the House of Representatives’s Un-American Activities Committee starting its investigations into the influence of Communists on Hollywood. I wonder if my parents talked about these events, or if they went to see Charlie Chaplin’s films. My mother’s diaries from the 1940s include her references to movies—Shirley Temple in Kiss and Tell, Bing Crosby in Road to Utopia—as well as day to day activities and visits to, and from, family and friends, her sinus infections and colds, getting “shock[ed] from paraffin lamp”, food rationing. If my father kept diaries during his earlier years, nothing of them survives. I remember his determined shredding of documents after my mother’s death, and his fear of discovery, that his life’s secrets would be revealed. He did not tell me I had been adopted until I was twenty-three, and rarely spoke of it afterwards. My mother never mentioned it. I look at the recipe for lemon curd. Did my mother ever make this? Did she use margarine instead of butter? We used margarine on sandwiches, as butter was too hard to spread. Once again, I turn over this clipping to read the news, and find no date but an announcement of an exhibition of work by Marc Chagall at the Tate Gallery, the funeral of Sir Geoffrey Fison (who I discover from The Peerage website died in 1948, unmarried, a Baronet and decorated soldier), and a memorial service for Dr. Duncan Campbell Scott, the Canadian poet and prose writer, during which the Poet Laureate of the time, John Masefield, gave the address. And there was also a note about the latest wills, including that of a reverend who left an estate valued at over £50 000. My maternal adoptive grandmother, who lived in Weston-super-Mare across the road from the beach, and with whom we stayed for several months in 1974, left most of her worldly belongings to my mother and nothing to her son. He seems to have been cut out from her life after she separated from her husband, and her children’s father, sometime in the 1920s. Apparently, my uncle followed his father out to Australia, and his mother never forgave him, refusing to have anything more to do with her son for the rest of her life, not even to see her grandchildren. When I knew her in that brief period in 1974, she was already approaching eighty and showing signs of dementia. But I do remember dancing the Charleston with her in the kitchen, and her helping me bathe my ragdoll Pollyanna in a tub in the garden. The only food I remember at her stone house was afternoon tea with lots of different, exotic cakes, particularly one called Neopolitan, with swirls of red and brown through the moist sponge. My grandmother had a long narrow garden filled with flowers and a greenhouse with tomatoes; she loved that garden, and spent a lot of time nurturing it.My father and his mother-in-law were not each other’s favourite person, and this coloured my mother’s relationship with her, too. We were poor for many years, and the only reason we were able to go to England was because of the generosity of my grandmother, who paid for our airfares. I think my father searched for work while we were there, but whether he was successful or not I do not know. We returned to Australia and I went into grade four at the end of 1974, an outsider of sorts, and bemused by the syllabus, because I had moved around so much. I went to eight different primary schools and two high schools, eventually obtaining a scholarship to a private girls’ school for the last four years. My father was intent on me becoming a doctor, and so my life was largely study, which is another reason why I took little notice of what went on in the kitchen and what appeared on the dining table. I would come home from school and my parents would start meal preparation almost straight away, so we sat down to dinner at about four o’clock during the week, and I started the night’s study at five. I usually worked through until about ten, and then read a novel for a little while before sleep. Every parcel of time was accounted for, and nothing was wasted. This schedule continued throughout those four years of high school, with my father berating me if I didn’t do well at an exam, but also being proud when I did. In grades eight, nine, and ten, I studied home economics, and remember being offered a zucchini to taste because I had never seen one before. I also remember making Greek biscuits of some sort for an exam, and the sieve giving out while I was sifting a large quantity of flour. We learned to cook simple meals of meats and vegetables, and to prepare a full breakfast. We also baked cakes but, when my sponges remained flat, I realised that my strengths might lay elsewhere. This probably also contributed to my lack of interest in cooking. Domestic pursuits were not encouraged at home, although my mother did teach me to sew and knit, resulting in skewed attempts at a shirt dress and a white blouse, and a wildly coloured knitted shoulder bag that I actually liked but which embarrassed my father. There were no such lessons in cakemaking or biscuit baking or any of the recipes from Miss Tuxford. By this time, my mother bought such treats from the supermarket.This other life, this previous life of my parents, a life far away in time and place, was completely unknown to me before my mother’s death. I saw little of them after the revelation of my adoption, not because of this knowledge I then had, but because of my father’s controlling behaviour. I discovered that the rest of my adoptive family, who I hardly knew apart from my maternal grandmother, had always known. It would have been difficult, after all, for my parents to keep such a secret from them. Because of this life of constant moving, my estrangement from my family, and our lack of friends and connections with other people, there was a gap in my experience. As a child, I only knew one grandmother, and only for a relatively brief period of time. I have no grandfatherly memories, and none either of aunts and uncles, only a few fleeting images of a cousin here and there. It was difficult to form friendships as a child when we were only in a place for a limited time. We were always moving on, and left everything behind, to start again in a new suburb, state, country. Continuity and stability were not our trademarks, for reasons that are only slowly making themselves known to me: my father’s mental health problems, his difficult personality, our lack of money, the need to keep my adoption secret.What was that need? From where did it spring? My father always seemed to be a secretive person, an intensely private man, one who had things to hide, and seemed to suffer many mistakes and mishaps and misfortune. At the end, after my mother’s death, we spent two years with each other as he became frailer and moved into a nursing home. It was a truce formed out of necessity, as there was no one else to care for him, so thoroughly had he alienated his family; he had no friends, certainly not in Australia, and only the doctor and helping professionals to talk to most days. My father’s brother John had died some years before, and the whereabouts of his other sibling Gordon were unknown. I discovered that he had died three years previously. Nieces had not heard from my father for decades. My mother’s niece revealed that my mother and she had never met. There is a letter from my mother’s father in the 1960s, probably just before he died, remarking that he would like a photograph of her as they hadn’t seen each other for forty years. None of this was talked about when my mother was alive. It was as if I was somehow separate from their stories, from their history, that it was not suitable for my ears, or that once I came into their lives they wanted to make a new life altogether. At that time, all of their past was stored away. Even my very origins, my tiny past life, were unspoken, and made into a secret. The trouble with secrets, however, is that they hang around, peek out of boxes, lurk in the corners of sentences, and threaten to be revealed by the questions of puzzled strangers, or mistakenly released by knowledgeable relatives. Adoptee memoirs like mine seek to go into those hidden storage boxes and the corners and pages of sources like these seemingly innocent old cookbooks, in the quest to bring these secrets to light. Like Miss Tuxford’s cookbook, with its stains and smudges, or the Main Cookery Book with its pages full of clippings, the revelation of such secrets threaten to tell stories that contradict the official version. ReferencesBrien, Donna Lee. “Pathways into an ‘Elaborate Ecosystem’: Ways of Categorising the Food Memoir”. TEXT (October 2011). 12 Jun. 2013 ‹http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct11/brien.htm›.Chick, Suzanne. Searching for Charmian. Sydney: Picador, 1995.Dessaix, Robert. A Mother’s Disgrace. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1994.Fisher, Florence. The Search for Anna Fisher. New York: Arthur Fields, 1973.Frame, Tom. Binding Ties: An Experience of Adoption and Reunion in Australia. Alexandria: Hale & Iremonger, 1999.Gibson, Margaret. Objects of the Dead: Mourning and Memory in Everyday Life. Carlton, Victoria: Melbourne U P, 2008. Gompertz, Marguerite K., and the Staff of the Main Research Kitchen. The Main Cookery Book. 52nd. ed. London: R. & A. Main, 1944. Hipchen, Emily, and Jill Deans. “Introduction. Adoption Life Writing: Origins and Other Ghosts”. a/b: Auto/Biography Studies 18.2 (2003): 163–70. Special Issue on Adoption.Homes, A. M. The Mistress’s Daughter: A Memoir. London: Granta, 2007.Kiss and Tell. Dir. By Richard Wallace. Columbia Pictures, 1945.Lifton, Betty Jean. Twice Born: Memoirs of An Adopted Daughter. Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1977.Lundy, Darryl, comp. The Peerage: A Genealogical Survey of the Peerage of Britain as well as the Royal Families of Europe. 30 May 2013 ‹http://www.thepeerage.com/p40969.htm#i409684›Perl, Lynne and Shirin Markham. Why Wasn’t I Told? Making Sense of the Late Discovery of Adoption. Bondi: Post Adoption Resource Centre/Benevolent Society of NSW, 1999.Road to Utopia. Dir. By Hal Walker. Paramount, 1946.Turkle, Sherry, ed. Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT P, 2011. Tuxford, Miss H. H. Miss Tuxford’s Modern Cookery for the Middle Classes: Hints on Modern Gas Stove Cooking. London: John Heywood, c.1937.

Journalists report that the expression from the Italian coast guard officer: “Vada a bordo” to the captain of the capsized “Costa Concordia”, has taken a new and wider meaning. Initially captured from a radio communication between the coast guard officer overlooking the process and the captain, it now has become a clear message from the people to their leaders about assuming the leadership they are appointed to have. In Italy, the concrete backdrop is the financial crisis, as it is in many countries affected by the same trend: a hyperactive economy based on greed and turbo capitalism. Globally, it also addresses the inabilities demonstrated by the main economic actors to get to grips with topics like the global warming, pollution and poverty. In education there is a call for “getting back in command” in a quite parallel meaning. In the European and Western educational domain, the trend is to ask less and less about moral and ethics in schooling and upbringing, and to ponder “competencies”, “qualifications” and “employability”. The effects of the Bologna process and its subsequent agreements, declarations and policy documents, have been that the ethical and moral aspects of education have diminished. Words alluding to the social and ethical responsibility of higher education institutions are being filtered away from the rhetoric of curricula, programmes and projects. A new language of learning and learning outcomes is replacing the conventional. One of the silly effects is that the taxonomy of learning outcomes for programmes for BA, MA and PhD programmes often contains descriptions that are less academically demanding than for secondary school. The occurrence of terms like “critical thinking” is less prominent in higher education than of secondary schools in some instances. This development is so much in contrast to what the renown philosopher Ronald Barnett claim is the most challenging task for higher education: to develop courage and judgement in students to cope with uncertainness and conflicts in the supercomplex society:The student’s being has to take centre stage. Feeling uncertainty, responding to uncertainty, gaining confidence to insert oneself amid the numerous counter-claims to which one is exposed, engaging with the enemy, and developing resilience and courage: these are matters of being. Their acquisition calls for a revolution in the pedagogical relationships within a university. (Barnett 2000, s.170-171).Please, politicians for higher education, “VADA A BORDO!”The PapersIn this issue we bring five articles – a Russian and German paper, one Austrian, one Danish and Swedish, one Danish and a Norwegian paper. In diverse ways they all address concerns that relate to changes in knowing and how knowledge is acquired.Thommy Eriksson, of Chalmers University of Technology, Sweden, and Inge Ejby Sørensen, of Copenhagen University, are both bold pioneers in their diligent work presented in the paper “Reflections on academic video”. Their ambition is to establish an academic journal for visual publications, predominantly videos. They present us for the paradox that a substantial number of academics teach visual subjects, video analysis and video production, and yet rarely disseminate and mediate via audiovisual media. They argue that documentary theory and semiotics are two critical traditions in academia that will provide the conventional credentials for establishing a new academic genre. In the journal “Audiovisual thinking” we can follow an exciting new and path breaking way of academic discourse.In the paper “Storytelling – EDU: Educational – Digital – Unlimited? Theo Hug of the University of Innsbruck, raises the question of “Digital Storytelling” as a genre for educational purposes. He acknowledges that students are often very competent in using media and are well prepared to go beyond “writing” as a monomedial activity. The paper reflects on various understandings of the phenomenon and highlights some conceptual problems and limitations of Digital Storytelling in educational contexts.The third paper in this edition addresses students and their use of information technologies in Russia. Alexander Porshnev, of National Research University, Nogorod, Russia and Hartmut Giest, of Potsdam University, Germany, authors of “University Students’ use of Information and Communication Technologies (ICT) in Russia: A Focus on Learning and Everyday Life”” present results derived from a comparative analysis of German and Russian students. They discuss the variance and diversity of ICT use in Russian Higher education and addresses contemporary problems in this context.The Norwegian nursing educators Edda Johansen, Thomas Harding (also Australian) and Tone Marte Ljosaa introduce us to “Norwegian Nurses Experiences with Blended Learning: An evaluation study”. They are affiliated to the Buskerud University College and are concerned with developing fruitful and effective learning environments. In their study they focus what eventually gave nursing students confidence and a proper foundation for lifelong learning. The paper takes us on a journey to identify a best practice of blended learning.Finally, Heidi Phillipsen of the university of Southern Denmark, asks the question how it can be possible to make an entire short film in only 48 hours? The paper: “Scaffolded filmmaking in PlayOFF: A playground for worldwide film experiments” describes a particular method developed for producing films. It was initially a hallmark of modern Danish film production and has been refined and explicated by Heidi Philipsen, and then applied to the online film contest PlayOFF in Odense, a regional capital of Fyn, Southern Denmark. The paper addresses how scaffolding filmmaking affects creativity and how the experiences from two film contests may apply to an educational context.Barnett, Ronald (2000) Realizing the university in an age of supercomplexity Buckingham : Society for Researchinto Higher Education & Open University Press