Journal articles on the topic 'Old Dominion Power Cooperative'

This project report describes a collaborative effort between librarians, staff, local journalists and students at Old Dominion University (Norfolk, VA) to provide a venue for a discussion about ‘fake news’. Post-event questionnaire results are analysed to explore what students learned as a result of attending the event as well as student perceptions of their own understanding and ownership of the roles that they can play in the information cycle.

This project report describes a collaborative effort between librarians, staff, local journalists and students at Old Dominion University (Norfolk, VA) to provide a venue for a discussion about ‘fake news’. Post-event questionnaire results are analysed to explore what students learned as a result of attending the event as well as student perceptions of their own understanding and ownership of the roles that they can play in the information cycle.

The article is devoted to the evolution of ideas about seniority in the Old Russian Rurikid dynasty. The article considers the continuity and succession of the supreme power and authority in the united Old Russian state, in the pre-Mongol feudal appanage period, in the era of the Horde dominion. The nature and significance of the capital role of Kiev in the pre-Mongolian period is analyzed. The progressive growth of the importance of the northeastern and southwestern Russian lands, the differences in the approaches of their rulers to the all-Russian unity are shown. At the end of the article the conclusion is made that, from the point of view of Russian dynastic patrimonial law, by the 15th century, the only legitimate all-Russian rulers remained only the Grand Princes of Moscow and Vladimir.

The existence of cooperatives has an important meaning for the welfare state of Indonesia. As a nation that was colonized for a long time, cooperatives as one of the implementations of a people's economy became a systematic effort to correct the economic structure of a colonial style. In this study examines the legal policies of cooperative arrangements from various eras in Indonesia. This research is normative legal research with secondary data. This research shows that the existence and development of cooperatives experience ups and downs in their legal policies. The colonial period of cooperative arrangements merely regulates cooperatives in existence and makes cooperatives one of the business actors. During the independence period, the aim of cooperatives was as a people's economic movement which was expected to be able to equalize welfare. Unfortunately, cooperatives in the old and new order regimes were used as political tools to perpetuate government power. During the reform period, the regulation of cooperatives was getting worse because it made cooperatives like companies pursuing mere profits.

Cultural and Creative Industries (CCIs) have been intensively studied within the last decades due to their high economic growth potential and positive impact on innovation. In recent years, research shows increasing efforts to unfold CCIs’ potential for innovation partnerships in cross-sectoral cooperation with traditional companies. This classical role of CCI has been discussed in the new context in the frame of COVID-19. Here, the CCI sector itself had to find other channels to meet their clients, but besides that, an extended role of the CCI sector for post-COVID recovery is debated by several key players, including OECD. The paper analyses the current socio-economic situation that is still shadowed by the ongoing COVID pandemic and discusses sustainable and inclusive growth paths of a post-COVID recovery driven by creativity concepts. The Baltic Sea Region (BSR) as the first macro-region with its own macro-regional strategy and its strong innovation power, domination of SME sector, low population density, its heterogeneous business structures resulting from its characteristic mixture of old and new EU Member States can be considered as a test lab for the whole Europe. From the CCI perspective, its long Hanse history that generated a common Baltic identity opens the opportunity to deploy common cultural approaches for successful inter-cultural recovery concepts.

This article examines the way a group of colonies on the far reaches of British power – Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and India, dealt with the imperatives of their own security in the early twentieth century. Each of these evolved into Dominion status and then to sovereign statehood (India lastly and most thoroughly) over the first half of the twentieth century, and their sovereignties evolved amidst a number of related and often countervailing problems of self-defence and cooperative security strategy within the British Empire. The article examines how security – the abstracted political goods of military force – worked alongside race in the greater Pacific to build colonial sovereignties before the First World War. Its first section examines the internal-domestic dimension of sovereignty and its need to secure territory through the issue of imperial naval subsidies. A number of colonies paid subsidies to Britain to support the Royal Navy and thus to contribute in financial terms to their strategic defense. These subsidies provoked increasing opposition after the turn of the twentieth century, and the article exlpores why colonial actors of various types thought financial subsidies threatened their sovereignties in important ways. The second section of the article examines the external-diplomatic dimension of sovereignty by looking at the way colonial actors responded to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance. I argue that colonial actors deployed security as a logic that allowed them to pursue their own bids for sovereignty and autonomy, leverage racial discourses that shaped state-building projects, and ultimately to attempt to nudge the focus of the British Empire's grand strategy away from Europe and into Asia.

Germany's growing weight on the world stage is indisputable, and its foreign policy is exceptional among powerful states. This article argues that while the original vision of cooperative security and multilateralism guiding German policy was shaped by occupation, division, and weakness, it has shown astonishing resilience, even as Germany has regained sovereignty, unity, and power. For a weak and divided Federal Republic, a vision that eschewed the exercise of power ensured survival; for a strong united Germany, a vision that minimizes the role of power is revolutionary and controversial. I argue that this revolutionary policy is now the most effective one to meet the challenges of a transformed world marked by new and unconventional threats and risks—a world in which traditional measures of power have lost much of their usefulness in securing the national interest. Ironically, however, while the policy vision that downplays the role of power persists, Germany's material power has grown. Germany's renewed power position makes it an influential actor in an international system where perceptions of power still matter. And the old policy vision makes German foreign policy the most appropriate for solving new global problems whose solution defies power politics. This paradoxical combination of power and vision in Germany's postunification foreign policy has introduced a new and effective form of "normative power" in global politics.

The food market is experiencing a period of deep tensions between farmers, food companies, and retailers across the world. This is particularly true in Italy, a Mediterranean country with a strong agricultural tradition and a great interest in the food market. The largest market weight in terms of food retail in Italy is held by national chains linked to the cooperative movement (Coop and Conad) that has promised to ensure more collaborative and less imbalanced relationships between producers and distributors, along with a stronger connection to the territory and socially responsible corporate management. The Coop is currently the biggest cooperative in Italy. Its increasing power in the Italian food retail system has caused it to behave like an oligopoly that has exploited its proximity to left-wing parties to obtain an advantageous position in some markets (ex: Emilia, Liguria, etc.). Equally alarming is a growing financialization which has led to the bankruptcy of CoopCa and Coop Operaie of Trieste, affecting approximately 20,000 investors. The recent crisis in food retail is redirecting firms’ strategies and producing new forms of food distribution such as Alternative Food Networks that are trying to restore the mission and values of the old consumer cooperatives.

Santos has big ambitions for the asset that started it all. We are setting up Moomba for the next 50 years. Moomba is more than just a gas plant, it is a township. Its primary industry is processing oil and gas, it operates off the grid by generating its own power, produces its own water, and provides accommodation to many businesses and hundreds of workers each night. The gas plant had received the most attention, in a structured program of maintenance and rejuvenation, generating high levels of safety and reliability that will extend the life of the facility for many years. However, Santos has now adopted an integrated town-plan approach towards Moomba to restore this nationally vital asset as a state of the art processing, storage and transportation hub, servicing east coast and southern gas markets. Whereas Santos has been successful in reducing its field-based resources footprint through technology and efficiency, Moomba’s physical footprint had not kept pace. Through consolidation of working places and delivery locations, reduction in physical footprints for warehousing, yards and accommodation, and a major renovation of the camp facilities, Santos is breathing new life into an aging asset. At the same time, Santos is keeping costs down through cooperative and sustainable arrangements with existing suppliers and contractors. It has also identified real value through the opportunity to provide Cooper Basin-wide services to maintenance, operations and projects from the Moomba Township.

Abstract BRICS, the 15-year-old alliance of Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa, has emerged as an important actor on the global political and economic stage, not least by expanding its membership to include middle-power states Egypt, Ethiopia, Iran, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates in early 2024. Much like the countries of the G7 and the EU, BRICS members are among the major players in international agri-food markets. BRICS and the G7 have accounted for around one-seventh of each other’s agricultural exports in the past decade. However, excessive protectionism and mounting sanctions as well as ideology-driven de-risking strategies are a high-risk venture that could ultimately lead to isolationism and the formation of blocs. Food insecurity is growing, primarily at the expense of poorer people in the Global South. Against this background, it seems advisable to balance geopolitical and geoeconomic interests by turning away from confrontational Stone Age politics and towards more cooperative approaches, such as more diplomacy.

The Internet of Things, or IoT, is changing practically every aspect of modern life and entering both the business and residential domains. The proliferation of IoT has led to a rise in the frequency of cyber catastrophes. Attackers are using new methods or changing old ones, making the danger more sophisticated. The threat landscape that security professionals face is dynamic, complex, and diversified. This paper proposes a novel approach to enhance Internet of Things applications by fusing the swarm intelligence of Salp Swarm Algorithms (SSA) with the predictive power of Random Forest (RF) and Decision Tree (DT) models. Salp Swarm Algorithms simulate the cooperative behavior of salps in the natural world, wherein individual agents coordinate their actions to achieve common goals. This work uses SSA to optimize the Random Forest and Decision Tree model training process in an IoT context. SSA's collaborative nature makes it easier to explore the solution space effectively, which enhances the models' ability to capture the complex correlations found in IoT data. The effectiveness of the model is evaluated. We were able to attain a maximum accuracy of 95.54% for the Decision Tree of the OT-MQTT dataset and 96.19% for the random forest.

<p>With the increasing number of mobile communication devices, the problem of insufficient spectrum resources has emerged. In addition, traditional spectrum allocation model also exacerbates the problem by under utilizing idle spectrum. We propose a dynamic spectrum scheme based on Tabu-Q learning. Firstly, the spectrum allocation problem is formulated as a continuous Markov decision process (MDP), premised on the power constraints of primary users (PUs) and secondary users (SUs) are met. Tabu-Q learning is applied to adjust optimization strategy, so as to maximize the total transmission rate of users. Secondly, the idea of cooperative learning is added in the scheme to improve the convergence speed of algorithm. That is, new users are allowed to learn the experience of old users, so as to improve the speed of spectrum sensing and save the execution time of algorithm. Finally, The mean opinion score (MOS) is used to measure different traffic. The simulation shows that when the number of users is consistent, Tabu-Q learning can improve the transmission bit rate by about 13% compared with Q learning, and keep MOS above the acceptable level (MOS>3). In summary, the scheme proposed in this paper can effectively improve the utilization of idle spectrum.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p>

Cancer of the eyelids is difficult to treat. Surgery can lead to tissue loss. Superficial radiotherapy (SXRT) can be used in this scenario, but each fraction requires topical ophthalmic local anaesthetic and the insertion of an internal eye shield (IES) to protect the radiation sensitive anterior structures from the incident beam during beam-on time. The use of an IES comes with challenges. A technique was developed to avoid the IES based on the ability of selected cooperative patients to move the anterior structures out of the incident beam during beam-on time. We present two cases in which this technique was used. Case 1 involves the lower eyelid and case 2 the upper eyelid. Case 1 was a 69-year old, immunosuppressed woman needing definitive SXRT for lentigo maligna (LM) of the lower eye lid. She was treated using the new non-IES technique to a total dose of 50 Gy in 25 fractions using a 100 kV beam from a superficial Xstrahl 300 radiotherapy unit (Xstrahl, Surrey, UK). In vivo dosimetry (IVD) measured during a fraction on the posterior of the external eye shield located above the anterior structures showed that the transmitted dose through the external eye shield was less than ten percent of the dose applied. The patient developed conjunctivitis during SXRT that responded to topical antibiotics. Ophthalmology review five months post SXRT showed no change in eye function from baseline. Reflectance confocal microscopy (RCM) eight months after SXRT showed no LM. Case 2 was a 72-year old woman needing post-operative radiotherapy (PORT) for sebaceous cell carcinoma (SebC) of the upper eyelid. She was treated with 60 Gy in 30 fractions at 5 fractions per week with 100kV SXRT using the new non-IES technique. All the treatment was delivered on time. As per Case 1, IVD under the external eye shield showed the transmitted dose was ten percent of the dose applied. Ophthalmology review pre- and post-RT showed no change in eye function. She remains in complete remission six months after the end of PORT. The new non-IES technique is safer and quicker and simplifies the workflow. This has become the standard technique in our department for treating eyelids with SXRT. Multidisciplinary care involving an ophthalmologist pre- and post-SXRT is advised.

Problem setting. A modern word in the era of globalization, computerization of society, domination of digital technologies, is constantly changing, being shaped through the merger of technology and human activity. The using of new technologies, social networks, media and gadgets gives a new way to achieve diplomatic missions and the main goals of the current political powers. The main goal of digital diplomacy is to improve communication between states, communication of political interests, exchange of information. The fact of application of information and communication technologies in diplomatic work is obvious. In a global pandemic caused by the coronavirus, the use of digital diplomacy in the international arena is growing. Target of research.The purpose of research is the analysis of the concept and history of digital diplomacy, the establishment of its features and characteristics. Analysis of resent researches and publications. A large number of both national and foreign scientists studied the topic, including V. Permyakov, E. Zinovieva, N. Tsvetkova, F. Hanson, K. Sereda, J. Turchin, whose works are important theoretical basis for studying the issue of digital diplomacy. Article’s main body. The theory of digital diplomacy as a component of political culture began in the late twentieth century. It was the time when the world community realized the importance of implementing new effective methods of diplomacy that would go beyond official political institutions. Today there are areas where it can be an effective resource: first, in the field of information management, and secondly, such diplomacy can analyze a huge amount of information in political forecasts and strategic planning. The diplomatic services of the world’s leading countries use the Internet to communicate with citizens of the host countries, conduct surveys, and provide the necessary information. Political elites use information technologies in their own interests both in their own states and in the international arena. Even foreign ministries are learning the basics of media literacy and social media work. Previously, diplomacy was considered a relatively «closed» field of activity, today it is becoming more open to ordinary citizens, in particular through the development of information technology. Conclusions and prospects for the development. Global processes are crucial for international relations, and the complexity of events forces to develop new forms of interaction and cooperation between states. Of course, digital technologies cannot completely replace the centuries-old principles of diplomacy, but their adaptation to its goals and functions has a positive effect on the implementation of the main tasks of diplomatic activity and increases the effectiveness of results and the level of openness and transparency.

The aim of this study is, based on intensive comparative case studies, to analyze structure and process of entrepreneurial networks in the internet communication era. We then imply general insights on entrepreneurial networks, some of which suggest solutions to urgent problems concerning industry restructuring in Japan. Although during the long-term recession in Japan the value of entrepreneurship has been widely recognized, the number of business startups, however, has not readily increased, in spite of various efforts by many public institutions at developing support programs. On the other hand, it has been observed recently that some internet-based entrepreneurial networks have emerged spontaneously, which let business startups help each other and acquire Internet potential. This paper begins with proposing a conceptual typology for positioning various entrepreneurial networks on it. We then analyze two cases intensively by examining their emergence process and characteristics, guided by the conceptual framework. One is an internet-based entrepreneurial network to help business startups in Japan while the other is a non-internet-based entrepreneurial network that has been in the United States for fifteen years. We conducted participated observation in the former case for two years while we carried out interviews and material-based research for the latter. Finally, we derive general insights on entrepreneurial networks from the case studies. The major findings of this study are as follows: (1) Network polarity, loose and tight, is determined by two primary variable, i.e., expectations and membership. (2) Inter-personal networks can provide the infrastructure of inter-firm networks. Especially loose inter-personal networks tend to generate cooperative and tight inter-firm network, because a wide variety of members naturally enjoy opportunities to encounter potential business partners there. (3) We find different aims in inter-personal networks and inter-firm networks. The former is primarily for mutual aiding while the latter is for dealing with businesses. (4) The internet communications can simultaneously make networks both looser and tighter. (5) Loose inter-personal networks facilitated by the internet communication should have power to reorganize old industry structure in Japan by creating new business and new business relationship if the government support it with minimum intervention and maximum understanding.

In recent years, the increasingly wide-ranging and advanced pattern is a characteristic that is prominent not only in science and technology but also in violent crimes. Accordingly, investigative agencies such as the police are making all-out efforts to discover substantive truths and arrest criminals by introducing various investigative techniques and systems based on technical theories. However, in the case of cold cases that are more than 10 years old among violent cases, there are problems such as preservation of evidence and loss of investigation records, and representative cases that can no longer be investigated due to past statute of limitations have recently become an issue. The police have created a department in charge of cold cases at each local police agency and actively introduced scientific investigation techniques to detect criminals and solve cases, resulting in remarkable results. Examples include the murder of a Guro pub and the murder of a bank robber in Daejeon. In order to solve the cold case, a clear definition of the cold case and a dedicated team to solve the case are needed, but each local police agency still works as a temporary organization rather than a dedicated organization, so it is urgent to establish a more stable organizational system. In addition, there were system problems such as insufficient cooperative investigation with other agencies and difficulty in information sharing, criticism of the investigation as a show-type investigation by focusing investigators on cases where people are focused attention, and lack of expertise due to limited investigation resources. Accordingly, it is necessary to review the introduction of specialized investigators in cold cases in developed countries and actively utilize the introduction of dedicated investigation teams through permanent organizations and the introduction of professional investigator certification systems to expand cold case cooperation and efficiently operate crime analysis systems. Therefore, this study objectively selected important violent crime cases rather than 100% resolution of all cold case cases, and sought efficient investigation measures to focus on high-level investigative power as at the beginning of the case until the case is resolved.

TPS5093 Background: Men with mCRPC often receive sequential NAH (abiraterone and enzalutamide) despite reported cross-resistance, indicating a need for further life-prolonging options for progressive disease after prior NAH. Ra-223 is a targeted alpha therapy approved for mCRPC with symptomatic bone metastases based on the phase 3 ALSYMPCA study, in which it demonstrated significantly increased overall survival (OS), reduced symptomatic skeletal event (SSE) risk, improved quality of life, and reduced treatment-emergent adverse event rates vs placebo. As life-prolonging therapy is increasingly used in hormone-sensitive settings, this study has been designed to assess Ra-223 outcomes in patients with mCRPC that progressed after prior treatment with NAH and docetaxel for metastatic hormone-sensitive prostate cancer (mHSPC) or mCRPC. Methods: This study is conducted in accordance with the Declaration of Helsinki, international ethical and good clinical practice guidelines, and local laws and regulations, with institutional review board/ethics committee approval at each site and written informed consent from patients before participation. This trial is registered with EudraCT: 2019-000476-42. Participants must be ≥18 years old, with an Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group performance status of 0/1; they must have mCRPC that progressed on/after ≥3 months of NAH for mHSPC or mCRPC and ≥2 cycles of docetaxel unless they refused or were ineligible, with ≥2 bone metastases on bone scan, no visceral metastases, and a worst pain score ≥1 on the Brief Pain Inventory-Short Form. Patients are randomized 1:1 to Ra-223 or NAH: Ra-223 55 kBq/kg intravenously every 4 weeks for 6 cycles or until disease progression, death, or withdrawal of consent if earlier; or abiraterone 1000 mg + prednisone 10 mg daily (if prior enzalutamide) or enzalutamide 160 mg daily (if prior abiraterone) until disease progression, death, or withdrawal of consent. NAH dosing may be modified to manage adverse events. Patients must use luteinizing hormone-releasing hormone analogs, if not surgically castrated, and bone health agents (bisphosphonates or denosumab) throughout the study. The primary endpoint is OS. Secondary endpoints are time to first SSE, radiologic progression-free survival, time to pain progression, adverse events, fracture incidence, and time to deterioration in quality of life (FACT-P total score). Using a test with a two-sided alpha of 0.05, 90% power, and randomization ratio of 1:1, approximately 508 events are required to detect a 33% increase in OS with Ra-223 vs NAH, assuming a median OS of 10 months with NAH. The expected study duration is 55 months, with a target of 696 patients to be randomized. The first patient was enrolled on November 9, 2020; 5 patients have been randomized and 2 have started treatment to date. Clinical trial information: 2019-000476-42.

TPS627 Background: Pancreatic cancer is one of the most dismal cancers with few effective drugs. Both FOLFIRINOX (FFX) and gemcitabine plus nab-paclitaxel (GnP) showed superiority in overall survival (OS) to gemcitabine in phase III studies and became the standard of care for first-line chemotherapy. However, to date, there is no prospective randomized controlled studies comparing FFX and GnP. In addition, the original FFX has the problems of high toxicity and complicated administration, and we have been developing modified FFX with dose reduction of irinotecan and without bolus fluorouracil and S-IROX, which replaces continuous intravenous fluorouracil with orally administered fluoropyrimidine of S-1. The modified FFX showed median OS of 11.2months [95% confidence interval (CI), 9.0-not calculated] as good as the original FFX in a phase II study, and the S-IROX showed a high objective response rate (ORR) of 57.1% (95% CI, 34.0–78.2%) in a phase I study. This phase II/III study aims to confirm the superiority of modified FFX and S-IROX to GnP in metastatic or recurrent pancreatic cancer. Methods: The main eligibility criteria are metastatic or recurrent pancreatic cancer, histologically diagnosed as adenocarcinoma or adenosquamous carcinoma, no prior chemotherapy for pancreatic cancer, Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group Performance Status 0 or 1, and age 20-75 years old. Enrolled patients are randomized 1:1:1 to GnP, modified FFX, or S-IROX. GnP is consisted of nab-paclitaxel (125 mg/m2) and gemcitabine (1000 mg/m2) on days 1, 8, and 15, every 4 weeks, modified FFX is consisted of oxaliplatin (85 mg/m2), irinotecan (150 mg/m2), l-leucovorin (200 mg/m2), and fluorouracil (2400 mg/m2, 46-hour continuous infusion), every 2 weeks, and S-IROX is consisted of oxaliplatin (85 mg/m2), irinotecan (150 mg/m2) and S-1 (80 mg/m2, days 1-7), every 2 weeks. All regimens are administered until disease progression or unacceptable toxicity. The primary endpoint of the phase II part is the ORR to S-IROX with the null hypothesis of a threshold ORR of less than 20%, which decide whether to proceed to the phase III part in three arms or two arms (GnP and modified FFX). The primary endpoint of the phase III part is OS, and secondary endpoints are progression-free survival, ORR, incidence of adverse events (AEs) and serious AEs, and dose intensity. We calculated a sample of 732 patients to maintain 80% power at a one-sided alpha error of 2.5% in each comparison, and the hazard ratios of modified FFX and S-IROX versus GnP were estimated at 0.73 each. The study started patient accrual in April 2019 and 349 patients have been enrolled as of September 2021. Clinical trial registry: jRCTs031190009. Clinical trial information: jRCTs031190009.

Summary“Sharing” the Wealth? Minerals, oil, timber, medicines and now genetic wealth, all play a major role in development and all are the source of conflict, dispute and violations of indigenous peoples’ centuries-old rights. The driving force behind the relentless conflict between indigenous peoples and the waves of outsiders making forceful contact with them is the search for resources. Driven by an increasing realization that the Earth's riches are limited and at the same time by the fierce competition that globalization and economic policies have unleashed, and using increasingly sophisticated technology, both for discovery and exploitation, states and multinationals have been motivated and able to go, literally, where no outsider has gone before.The natural resources located in some of the Earth's most remote or inhospitable locations became especially available for exploitation when a number of new states sprung up in the post-World War II, postcolonial period. Elites and dominant groups, empowered to maintain security and promote trade, spurred by multinationals’ offers that they could not refuse and by international financial institutions loans and grants ”developed” natural resources, often igniting conflicts with indigenous nations. Frequently, these clashes led to the growth of the military, to arm races to ensure the monopoly on “development”, to authoritarian and corrupt regimes, and to the opposite of what was expected, increased poverty and inequality.The conflict is over the very issue of who owns the resources — a question that has been central to the rise of nationalism and the assertion of “ethnic” identity throughout the world. First Nation peoples realize that without their resource base, they have no future. They also believe that modem states, some of them relatively young, cannot legitimately claim resources that nation peoples have utilized and maintained for centuries. The manner in which this is done is also the subject of fierce disputes (e.g. damage or destruction of ancestral lands, food and water sources, way of life, income).States have traditionally received considerable help from other states and international organizations in appropriating the resources of indigenous peoples. Ironically, the improving economic conditions worldwide and the growing wealth of many in emerging economies have made this hunt and exploitation of natural resources even more urgent and seemingly legitimize it, given the increasing demand for consumer goods and technological items.Worldwide, multinational development industries help states to seize resources and put them up for sale on the world market — especially through “obvious” projects such as mining, oil exploration, and hydroelectric development.One issue is never, or at best rarely, addressed: Who owns the resources to begin with? Whose agreement is needed before proceeding? What is an equitable formula for sharing the earnings and mitigate displacement and environmental pollution and destruction? Laws introduced in the past few decades by ruling groups often deny first nations’ claims to their resources. Such laws, many indigenous groups argue, do not take precedence over their prior claims to resources. At stake are not only the issue of ownerships, but also the value of resources and who has the right to manage, extract and consume them. It is also a question of survival and identity.This work of critical criminology reviews the historical record of “exploration” and exploitation of resources showing that it is not a new phenomenon but rather a chronic situation that indigenous peoples have endured throughout the centuries. It examines the role that the state, the multinationals and the international financial institutions play in this clash over resources when indigenous peoples’ rights are often ignored, stepped upon and disregarded. It critically examines current efforts, treaties and policies meant to recognize and respect Native peoples’ rights. It shows that current measures are not truly addressing the key issues and that a concerted effort must be undertaken to change the equation and dynamics of power, dominion and use of the earth's riches.Development must be redefined, crafted and targeted in the right way taking into account and respecting all legitimate claims to the earth's wealth, especially those of the “First Nations” that have suffered throughout the centuries the impact of colonialism, racism, and wholesale theft of their riches on the part of the “developed” world.

Abstract Tipifarnib (R115777, ZARNESTRA®) treatment resulted in complete remission among patients (pts) with AML in phase 1–2 studies. Results are reported for the multicenter, open-label study comparing tipifarnib to best supportive care (BSC), including hydroxyurea, as first line therapy in elderly pts (≥70 years) with newly diagnosed, de novo or secondary AML. Methods: A total of 457 pts who were not medically fit for or did not wish to be treated with combination chemotherapy were randomized, with stratification for age (<75 vs. ≥75 years) and Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group performance status (PS 0–1 vs. 2). Overall, 24% of pts were ≥80 year old, 28% had PS 2, 32% had unfavorable cytogenetics and 36% had AML with myelodysplasia. Tipifarnib was administered at 600 mg p.o. BID for the first 21 consecutive days, in 28-day cycles. Pts on BSC were permitted to receive hydroxyurea if clinically indicated. The primary endpoint was to compare overall survival (OS) between treatment groups, both overall and for pts with AML with myelodysplasia. Pts were treated until disease progression, intolerable toxicity, death, or withdrawal of consent. Pts were followed after treatment termination for subsequent therapy and survival. A total of 394 events (deaths) were required to detect a hazard ratio of 0.75 for OS, with 80% power given a 2-sided significance level of 0.043 (α1). Results: At the time of this analysis, 201 (88%) of 228 pts on the tipifarnib arm and 195 (85%) of 229 pts on the BSC arm had died. With median follow-up of 539 days, the median survival was 107 days (95% CI: 85, 129 days) for the tipifarnib arm and 109 days (95% CI: 93, 136 days) for the BSC arm. The hazard ratio (tipifarnib vs. BSC) for OS was 1.02 (95% CI: 0.84, 1.24). The p-value from the stratified log-rank test on OS was 0.843. The complete response (CR) rate for tipifarnib in this study (8%) was lower than that observed previously, but with a similar median duration of 8 months. In the tipifarnib arm, OS was not negatively affected by the rate of early deaths (21% for tipifarnib and 17% for BSC) or total drug-related deaths (4 pts, 2%). The most frequent grade 3 or 4 adverse events were cytopenias. The rate of grade 3 or 4 infections was slightly higher on the tipifarnib arm (39% vs. 33%), as was the incidence of febrile neutropenia (16% vs. 10%). The incidence of other drug-related non-hematological grade 3–4 adverse events was low. The median duration of hospitalization was 19 days for BSC and 22 days for tipifarnib-treated pts. The rate of hospitalization for infections was not increased: 28% vs. 29% respectively. Conclusions: In this randomized study, treatment with tipifarnib did not result in an overall increased survival when compared to BSC including hydroxyurea. There was a low incidence of drug-related deaths, and severe infections or febrile neutropenia were only slightly increased.

Background: AML is the most common acute leukemia in adults. While most adults &lt; 60 years achieve complete remission (CR) with intensive induction chemotherapy, approximately one third have primary refractory disease and, overall, the majority of AML patients still relapse despite having attained initial remission (Dohner et al, Blood 2017). The combination of an anthracycline and cytarabine has been the mainstay of intensive AML induction for more than 50 years. Combined with cytarabine (AraC), high-dose daunorubicin (90 mg/m2) in induction (DA-90) resulted in a higher rate of CR (70.6% vs. 57.3%, P&lt;0.001) and improved overall survival (OS) (median 23.7 vs. 15.7 months; P = 0.003), without increased serious adverse events compared with DA-45 (Fernandez et al, NEJM, 2009). In two PALG randomized trials, the combination of cladribine with DA (DAC regimen) also resulted in significantly increased CR after a single induction course, compared with the standard two-drug induction (DA-60) (Holowiecki et al, Leukemia, 2004 and JCO 2012). Both regimens have a recommendation from the National Cancer Comprehensive Network (NCCN) for routine use. For patients with primary refractory disease, the commonly used FLAG-IDA (fludarabine, cytarabine, idarubicin, GCSF) regimen results in a CR rate of 52% (Pastore et al, Ann Hem, 2003). Two previous PALG studies confirmed that another standard regimen, CLAG-M (a combination of cladribine, Ara-C, G-CSF and mitoxantrone) is also effective with tolerable toxicity in refractory/relapsed AML patients (Robak et al Leuk Lymph, 2000; Wrzesień-Kuś et al, Eur J Haematol 2003; Wrzesień-Kuś et al, Ann Hematol, 2005; Wierzbowska et al, Eur J Haematol ,2008; Jaglal et al, Leuk Res, 2014). PALG-AML1/2016 aims to compare the safety and efficacy of two commonly used induction and salvage regimens in AML. This trial is also the first international randomized trial in AML induction to prospectively evaluate the impact of measurable residual disease (MRD) on overall survival, using multi-modality testing (flow-cytometry, next-generation sequencing, and PCR) of serial samples. The study is conducted in accordance with the principles of the "Declaration of Helsinki". Study Design and Methods: PALG-AML1/2016 is a multicenter, randomized, Phase III study which will include 582 patients with newly-diagnosed AML treated at multiple centers across Poland and at Weill Cornell Medicine and The New York Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. This will allow a 10% difference in CR rate between the DAC and DA-90 induction regimens to be confirmed with a power of 80% and level of significance 0.05. Eligible patients must be 18 to 60 years of age with untreated AML, Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group performance status 0-2 and HCT-CI Index of comorbidities, ≤ 3. As midostaurin treatment has become approved and available the study was amended with an exclusion of FLT3-mutated patients. The trial schema is shown in Figure 1. The trial was initiated in July 2017 and 279 patients have been enrolled to date and accrual is ongoing. Preliminary safety and efficacy data were reviewed by the data safety monitoring committee after 194 patients and the recommendation was to proceed without changes. Serial samples for MRD are being collected from all patients at multiple time points and analysis is ongoing. ClinicalTrials.gov Identifier: NCT03257241 Figure 1 Disclosures Wierzbowska: Janssen: Honoraria; Celgen/BMS: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Abbvie: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Jazz: Honoraria, Research Funding. Pluta:Angelini: Research Funding; Celgene/BMS: Honoraria. Libura:Novartis: Honoraria. Wrobel:Janssen-Cilag: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau. Zaucha:Abbvie: Honoraria; Sandoz: Consultancy, Honoraria; Cellgene: Other: travel, accomodations, expenses; Novartis: Consultancy; BMS: Consultancy; Takeda: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: travel, accomodations, expenses; Roche: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: travel, accomodations, expenses. Robak:AstraZeneca: Honoraria, Research Funding; Janssen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: TRAVEL, ACCOMMODATIONS, EXPENSES (paid by any for-profit health care company), Research Funding; GSK: Research Funding; Bristol Meyers Squibb: Research Funding; Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding; Morphosys: Research Funding; UCB: Honoraria, Research Funding; Roche: Consultancy, Other: TRAVEL, ACCOMMODATIONS, EXPENSES (paid by any for-profit health care company), Research Funding; UTX-TGR: Research Funding; BioGene: Honoraria, Research Funding; Acerta: Research Funding; Momenta: Consultancy; Pfizer: Research Funding; Sandoz: Consultancy, Honoraria; Octapharma: Honoraria; AbbVie: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: TRAVEL, ACCOMMODATIONS, EXPENSES (paid by any for-profit health care company), Research Funding; Pharmacyclics LLC, an AbbVie Company: Honoraria, Research Funding; Medical University of Lodz: Current Employment; Takeda: Consultancy. Lee:BMS: Consultancy; Helsinn: Other: Member -DSMB; AstraZeneca: Consultancy; Jazz: Consultancy; Roche Molecular Systems: Consultancy. Ritchie:Novartis: Honoraria; Incyte: Speakers Bureau; Sierra Oncology: Honoraria; Abbvie: Honoraria; Pfizer: Honoraria, Research Funding; Jazz pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Research Funding. Guzman:Cellectis: Research Funding; SeqRx: Honoraria. Roboz:Agios: Consultancy; Amphivena: Consultancy; Astex: Consultancy; Pfizer: Consultancy; Abbvie: Consultancy; Array BioPharma: Consultancy; Bayer: Consultancy; Celltrion: Consultancy; Eisai: Consultancy; Jazz: Consultancy; Roche/Genentech: Consultancy; Sandoz: Consultancy; Actinium: Consultancy; Argenx: Consultancy; Astellas: Consultancy; Daiichi Sankyo: Consultancy; AstraZeneca: Consultancy; Orsenix: Consultancy; Otsuka: Consultancy; Takeda: Consultancy; Trovagene: Consultancy; Cellectis: Research Funding; Jasper Therapeutics: Consultancy; Epizyme: Consultancy; Helsinn: Consultancy; MEI Pharma: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy; Janssen: Consultancy; Novartis: Consultancy. OffLabel Disclosure: cladribine - in induction regimen in AML

Abstract Sorafenib is an oral multikinase inhibitor that blocks the autophosphorylation and activation of a number of kinases including the FLT3 tyrosine kinase with an internal tandem duplication mutation (FLT3-ITD). Sorafenib has activity against AML with FLT3-ITD mutations as a single agent in the setting of post-transplant relapse and in combination with chemotherapy for newly diagnosed AML. Historical Cancer and Leukemia Group B results using standard chemotherapy for older patients (pts) with FLT3-ITD have demonstrated a complete remission (CR) rate of 67%, median survival of 0.8 yrs, and 1-yr overall survival (OS) of 30% (Whitman et al., Blood 2010). More recently, sorafenib was demonstrated to significantly prolong event-free (EFS) and disease-free survival (DFS) of younger adults irrespective of FLT3 mutation status (Rollig, et al., ASH 2014). We hypothesized that the addition of sorafenib to induction and post-remission therapy would improve the overall survival of older pts with FLT3-mutated AML. The Alliance for Clinical Trials in Oncology conducted a multicenter, single-arm phase 2 study in pts ≥ 60 years old with AML and either a FLT3-ITD or a point mutation in the activation loop of the kinase domain (FLT3-TKD). Subjects with PML-RARA, core-binding factor AML or who had received prior treatment for AML were excluded. Induction chemotherapy consisted of cytarabine 100 mg/m2 CIVI on days 1-7 and daunorubicin 60 mg/m2 IV on days 1-3 (7+3) with oral sorafenib 400 mg bid on days 1-7. Those not achieving a hypoplastic bone marrow on day 14 were to receive a second cycle of cytarabine and daunorubicin (5+2) plus sorafenib 400 mg bid on days 1-7. Post-remission therapy consisted of intermediate-dose cytarabine 2 g/m2 on days 1-5 with sorafenib 400 mg bid on days 1-28 for 2 cycles followed by maintenance sorafenib 400 mg bid for 12 28-day cycles. The primary endpoint of the study was 1-yr OS. With a sample size of 39 FLT3-ITD patients and type I error rate of 10%, this design provided 90% power to distinguish between true 1-yr OS rate of 50% compared to our historical rate of 30% for the FLT3-ITD pts. A total of 474 pts were screened for FLT3 mutations though a central laboratory. FLT3 mutations were identified in 83 subjects (17.5%). Fifty-four pts with a median age of 67 years (60.3-82.7) were enrolled, including 39 with FLT3-ITD (71%) and 15 with FLT3-TKD (29%). All pts have now completed protocol treatment. Of the 54 pts, 37 achieved a CR or CRi (69%). The 30-day induction mortality was 9% with no additional deaths occurring between days 30-60. With a median follow up of 28.3 months, the observed 1-yr OS (95% CI) was 62% (45-78) for the FLT3-ITD pts and 71% (42-92) for the FLT3-TKD pts. The median DFS and OS was 12.5 mo (7.7-17.4) and 15.0 mo (10.4-20.1) respectively in the FLT3-ITD group and 9.0 (1.6-NA) and 16.2 mo (5.0-NA) for the FLT3-TKD group. For all subjects, the 2-yr OS was 28% (17-43) and DFS was 27% (15-46). There were no treatment-related deaths during consolidation or maintenance. For pts receiving sorafenib maintenance, the most commonly reported related adverse events were Grade 1 diarrhea, fatigue, transaminitis, and Grade 2 palmar-plantar erythodyesthesia. The mean plasma inhibitory activity (PIA) for FLT3 was 94% (n=25) on day 6 of induction, 93% (n=15) on day 15 of consolidation and 99.2% (n=6) on day 15 of maintenance demonstrating robust inhibition of FLT3 in vivo. This study represents the first prospective clinical trial for older adults with AML targeting a specific mutational profile within the US cooperative group setting. The study met the primary endpoint demonstrating that the addition of sorafenib to chemotherapy for FLT3-ITD AML improves the survival of older adults more than doubling the 1-yr OS compared to historical controls (62% vs 30%, p <0.0001). Disclosures Uy: Novartis: Research Funding. Off Label Use: Sorafenib for AML. DeAngelo:Novartis: Consultancy; Ariad: Consultancy; Bristol Myers Squibb: Consultancy; Pfizer: Consultancy; Amgen: Consultancy; Incyte: Consultancy; Agios: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy. Stock:Gilead: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Byrd:Acerta Pharma BV: Research Funding. Stone:Celator: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy; Pfizer: Consultancy; Roche/Genetech: Consultancy; Amgen: Consultancy; Karyopharm: Consultancy; Abbvie: Consultancy; AROG: Consultancy; Merck: Consultancy; Sunesis: Consultancy, Other: DSMB for clinical trial; Novartis: Research Funding; Juno: Consultancy; Agios: Consultancy. Larson:Bristol-Myers Squibb: Consultancy; Pfizer: Consultancy; Ariad: Consultancy, Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy, Research Funding.

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AbstractThe nucleus of the collection of paintings in the Mauritshuis around 130 pictures - came from the hereditary stadholder Prince William v. It is widely believed to have become, the property of the State at the beginning of the 19th century, but how this happened is still. unclear. A hand-written notebook on this subject, compiled in 1876 by - the director Jonkheer J. K. L. de Jonge is in the archives of the Mauritshuis Note 4). On this basis a clnsor systematic and chronological investigation has been carried out into the stadholder's. property rights in respect of his collectcons and the changes these underwent between 1795 and 1816. Royal decrees and other documents of the period 1814- 16 in particular giae a clearer picture of whal look place. 0n 18 January 1795 William V (Fig. 2) left the Netherlands and fled to England. On 22 January the Dutch Republic was occupied by French armies. Since France had declared war on the stadholder, the ownership of all his propergy in the Netherlands, passed to France, in accordance with the laws of war of the time. His famous art collections on the Builerth of in. The Hague were taken to Paris, but the remaining art objects, distributed over his various houses, remained in the Netherlands. On 16 May 1795 the French concluded a treaty with the Batavian Republic, recognizing it as an independent power. All the properties of William v in the Netehrlands but not those taken to France, were made over to the Republic (Note 14), which proceeded to sell objects from the collections, at least seven sales taking place until 1798 (Note 15). A plan was then evolved to bring the remaining treasures together in a museum in emulation of the French. On the initiative of J. A. Gogel, the Nationale Konst-Galerij', the first national museum in the .Netherlands, was estahlished in The Hague and opened to the public on ,31 May 1800. Nothing was ever sold from lhe former stadholder's library and in 1798 a Nationale Bibliotheek was founded as well. In 1796, quite soon after the French had carried off the Stadholder, possessions to Paris or made them over to the Batavian Republic, indemnification was already mentioned (Note 19). However, only in the Trealy of Amiens of 180 and a subaequent agreement, between France ararl Prussia of 1 802, in which the Prince of Orarage renounced his and his heirs' rights in the Netherlands, did Prussia provide a certain compensation in the form of l.artds in Weslphalia and Swabia (Note 24) - William v left the management of these areas to the hereditary prince , who had already been involved in the problems oncerning his father's former possessions. In 1804 the Balavian Republic offered a sum of five million guilders 10 plenipotentiaries of the prince as compensation for the sequestrated titles and goods, including furniture, paintings, books and rarities'. This was accepted (Notes 27, 28), but the agreement was never carried out as the Batavian Republic failed to ratify the payment. In the meantime the Nationale Bibliolkeek and the Nationale Konst-Galerij had begun to develop, albeit at first on a small scale. The advent of Louis Napoleon as King of Hollarad in 1806 brought great changes. He made a start on a structured art policy. In 1806 the library, now called `Royal', was moved to the Mauritshuis and in 1808 the collectiorts in The Hague were transferred to Amsterdam, where a Koninklijk Museum was founded, which was housed in the former town hall. This collection was subsequertly to remain in Amsterdam, forming the nucleus of the later Rijksmuseum. The library too was intended to be transferred to Amsterdam, but this never happened and it remained in the Mauritshuis until 1819. Both institutions underwent a great expansion in the period 1806-10, the library's holdings increasing from around 10,000 to over 45,000 books and objects, while the museum acquired a number of paintings, the most important being Rembrandt's Night Watch and Syndics, which were placed in the new museum by the City of Amsterdam in 1808 (Note 44). In 1810 the Netherlands was incorporated into France. In the art field there was now a complete standstill and in 1812 books and in particular prints (around 11,000 of them) were again taken from The Hague to Paris. In November 1813 the French dominion was ended and on 2 December the hereditary prince, William Frederick, was declared sovereign ruler. He was inaugurated as constitutional monarch on 30 March 1814. On January 3rd the provisional council of The Hague had already declared that the city was in (unlawful' possession of a library, a collection of paintings, prints and other objects of art and science and requested the king tot take them back. The war was over and what had been confiscated from William under the laws of war could now be given back, but this never happened. By Royal Decree of 14 January 1814 Mr. ( later Baron) A. J. C. Lampsins (Fig. I ) was commissioned to come to an understanding with the burgomaster of The Hague over this transfer, to bring out a report on the condition of the objects and to formulate a proposal on the measures to be taken (Note 48). On 17 January Lampsins submitted a memorandum on the taking over of the Library as the private property of His Royal Highness the Sovereign of the United Netherlartds'. Although Lampsins was granted the right to bear the title 'Interim Director of the Royal Library' by a Royal Decree of 9 February 1814, William I did not propose to pay The costs himself ; they were to be carried by the Home Office (Note 52). Thus he left the question of ownership undecided. On 18 April Lampsins brought out a detailed report on all the measures to be taken (Appendix IIa ) . His suggestion was that the objects, formerly belonging to the stadholder should be removed from the former royal museum, now the Rijksmuseum, in Amsterdam and to return the 'Library', as the collectiort of books, paintings and prints in The Hague was called, to the place where they had been in 1795. Once again the king's reaction was not very clear. Among other things, he said that he wanted to wait until it was known how extensive the restitution of objects from Paris would be and to consider in zvhich scholarly context the collections would best, fit (Note 54) . While the ownership of the former collections of Prince William I was thus left undecided, a ruling had already been enacted in respect of the immovable property. By the Constitution of 1814, which came into effect on 30 March, the king was granted a high income, partly to make up for the losses he had sulfered. A Royal Decree of 22 January 1815 does, however, imply that William had renounced the right to his, father's collections, for he let it be known that he had not only accepted the situation that had developed in the Netherlands since 1795, but also wished it to be continued (Note 62). The restitution of the collections carried off to France could only be considered in its entirety after the defeat of Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo on 18 June 1815- This was no simple matter, but in the end most, though not all, of the former possessions of William V were returned to the Netherlands. What was not or could not be recovered then (inc.uding 66 paintings, for example) is still in France today (Note 71)- On 20 November 1815 127 paintings, including Paulus Potter's Young Bull (Fig. 15), made a ceremonial entry into The Hague. But on 6 October, before anything had actually been returned, it had already been stipulated by Royal Decree that the control of the objects would hence forlh be in the hands of the State (Note 72). Thus William I no longer regarded his father's collections as the private property of the House of Orange, but he did retain the right to decide on the fulure destiny of the... painting.s and objects of art and science'. For the time being the paintings were replaced in the Gallery on the Buitenhof, from which they had been removed in 1795 (Note 73). In November 1815 the natural history collection was made the property of Leiden University (Note 74), becoming the basis for the Rijksmuseum voor Natuurlijke Historie, The print collection, part of the Royal Library in The Hague, was exchanged in May 1816 for the national collectiort of coins and medals, part of the Rijksmuseum. As of 1 Jufy 1816 directors were appointed for four different institutions in The Hague, the Koninklijke Bibliotheek (with the Koninklijk Penningkabinet ) , the Koninklijk Kabinet van Schilderijen and the Yoninklijk Kabinet van Zeldzaamheden (Note 80) . From that time these institutions led independenl lives. The king continued to lake a keen interest in them and not merely in respect of collecting Their accommodation in The Hague was already too cramped in 1816. By a Royal Decree of 18 May 1819 the Hotel Huguetan, the former palace of the. crown prince on Lange Voorhout, was earmarked for the Koninklijke Bibliotheek and the Koninklijk Penningkabinet (Note 87) . while at the king's behest the Mauritshuis, which had been rented up to then, was bought by the State on 27 March 1820 and on IO July allotted to the Koninklijk Kabinet van Schilderijen and the Koninklijk Kabinet van Zeldzaamheden (Note 88). Only the Koninklijk Kabinet van Schilderijen is still in the place assigned to it by William and the collection has meanwhile become so identified with its home that it is generally known as the Mauritshui.s'. William i's most important gift was made in July 1816,just after the foundation of the four royal institutions, when he had deposited most of the objects that his father had taken first to England and later to Oranienstein in the Koninklijk Kabinet van Zeldzaamheden. The rarities (Fig. 17), curios (Fig. 18) and paintings (Fig. 19), remained there (Note 84), while the other art objects were sorted and divided between the Koninklijke Bibliotheek (the manuscripts and books) and the koninklijk Penningkabinet (the cameos and gems) (Note 85). In 1819 and 182 the king also gave the Koninklijke Bibliotheek an important part of the Nassau Library from the castle at Dillenburg. Clearly he is one of the European monarchs who in the second half of the 18th and the 19th century made their collectiorts accessible to the public, and thus laid the foundatinns of many of today's museums. But William 1 also made purchases on behalf of the institutions he had created. For the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, for example, he had the 'Tweede Historiebijbel', made in Utrecht around 1430, bought in Louvain in 1829 for 1, 134 guilders (Pigs.30,3 I, Note 92). For the Koninkijk Penningkabinet he bought a collection of 62 gems and four cameos , for ,50,000 guilders in 1819. This had belonged to the philosopher Frans Hemsterhuis, the keeper of his father's cabinet of antiquities (Note 95) . The most spectacular acquisition. for the Penninukabinet., however, was a cameo carved in onyx, a late Roman work with the Triumph of Claudius, which the king bought in 1823 for 50,000 guilders, an enormous sum in those days. The Koninklijk Kabinet van Zeldzaamhedert also received princely gifts. In 1821- the so-called doll's house of Tzar Peter was bought out of the king's special funds for 2.800 guilders (Figs.33, 34, ,Note 97) , while even in 1838, when no more money was available for art, unnecessary expenditure on luxury' the Von Siebold ethnographical collection was bought at the king's behest for over 55,000 guilders (Note 98). The Koninklijk Kabinel van Schilderyen must have been close to the hearl of the king, who regarded it as an extension of the palace (Notes 99, 100) . The old master paintings he acquzred for it are among the most important in the collection (the modern pictures, not dealt with here, were transferred to the Paviljoen Welgelegen in Haarlem in 1838, Note 104). For instance, in 1820 he bought a portrait of Johan Maurice of Nassau (Fig.35)., while in 1822, against the advice of the then director, he bought Vermeer' s View of Delft for 2,900 guilders (Fig.36, Note 105) and in 1827 it was made known, from Brussels that His Majesty had recommended the purchase of Rogier van der Weyden's Lamentation (Fig.37) . The most spectacular example of the king's love for 'his' museum, however, is the purchase in 1828 of Rembrandt's Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp for 32,000 guilders. The director of the Rijksmuseum, C. Apostool, cortsidered this Rembrandt'sfinest painting and had already drawn attention to it in 1817, At the king'.s behest the picture, the purchase of which had been financed in part by the sale of a number of painlings from. the Rijksmuseum, was placed in the Koninklijk Kabinet van Schilderijen in The Hague. On his accession King William I had left the art objects which had become state propery after being ceded by the French to the Batavian Republic in 1795 as they were. He reclaimed the collections carried off to France as his own property, but it can be deduced from the Royal Decrees of 1815 and 1816 that it Was his wish that they should be made over to the State, including those paintings that form the nucleus of the collection in the Mauritshuis. In addition, in 1816 he handed over many art objects which his father had taken with him into exile. His son, William II, later accepted this, after having the matter investigated (Note 107 and Appendix IV). Thus William I'S munificence proves to have been much more extensive than has ever been realized.

Modern-day political discord has led to a recent spate of athletes using their platform to make statements about America. One under-researched aspect to modern sport activism is the study of the symbols themselves, such as the controversial kneeling during the national anthem by National Football League players, statement-making pregame apparel worn by National Basketball Association stars, and other political statements. This case study examines a 2016 activist display by Old Dominion University’s football team, known as the Circle of Unity. The display, performed before most games that season, began as a form of protest by team captains, and morphed into a gesture that was celebrated across the political spectrum. Through the lens of both Symbolic Interactionism (SI) and Critical Race Theory (CRT), the current study seeks to uncover the impetus, meaning, and ultimate impact of the symbol on a variety of stakeholders. Examining the symbol used—players and coaches standing in a circle, facing out, holding hands and raising them to the sky—can further contextualize the challenging role that student-athletes have in finding their voice to speak on issues they care about in a divided America.

Cooperatives in the Republika Srpska are in a position to face the consequences of development from the previous period, the consequences of the war and the creation of a new concept of cooperative development, starting primarily from changes in the legal, economic and political system of the country. There are two phenomena or two directions of development of cooperatives. First is the direction of development of newly established cooperatives that have fully or at least partially harmonized their operations with cooperative principles and legal framework and have a sound business and market policy. The other direction of stagnation and undevelopment refers to the still present so-called old cooperatives that have not adjusted their operations to the new legal framework or new market circumstances, and are very often burdened with lawsuits, within which significant cooperative and state property has been blocked. The experience of developed countries proves that cooperatives are one of the irreplaceable segments of agricultural and rural development and a very suitable form for free and voluntary association of producers. The role of cooperatives in the future is to influence the reduction of social and economic divisions and to direct the whole process in a fairer way. It could be said that cooperatives, from the point of view of their principles, represent irreplaceable forms of organizing people. They, in fact, by their structure and specifics, carry the keys to their own success. The parameters of cooperative adequacy are different, and the following stand out: priority of cooperative membership; diversity of cooperatives; strengthening the power of the people; careful resource management; creating financial power; strategic thinking. Cooperative membership must be the center of attention.

Abstract This paper presents linear regression models to predict the daily energy production of three photovoltaic (PV) systems located in southeast Virginia. The prediction is based on daylight duration, sky index, average relative humidity, and the presence of fog or mist. No other daily weather report components were statistically significant. The proposed method is easy to implement, and it can be used in conjunction with other advanced methods in estimating any given future day’s energy production if weather prediction is available. Data from 2013 to 2015 were used in the model construction. Model validation was performed using newer (2016, 2017, 2020, and 2021) data not used in the model construction. Results show good prediction accuracy for a simple methodology, free of system parameters, that can be utilized by ordinary photovoltaic energy users. The majority of the data was collected at the Old Dominion University. The entire data set can be downloaded using the link provided.

En este texto mostraremos parte de un estudio etnográfico mayor, que se centró en conocer las transformaciones de las relaciones sociales, y de la cultura fabril, de un grupo de trabajadores industriales urbanos que autogestionan, desde fines de 2003, una fábrica recuperada de calzados y ropa deportiva argentina. Este artículo se centrará en describir las relaciones de alteridad y poder que estos trabajadores fueron desplegando luego de organizarse bajo el formato de cooperativa. Veremos cómo, desarmada la relación de alteridad principal de la vieja empresa (sintetizada en el vínculo patrón-empleados), los propios asociados de la cooperativa comenzaron a construir diversas alterizaciones en el nuevo contexto de relacionamiento mutuo, que se superpusieron y enlazaron con otras que provenían del pasado como empresa bajo patrón. Detallaremos ciertos rasgos de sus interacciones sociales y describiremos ciertas categorías de la práctica cotidiana. Se trata de categorías que acompañaron la formación de procesos identificatorios complejos y constelaciones de poder. Palabras clave: Fábrica recuperada. Poder. Alteridad. Autogestión. Igualitarismo. Otherness and Power in Recovered Factory of Argentina Abstract This text will show part of a larger ethnographic study, which focused on knowing the transformation of social relations, and factory culture, of a group of self-managing urban industrial workers who, since late 2003, are in charge of a recovered factory of footwear and sports clothing of Argentina. This article will focus on describing the relationships of otherness and power that these workers developed after organizing under the cooperative format. We'll see how, when the principal relationship of otherness of the old company (synthesized in the employer-employee tie) was dismantled, the members of the cooperative began to build different otherness relationships in the new context, which are overlapped and bonded with others came from the past as a company under a boss. We'll detail some features of their social interactions and describe certain categories of the daily practice. These categories accompanied the formation of complex identification procedures and constellations of power. Keywords: Recovered factory. Power. Otherness. Worker self-management. Egalitarianism.

To meet the carbon neutralization goal and renewable energy development, it is of great significance to promote the construction of gas-fired power generation for power peak shaving. From the perspective of regional coordination (corresponding to three scenarios), this paper systematically calculates the power peak shaving demand and the demand for gas-fired power generation capacity in regions of China, by using Mathematical Programming and Shapley value. Compared with the existing research, this paper may make theoretical contributions to the following aspects: studying more spatial scopes and time scales of peak shaving, analyzing the complete system of “coal power—renewable energy—gas power”, and applying cooperative game model to peak shaving issue. We find that, firstly, compared with the scenario of independent peak shaving in a single province (Scenario 1), the peak shaving demands of load and renewable energy are greatly reduced in the scenarios of areal coordination (Scenario 2) and national coordination (Scenario 3), especially renewable energy; secondly, abandonment of 110,766 MWh of renewable energy power occurring in Scenario 2 is avoided in Scenario 3. Compared with Scenario 2, the final peak shaving demands of seven areas in China are simultaneously reduced in Scenario 3. The largest reduction rate is 14% from East China. Thirdly, with deep peak shaving restricted by certain constraints, gas power generation for start-stop peak shaving is inevitable. Compared with Scenario 2, national coordination (Scenario 3) can eliminate 120,714 MW of start-stop peak shaving demand (SS-PSD); finally, flexibility retrofit of existing facilities can further significantly curtail SS-PSD. Based on the above research results, some recommendations are put forward, including developing areal coordination and national coordination mechanisms for peak shaving, clarifying allocation plan of SS-PSD based on the fairness principle (i.e., Shapley value) as soon as possible, encouraging East China, Central China, and North China to take the lead in establishing trading markets of SS-PSD, giving priority to meeting the most urgent and economic peak shaving demand, and establishing a coordination mechanism between new and old units for flexibility retrofit.

The socio-economic determinants of farmers’ participation in off-farm income employment in Ezza south local government area of Ebonyi state, Nigeria were studied. The specific objectives of the study were to describe the socio-economic characteristics of the farmers, identify the off-farm income employments participated by the farmers, ascertain the determinants of farmers’ participation in off-farm income employments and identify the limiting factors to the farmers’ participation in off-farm income employments in the study area. A multi-stage random sampling procedure was used to select respondents for the study. One hundred and twenty farmers (120) were randomly selected for the study. Data collected were analyzed using percentage responses and frequency distribution, logistic regression and 4-point Likert scale. The findings revealed that the farmers that participated in off-farm income activities were aged, educated, well experienced, large farm size, females, married and large household size. The result further revealed that high proportion of the respondents engaged in civil service, trading, motor cycle riders, auto mechanics and tricycle riders. The determinants factors to the farmers’ participants in off farm employments were household size, education level, farming experience, farm size and membership of cooperative societies. Factors limiting farmers’ participation in off-farm activities were high level of Illiteracy, poor access to credit facility, old age, inadequate power supply, poor extension services and ill health of farmers identified. There is need to enhance farmers’ access to extension services, educational program, encouraged farmers to join or form cooperatives.

PurposeThe purpose of this paper is to implementing environmental education concepts to manage environmental health impacts by letting the people in the community learn through the participatory learning process.Design/methodology/approachThe participatory action research (PAR) and the environmental education concept were conducted in managing the learning process for the people in Map Kha Sub-district, Rayong province. The purposive sampling technique and the stakeholder analysis were used to derive the informants of this study. They are those people living or working in the Mab Kha Sub-district area at least 2 years, aged more than 20 years old, and were willing to participate in all steps of the study. A total of 30 informants were divided into three groups as follows: The Key Informants, The Casual Informants and The General Informants. Data collection employed workshops with three techniques – Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA), Future Search Conference (FSC) and Appreciation Influence Control (AIC) – to organize cooperative learning processes to managing environmental health impacts. The Content Analysis was utilized in this study through the categorization, grouping, analysis, interpretation and systemization of data. The study period was from June 2014 to December 2015.FindingsThe study found that most people are concerned and aware of the environmental pollution problems affecting the health in the areas and need to solve such problems. They are also prepared for various problems. However, they face the problems on that they still lack of the chance to be informed about the information on the pollution problems and lack of the chance to participate. For the participatory learning process used to manage the environmental health impacts in the industrial community, it is found that the people and the leading network partners perform well through the knowledge building process on the environmental pollution problems and the planning and evaluation lead to desired behavior of people and industrial community to manage environmental health impacts.Originality/valueThe study results emphasized that the participatory learning process of the network associates was the critical key in forming the community power to manage the environmental health impacts. Therefore, the learning process should be easy, not complicated, take a short time and be friendly that will make the community understand the problem and help protect the environment systematically.

Abstract Background Rabies continues to pose significant public health challenges in many developing countries including Bhutan. A probable case of rabies was admitted to our hospital and its reporting led to the uncovering of an outbreak in domestic and wild animals. We discuss the challenges in the diagnosis and management of rabies in a resource-limited setting. Case presentation A 35-year-old male presented with intermittent fever, bilateral lower limb weakness that was rapidly progressive, urinary incontinence with episodes of palpitations and sweating. He had sustained a Category III bite on the right lower thigh with four bite marks, inflicted by a stray dog. He had received post-exposure prophylaxis with intra-dermal anti-rabies vaccine. On initial examination, the patient was in distress but cooperative for the interview. He had pulse rate ranging from 60 to 100/min with episodes of diaphoresis and palpitations, but with normal capillary blood glucose. In the lower limb, the muscle power was zero with absent tendon reflexes in the lower limb and impaired abdominal reflex below T10 level. He had hyperaesthesia below T8, hydrophobia, aerophobia and photophobia. He had multiple spontaneous fasciculations in both the thighs and right deltoid and these later involved the intercostal muscles, neck and face muscles. He had altered sensorium and desaturation for which he required mechanical ventilation. Polymerase chain reaction for rabies virus was negative in cerebrospinal fluid and saliva. Rabies virus neutralizing antibody was negative in cerebrospinal fluid but had high titres in the serum. He received Human Rabies Immunoglobulin after admission. He was managed in the intensive care unit and died 23 days later. After this case was notified, a rapid response team was deployed in the field, and uncovered rabies outbreak in animals in the locality. Conclusions This case called for a serious evaluation of the country’s efforts in achieving zero rabies deaths by 2030. The management of this case identified several critical areas of context-specific interventions in Bhutan. There is also an urgent need to improve diagnostic capabilities at the national reference laboratory and enhance the technical competencies of healthcare workers in the management of dog bite cases. Graphical Abstract

According to the CDC, it is estimated that more than one in three U.S. adults have pre‐diabetes. Pre‐diabetes etiology is characterized by insulin resistance (IR), which is a reduced cellular response to insulin and characterized by lower glucose uptake in the brain. IR is also related to deficits in cognitive and affective processing, particularly reactivity to psychological stress. The goal of our analysis was to determine how IR or hyperglycemia predict eye blink startle reflex (EBR) magnitude and amplitude, an objective index of the startle response, in response to positive, negative and neutral pictures using the International Affective Picture System (IAPS). We similarly assessed if IR predicted resting right frontal asymmetry using electroencephalography (EEG), an established biomarker of predisposition toward negative affect. We hypothesized that individuals with higher IR or hyperglycemia would show greater EBR and EEG right frontal asymmetry.The analysis incorporated healthy adults (N=331 participants), aged 36–84 years old, from the University of Wisconsin‐Madison's MIDUS (Midlife in the United States) II longitudinal study. As described in the MIDUS protocol, fasted blood samples were collected during an overnight stay. EBR in response to IAPS visual stimuli paired with acoustic startle was measured by placing two mini electrodes below the eye. Picture duration was 4,000ms. For a given trial, the acoustic startle stimulus occurred for 50ms during one of three phases: 1) The “early” phase at 2,900ms after picture onset while the picture was on the screen to assess reactivity; 2) the “middle” phase at 400ms after picture offset and removal to assess short‐term recovery; and 3) the “late” phase at 1,900ms after picture offset and removal to assess longer‐term recovery.Resting EEG right frontal asymmetry was collected prior to the IAPS presentation.Data was analyzed using SPSS 23.0. Linear mixed models were used to analyze the main effect of log‐transformed homeostasis model assessment of insulin resistance (HOMA‐IR) on EBR, as well as its interaction with IAPS picture valence (positive, neutral, negative). Higher log10 HOMA‐IR predicted greater EBR amplitude during negative versus positive pictures when paired with the startle stimulus (n=290, p<.05, r2=0.127). Resting state EEG at frontal F3/F4 alpha 1 (8–13 Hz) showed that participants with hyperglycemia had more left than right alpha power (−0.0324 +/− 0.026 vs. 0.0126 +/− 0.028) indicating greater right EEG frontal asymmetry. This result is consistent with Jackson et al. (2003) that hyperglycemia individuals are predisposed to negative emotion/affect. In conclusion, higher IR and type 2 diabetes are related to biomarkers of psychological stress reactivity.Support or Funding InformationThis work is directly supported by the National Institute on Aging (AG047282). Data collection and sharing for this project was funded by the Alzheimer's Disease Neuroimaging Initiative (ADNI) (National Institutes of Health Grant U01 AG024904). The grantee organization is the Northern California Institute for Research and Education, and the study is coordinated by the Alzheimer's Disease Cooperative Study at the University of California, San Diego. ADNI data are disseminated by the Laboratory for Neuro Imaging at the University Southern California. This research was also supported by NIH grants P30 AG010129 and K01 AG030514.

Since the first days of the World Wide Web, artists like myself have been exploring the new possibilities of network interactivity. Some good tools and languages have been developed and made available free for the public to use. This has empowered individuals to participate in the media in ways that are quite remarkable. Nonetheless, the future of independent media is clouded by legal, regulatory, and organisational challenges that need to be addressed. It is not clear to what extent independent content producers will be able to build upon the successes of the 90s – it is yet to be seen whether their efforts will be largely nullified by the anticyclones of a hostile media market. Not so long ago, American news magazines were covering the Browser War. Several real wars later, the terms of surrender are becoming clearer. Now both of the major Internet browsers are owned by huge media corporations, and most of the states (and Reagan-appointed judges) that were demanding the break-up of Microsoft have given up. A curious about-face occurred in U.S. Justice Department policy when John Ashcroft decided to drop the federal case. Maybe Microsoft's value as a partner in covert activity appealed to Ashcroft more than free competition. Regardless, Microsoft is now turning its wrath on new competitors, people who are doing something very, very bad: sharing the products of their own labour. This practice of sharing source code and building free software infrastructure is epitomised by the continuing development of Linux. Everything in the Linux kernel is free, publicly accessible information. As a rule, the people building this "open source" operating system software believe that maintaining transparency is important. But U.S. courts are not doing much to help. In a case brought by the Motion Picture Association of America against Eric Corley, a federal district court blocked the distribution of source code that enables these systems to play DVDs. In addition to censoring Corley's journal, the court ruled that any programmer who writes a program that plays a DVD must comply with a host of license restrictions. In short, an established and popular media format (the DVD) cannot be used under open source operating systems without sacrificing the principle that software source code should remain in the public domain. Should the contents of operating systems be tightly guarded secrets, or subject to public review? If there are capable programmers willing to create good, free operating systems, should the law stand in their way? The question concerning what type of software infrastructure will dominate personal computers in the future is being answered as much by disappointing legal decisions as it is by consumer choice. Rather than ensuring the necessary conditions for innovation and cooperation, the courts permit a monopoly to continue. Rather than endorsing transparency, secrecy prevails. Rather than aiming to preserve a balance between the commercial economy and the gift-economy, sharing is being undermined by the law. Part of the mystery of the Internet for a lot of newcomers must be that it seems to disprove the old adage that you can't get something for nothing. Free games, free music, free pornography, free art. Media corporations are doing their best to change this situation. The FBI and trade groups have blitzed the American news media with alarmist reports about how children don't understand that sharing digital information is a crime. Teacher Gail Chmura, the star of one such media campaign, says of her students, "It's always been interesting that they don't see a connection between the two. They just don't get it" (Hopper). Perhaps the confusion arises because the kids do understand that digital duplication lets two people have the same thing. Theft is at best a metaphor for the copying of data, because the original is not stolen in the same sense as a material object. In the effort to liken all copying to theft, legal provisions for the fair use of intellectual property are neglected. Teachers could just as easily emphasise the importance of sharing and the development of an electronic commons that is free for all to use. The values advanced by the trade groups are not beyond question and are not historical constants. According to Donald Krueckeberg, Rutgers University Professor of Urban Planning, native Americans tied the concept of property not to ownership but to use. "One used it, one moved on, and use was shared with others" (qtd. in Batt). Perhaps it is necessary for individuals to have dominion over some private data. But who owns the land, wind, sun, and sky of the Internet – the infrastructure? Given that publicly-funded research and free software have been as important to the development of the Internet as have business and commercial software, it is not surprising that some ambiguity remains about the property status of the dataverse. For many the Internet is as much a medium for expression and the interplay of languages as it is a framework for monetary transaction. In the case involving DVD software mentioned previously, there emerged a grass-roots campaign in opposition to censorship. Dozens of philosophical programmers and computer scientists asserted the expressive and linguistic bases of software by creating variations on the algorithm needed to play DVDs. The forbidden lines of symbols were printed on T-shirts, translated into different computer languages, translated into legal rhetoric, and even embedded into DNA and pictures of MPAA president Jack Valenti (see e.g. Touretzky). These efforts were inspired by a shared conviction that important liberties were at stake. Supporting the MPAA's position would do more than protect movies from piracy. The use of the algorithm was not clearly linked to an intent to pirate movies. Many felt that outlawing the DVD algorithm, which had been experimentally developed by a Norwegian teenager, represented a suppression of gumption and ingenuity. The court's decision rejected established principles of fair use, denied the established legality of reverse engineering software to achieve compatibility, and asserted that journalists and scientists had no right to publish a bit of code if it might be misused. In a similar case in April 2000, a U.S. court of appeals found that First Amendment protections did apply to software (Junger). Noting that source code has both an expressive feature and a functional feature, this court held that First Amendment protection is not reserved only for purely expressive communication. Yet in the DVD case, the court opposed this view and enforced the inflexible demands of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Notwithstanding Ted Nelson's characterisation of computers as literary machines, the decision meant that the linguistic and expressive aspects of software would be subordinated to other concerns. A simple series of symbols were thereby cast under a veil of legal secrecy. Although they were easy to discover, and capable of being committed to memory or translated to other languages, fair use and other intuitive freedoms were deemed expendable. These sorts of legal obstacles are serious challenges to the continued viability of free software like Linux. The central value proposition of Linux-based operating systems – free, open source code – is threatening to commercial competitors. Some corporations are intent on stifling further development of free alternatives. Patents offer another vulnerability. The writing of free software has become a minefield of potential patent lawsuits. Corporations have repeatedly chosen to pursue patent litigation years after the alleged infringements have been incorporated into widely used free software. For example, although it was designed to avoid patent problems by an array of international experts, the image file format known as JPEG (Joint Photographic Experts Group) has recently been dogged by patent infringement charges. Despite good intentions, low-budget initiatives and ad hoc organisations are ill equipped to fight profiteering patent lawsuits. One wonders whether software innovation is directed more by lawyers or computer scientists. The present copyright and patent regimes may serve the needs of the larger corporations, but it is doubtful that they are the best means of fostering software innovation and quality. Orwell wrote in his Homage to Catalonia, There was a new rule that censored portions of the newspaper must not be left blank but filled up with other matter; as a result it was often impossible to tell when something had been cut out. The development of the Internet has a similar character: new diversions spring up to replace what might have been so that the lost potential is hardly felt. The process of retrofitting Internet software to suit ideological and commercial agendas is already well underway. For example, Microsoft has announced recently that it will discontinue support for the Java language in 2004. The problem with Java, from Microsoft's perspective, is that it provides portable programming tools that work under all operating systems, not just Windows. With Java, programmers can develop software for the large number of Windows users, while simultaneously offering software to users of other operating systems. Java is an important piece of the software infrastructure for Internet content developers. Yet, in the interest of coercing people to use only their operating systems, Microsoft is willing to undermine thousands of existing Java-language projects. Their marketing hype calls this progress. The software industry relies on sales to survive, so if it means laying waste to good products and millions of hours of work in order to sell something new, well, that's business. The consequent infrastructure instability keeps software developers, and other creative people, on a treadmill. From Progressive Load by Andy Deck, artcontext.org/progload As an Internet content producer, one does not appeal directly to the hearts and minds of the public; one appeals through the medium of software and hardware. Since most people are understandably reluctant to modify the software running on their computers, the software installed initially is a critical determinant of what is possible. Unconventional, independent, and artistic uses of the Internet are diminished when the media infrastructure is effectively established by decree. Unaccountable corporate control over infrastructure software tilts the playing field against smaller content producers who have neither the advance warning of industrial machinations, nor the employees and resources necessary to keep up with a regime of strategic, cyclical obsolescence. It seems that independent content producers must conform to the distribution technologies and content formats favoured by the entertainment and marketing sectors, or else resign themselves to occupying the margins of media activity. It is no secret that highly diversified media corporations can leverage their assets to favour their own media offerings and confound their competitors. Yet when media giants AOL and Time-Warner announced their plans to merge in 2000, the claim of CEOs Steve Case and Gerald Levin that the merged companies would "operate in the public interest" was hardly challenged by American journalists. Time-Warner has since fought to end all ownership limits in the cable industry; and Case, who formerly championed third-party access to cable broadband markets, changed his tune abruptly after the merger. Now that Case has been ousted, it is unclear whether he still favours oligopoly. According to Levin, global media will be and is fast becoming the predominant business of the 21st century ... more important than government. It's more important than educational institutions and non-profits. We're going to need to have these corporations redefined as instruments of public service, and that may be a more efficient way to deal with society's problems than bureaucratic governments. Corporate dominance is going to be forced anyhow because when you have a system that is instantly available everywhere in the world immediately, then the old-fashioned regulatory system has to give way (Levin). It doesn't require a lot of insight to understand that this "redefinition," this slight of hand, does not protect the public from abuses of power: the dissolution of the "old-fashioned regulatory system" does not serve the public interest. From Lexicon by Andy Deck, artcontext.org/lexicon) As an artist who has adopted telecommunications networks and software as his medium, it disappoints me that a mercenary vision of electronic media's future seems to be the prevailing blueprint. The giantism of media corporations, and the ongoing deregulation of media consolidation (Ahrens), underscore the critical need for independent media sources. If it were just a matter of which cola to drink, it would not be of much concern, but media corporations control content. In this hyper-mediated age, content – whether produced by artists or journalists – crucially affects what people think about and how they understand the world. Content is not impervious to the software, protocols, and chicanery that surround its delivery. It is about time that people interested in independent voices stop believing that laissez faire capitalism is building a better media infrastructure. The German writer Hans Magnus Enzensberger reminds us that the media tyrannies that affect us are social products. The media industry relies on thousands of people to make the compromises necessary to maintain its course. The rapid development of the mind industry, its rise to a key position in modern society, has profoundly changed the role of the intellectual. He finds himself confronted with new threats and new opportunities. Whether he knows it or not, whether he likes it or not, he has become the accomplice of a huge industrial complex which depends for its survival on him, as he depends on it for his own. He must try, at any cost, to use it for his own purposes, which are incompatible with the purposes of the mind machine. What it upholds he must subvert. He may play it crooked or straight, he may win or lose the game; but he would do well to remember that there is more at stake than his own fortune (Enzensberger 18). Some cultural leaders have recognised the important role that free software already plays in the infrastructure of the Internet. Among intellectuals there is undoubtedly a genuine concern about the emerging contours of corporate, global media. But more effective solidarity is needed. Interest in open source has tended to remain superficial, leading to trendy, cosmetic, and symbolic uses of terms like "open source" rather than to a deeper commitment to an open, public information infrastructure. Too much attention is focussed on what's "cool" and not enough on the road ahead. Various media specialists – designers, programmers, artists, and technical directors – make important decisions that affect the continuing development of electronic media. Many developers have failed to recognise (or care) that their decisions regarding media formats can have long reaching consequences. Web sites that use media formats which are unworkable for open source operating systems should be actively discouraged. Comparable technologies are usually available to solve compatibility problems. Going with the market flow is not really giving people what they want: it often opposes the work of thousands of activists who are trying to develop open source alternatives (see e.g. Greene). Average Internet users can contribute to a more innovative, free, open, and independent media – and being conscientious is not always difficult or unpleasant. One project worthy of support is the Internet browser Mozilla. Currently, many content developers create their Websites so that they will look good only in Microsoft's Internet Explorer. While somewhat understandable given the market dominance of Internet Explorer, this disregard for interoperability undercuts attempts to popularise standards-compliant alternatives. Mozilla, written by a loose-knit group of activists and programmers (some of whom are paid by AOL/Time-Warner), can be used as an alternative to Microsoft's browser. If more people use Mozilla, it will be harder for content providers to ignore the way their Web pages appear in standards-compliant browsers. The Mozilla browser, which is an open source initiative, can be downloaded from http://www.mozilla.org/. While there are many people working to create real and lasting alternatives to the monopolistic and technocratic dynamics that are emerging, it takes a great deal of cooperation to resist the media titans, the FCC, and the courts. Oddly enough, corporate interests sometimes overlap with those of the public. Some industrial players, such as IBM, now support open source software. For them it is mostly a business decision. Frustrated by the coercive control of Microsoft, they support efforts to develop another operating system platform. For others, including this writer, the open source movement is interesting for the potential it holds to foster a more heterogeneous and less authoritarian communications infrastructure. Many people can find common cause in this resistance to globalised uniformity and consolidated media ownership. 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Corporate governance is the system by which companies are directed and controlled. Boards of directors are responsible for the governance of their companies. The shareholders' role in governance is to appoint the directors and the auditors and to satisfy themselves that an appropriate governance structure is in place. Protection of Creditors or Investors or Share Holders and immunity to the Board of Directors under Corporate Governance has nally evolved through different interpretations and judgments. Salomon v A Salomon & Co Ltd: Salomon v A Salomon & Co Ltd [1896] UKHL 1, [1897] AC 22 is a landmark UK company law case. The effect of the House of Lords' unanimous ruling was to uphold rmly the doctrine of corporate personality, as set out in the Companies Act 1862, so that creditors of an insolvent company could not sue the company's shareholders for payment of outstanding debts. Facts of the Case: Mr. Aron Salomon made leather boots or shoes as a sole proprietor. His sons wanted to become business partners, so he turned the business into a limited liability company. This company purchased Salomon's business at an excessive price for its value. His wife and ve elder children became subscribers and the two elder sons became directors. Mr. Salomon took 20,001 of the company's 20,007 shares which was payment from A Salomon & Co Limited for his old business (each share was valued at £1). Transfer of the business took place on 1 June 1892. The company also issued to Mr. Salomon £10,000 in debentures. On the security of his debentures, Mr. Salomon received an advance of £5,000 from Edmund Broderip. Soon after Mr. Salomon incorporated his business there was a decline in boot sales. The company failed, defaulting on its interest payments on its debentures (half held by Broderip). Broderip sued to enforce his security. The company was put into liquidation. Broderip was repaid his £5,000. This left £1,055 company assets remaining, of which Salomon claimed under the retained debentures he retained. If Salomon's claim was successful this would leave nothing for the unsecured creditors. When the company failed, the company's liquidator contended that the oating charge should not be honoured, and Salomon should be made responsible for the company's debts. Salomon sued. It has become the fashion to call companies of this class "one-man companies". That is a taking nickname, but it does not help one much in the way of argument. If it is intended to convey the meaning that a company which is under the absolute control of one person is not a company legally incorporated, although the requirements of the Act of 1862 may have been complied with, it is inaccurate and misleading: if it merely means that there is a predominant partner possessing an overwhelming inuence and entitled practically to the whole of the prots, there is nothing in that I can see contrary to the true intention of the Act of 1862, or against public policy, or detrimental to the interests of creditors. If the shares are fully paid up, it cannot matter whether they are in the hands of one or many. If the shares are not fully paid, it is as easy to gauge the solvency of an individual as to estimate the nancial ability of a crowd. It was argued that the agreement for the transfer of the business to the company ought to be set aside, because there was no independent board of directors, and the property was transferred at an overvalue. There are, it seems to me, two answers to that argument. In the rst place, the directors did just what they were authorized to do by the memorandum of association. There was no fraud or misrepresentation, and there was nobody deceived. In the second place, the company have put it out of their power to restore the property which was transferred to them. It was said that the assets were sold by an order made in the presence of Mr. Salomon though not with his consent, which declared that the sale was to be without prejudice to the rights claimed by the company by their counterclaim. Salomon's case still represents the orthodox view of separate legal personality under English law, although a number of exceptions have since evolved. In Williams & Humbert v W & H Trade Marks [1986] AC 368 at 429B Lord Templeman described as "heretical" the suggestion that this principle should be ignored. In E.B.M. Co Limited v Dominion Bank [1937] 3 All ER 555 at 564 Lord Russell of Killowen stated the principle was one of "supreme importance". In Adams v Cape Industries plc [1990] Ch 433 Slade LJ said "the court is not free to disregard the principle of Salomon v A Salomon & Co Ltd [1897] AC 22 merely because it considers that justice so requires. Our law, for better or worse, recognizes the creation of subsidiary companies, which though in one sense the creatures of their parent companies, will nevertheless under the general law fall to be treated as separate legal entities with all the rights and liabilities which would normally attach to separate legal entities." In Prest v Petrodel Resources Ltd [2013] UKSC 34, [2013] 2 AC 415 at paragraph 66 Lord Neuberger called Salomon: "a clear and principled decision, which has stood unimpeached for over a century". In the decades since Salomon's case, various exceptional circumstances have been delineated, both by legislatures and the judiciary, in England and elsewhere (including Ireland) when courts can legitimately disregard a company's separate legal personality, such as where crime or fraud has been committed. There is therefore much debate as to whether the same decision would be reached if the same facts were considered in the modern legal environment, given the House of Lords' decisions in Pepper v Hart and Re Spectrum Plus Ltd and the Privy Council in Attorney General of Belize v Belize Telecom Ltd that require a purposive approach to interpreting legislation. In 2013 there was a systemic review of these authorities in Prest v Petrodel Resources Ltd and Lord Sumption distinguished between cases of truly "piercing the corporate veil" and situations where it was held that the company was essentially an agent for a wrongdoer or held property on trust.

Fig. 1: Photo by Miguel Orós, from unsplash.comFeminism has stalled at the bedroom door. In the post-#metoo era, more than ever, we need intimate civil rights in our relationships to counter the worrisome prevailing trends: Intimate partner violence. Interpersonal abuse. Date rape. Sexual harassment. Online harassment. Bullying. Rage. Sexual Assault. Abusive relationships. Revenge porn. There’s a lot of damage done when we get up close and personal. In the 21st century, we have come far in terms of equality and respect between the genders, so there’s a lot to celebrate. We also note that the Australian government has stepped in recently with the theme ‘Keeping Australians safe and secure’, by pledging $78 million to combat domestic violence, much of which takes place behind closed doors (Morrison 2019). Herein lies the issue: while governments legislate to protect victims of domestic violence — out of the public eye, private behaviours cannot be closely monitored, and the lack of social enforcement of these laws threatens the safety of intimate relationships. Rather, individuals are left to their own devices. We outline here a guideline for intimate civility, an individually-embraced code of conduct that could guide interpersonal dynamics within the intimate space of relationships. Civility does not traditionally ‘belong’ in our most intimate relationships. Rather, it’s been presumed, even idealised, that intimacy in our personal lives transcends the need for public values to govern relationships between/among men and women (i.e., that romantic love is all you need). Civility developed as a public, gendered concept. Historically, a man’s home – and indeed, his partner – became his dominion, promoting hegemonic constructions of masculinity, and values that reflect competition, conquest, entitlement and ownership. Moreover, intimate relationships located in the private domain can also be considered for/by both men and women a retreat, a bastion against, or excluded from the controls and demands of the public or ‘polis’ - thus from the public requirement for civility, further enabling its breakdown. The feminist political theorist Carole Pateman situated this historical separation as an inheritance of Hegel’s double dilemma: first, a class division between civil society and the state (between the economic man/woman, or private enterprise and public power) and second, a patriarchal division between the private family (and intimate relationships) and civil society/the state. The private location, she argues, is “an association constituted by ties of love, blood … subjection and particularity” rather than the public sphere, “an association of free and equal individuals” (225). In Hegel’s dilemma, personal liberty is a dualism, only constructed in relation to a governed, public (patriarchal) state. Alternately, Carter depicts civility as a shared moral good, where civility arises not only because of concern over consequences, but also demonstrates our intrinsic moral obligation to respect people in general. This approach subsequently challenges our freedom to carry out private, uncivil acts within a truly civil society.Challenges to Gender EthicsHow can we respond to this challenge in gender ethics? Intimate civility is a term coined by Elizabeth Reid Boyd and Abigail Bray. It came out of their discussions proposing “a new poetics of romance” which called for rewritten codes of interpersonal conduct, an “entente cordiale; a cordial truce to end the sex wars”. Reid Boyd and Bray go further:Politeness is personal and political. We reclaim courtesy as applied sexual and social ethics, an interpersonal, intimate ethics, respectful and tolerant of difference. Gender ethics must be addressed, for they have global social and cultural ramifications that we should not underestimate. (xx)As researchers, we started to explore the idea of intimate civility in interpersonal violence, developing an analysis using social construction and attachment theory simultaneously. In defining the term, we soon realised the concept had wider applications that could change how we think about our most intimate relationships – and how we behave in them. Conceptualising intimate civility involves imagining rights and responsibilities within the private sphere, whether or not loving, familial and natural. Intimate civility can operate through an individually embraced code of conduct to guide interpersonal dynamics within the intimate space of relationships.Gringart, Grobbelaar, and Bender explored the concept of intimate civility by investigating women’s perspectives on what may harmonise their intimate relationships. Women’s most basic desires included safety, equality and respect in the bedroom. In other words, intimate civility is an enactment of human-rights, the embodiment of regard for another human being, insofar as it is a form of ensuring physical and mental integrity, life, safety and protection of all beings. Thus, if intimate civility existed as a core facet of each individual’s self-concept, the manifestation of intimate partner violence ideally would not occur. Rage, from an intimate civility perspective, rips through any civil response and generates misconduct towards another. When we hold respect for others as equal moral beings, civility is key to contain conflicts, which prevents the escalation of disagreements into rage. Intimate civility proposes that civility becomes the baseline behaviour that would be reciprocated between two individuals within the private domain of intimate relationships. Following this notion, intimate civility is the foremost casualty in many relationships characterised by intimate partner violence. The current criminalisation of intimate partner violence leaves unexplored the previously privatised property of the relational – including the inheritance of centuries of control of women’s bodies and sexuality – and how far, in this domain, notions of civility might liberate and/or oppress. The feminist philosopher Luce Irigaray argues that these kinds of ‘sexuate rights’ must apply to both men and women and the reality of their needs and desires. Equality, she argued, could not be achieved without a rewriting of the rights and obligations of each sex, qua different, in social rights and obligations (Yan).Synonyms for intimacy include, amongst others, closeness, attachment, togetherness, warmth, mutual affection, familiarity and privacy. Indirectly, sexual relations are also often synonymous with intimate relationships. However, sex is not intimacy, as both sex and intimacy both exist without the other. Bowlby proposed that throughout our lives we are attentive to the responsiveness and the availability of those that we are attached to, and suggested that “intimate attachments to other human beings are the hub around which a person’s life revolves, not only when he is an infant or a toddler, but throughout his adolescence and his years of maturity as well, and on into old age” (442). Although love is not by nature reciprocal, in intimacy we seek reciprocity – to love one another at the same time in a shared form of commitment. Kierkegaard hypothesised that genuine love is witnessed by one continuing to love another after their death as it obviates any doubt that the beloved was loved and was not merely instrumental (Soble).Intimate Civility as a Starting PointCivility includes qualities such as trust, duty, morality, sacrifice, self-restraint, respect, and fairness; a common standard allowing individuals to work, live and associate together. Intimacy encourages caring, loyalty, empathy, honesty, and self-knowledge. Thus, intimate civility should begin with those closest to us; being civil in our most intimate relationships. It advocates the genuine use of terms of endearment, not terms of abuse. We can only develop qualities such as morality and empathy, crucial for intimate relationships, if we have experienced secure, intimate relationships. Individuals reared in homes devoid of intimate civility will be challenged to identify and promote the interest or wellbeing of their intimate counterparts, and have to seek outside help to learn these skills: it is a learnt behaviour, both at an interpersonal and societal level. Individuals whose parents were insensitive to their childhood needs, and were unable to perceive, interpret and respond appropriately to their subtle communications, signals, wishes and mood will be flailing in this interpersonal skill (Holmes and Slade). Similarly, the individual’s inclusion in a civil society will only be achieved if their surrounding environment promotes and values virtues such as compassion, fairness and cooperation. This may be a challenging task. We envisage intimate civility as a starting point. It provides a focus to discuss and explore civil rights, obligations and responsibilities, between and among women and men in their personal relationships. As stated above, intimate civility begins with one's relationship with oneself and the closest relationships in the home, and hopefully reaches outwards to all kinds of relationships, including same sex, transgender, and other roles within non-specific gender assignment. Therefore, exploring the concept of intimate civility has applications in personal therapy, family counselling centres and relationship counselling environments, or schools in sexual education, or in universities promoting student safety. For example, the 2019 “Change the Course” report was recently released to augment Universities Australia’s 2016 campaign that raised awareness on sexual assault on campus. While it is still under development, we envision that intimate civility decalogue outlined here could become a checklist to assist in promoting awareness regarding abuse of power and gender roles. A recent example of cultural reframing of gender and power in intimate relationships is the Australian Government’s 2018 Respect campaign against gender violence. These recent campaigns promote awareness that intimate civility is integrated with a more functional society.These campaigns, as the images demonstrate, aim at quantifying connections between interactions on an intimate scale in individual lives, and their impacts in shaping civil society in the arena of gender violence. They highlight the elasticity of the bonds between intimate life and civil society and our collective responsibility as citizens for reworking both the gendered and personal civility. Fig. 2: Photo by Tyler Nix: Hands Spelling Out LOVE, from unsplash.comThe Decalogue of Intimate Civility Overall, police reports of domestic violence are heavily skewed towards male on female, but this is not always the case. The Australian government recently reported that “1 in 6 Australian women and 1 in 16 men have been subjected, since the age of 15, to physical and/or sexual violence by a current or previous cohabiting partner” (Australian Institutes of Health and Welfare). Rather than reiterating the numbers, we envisage the decalogue (below) as a checklist of concepts designed to discuss and explore rights, obligations and responsibilities, between and among both partners in their intimate relationships. As such, this decalogue forms a basis for conversation. Intimate civility involves a relationship with these ten qualities, with ourselves, and each other.1) Intimate civility is personal and political. Conceptualising intimate civility involves imagining rights and responsibilities within the private sphere. It is not an impingement on individual liberty or privacy but a guarantor of it. Civil society requires us not to defend private infringements of inter-personal respect. Private behaviours are both intimate in their performance and the springboard for social norms. In Geoffrey Rush’s recent defamation case his defence relied not on denying claims he repeatedly touched his fellow actor’s genitalia during their stage performance in a specific scene, despite her requests to him that he stop, but rather on how newspaper reporting of her statements made him out to be a “sexual pervert”, reflecting the complex link between this ‘private’ interaction between two people and its very public exposé (Wells). 2) Intimate civility is an enactment of a civil right, insofar as it is a form of ensuring physical and mental integrity, life, safety and protection. Intimate civility should begin with those closest to us. An example of this ethic at work is the widening scope of criminalisation of intimate partner abuse to include all forms of abusive interactions between people. Stalking and the pre-cursors to physical violence such as controlling behaviours, online bullying or any actions used to instil fear or insecurity in a partner, are accorded legal sanctions. 3) Intimate civility is polite. Politeness is more than manners. It relates to our public codes of conduct, to behaviours and laws befitting every civilian of the ‘polis’. It includes the many acts of politeness that are required behind closed doors and the recognition that this is the place from which public civility emerges. For example, the modern parent may hope that what they sanction as “polite” behaviour between siblings at home might then become generalised by the child into their public habits and later moral expectations as adults. In an ideal society, the micro-politics of family life become the blueprint for moral development for adult expectations about personal conduct in intimate and public life.4) Intimate civility is equitable. It follows Luce Irigaray’s call for ‘sexuate rights’ designed to apply to men and women and the reality of their needs and desires, in a rewriting of the social rights and obligations of each sex (Yan and Irigaray). Intimate civility extends this notion of rights to include all those involved in personal relations. This principle is alive within systemic family therapy which assumes that while not all members of the family system are always able to exert equal impacts or influence, they each in principle are interdependent participants influencing the system as a whole (Dallos and Draper). 5) Intimate civility is dialectical. The separation of intimacy and civility in Western society and thought is itself a dualism that rests upon other dualisms: public/private, constructed/natural, male/female, rational/emotional, civil/criminal, individual/social, victim/oppressor. Romantic love is not a natural state or concept, and does not help us to develop safe governance in the world of intimate relationships. Instead, we envisage intimate civility – and our relationships – as dynamic, dialectical, discursive and interactive, above and beyond dualism. Just as individuals do not assume that consent for sexual activity negotiated in one partnership under a set of particular conditions, is consent to sexual activity in all partnerships in any conditions. So, dialectics of intimate civility raises the expectation that what occurs in interpersonal relationships is worked out incrementally, between people over time and particular to their situation and experiences. 6) Intimate civility is humane. It can be situated in what Julia Kristeva refers to as the new humanism, emerging (and much needed) today. “This new humanism, interaction with others – all the others – socially marginalised, racially discriminated, politically, sexually, biologically or psychically persecuted others” (Kristeva, 2016: 64) is only possible if we immerse ourselves in the imaginary, in the experience of ‘the other’. Intimate civility takes on a global meaning when human rights action groups such as Amnesty International address the concerns of individuals to make a social difference. Such organisations develop globally-based digital platforms for interested individuals to become active about shared social concerns, understanding that the new humanism ethic works within and between individuals and can be harnessed for change.7) Intimate civility is empathic. It invites us to create not-yet-said, not-yet-imagined relationships. The creative space for intimate civility is not bound by gender, race or sexuality – only by our imaginations. “The great instrument of moral good is the imagination,” wrote the poet Shelley in 1840. Moral imagination (Reid Boyd) helps us to create better ways of being. It is a form of empathy that encourages us to be kinder and more loving to ourselves and each other, when we imagine how others might feel. The use of empathic imagination for real world relational benefits is common in traditional therapeutic practices, such as mindfulness, that encourages those struggling with self compassion to imagine the presence of a kind friend or ally to support them at times of hardship. 8) Intimate civility is respectful. Intimate civility is the foremost casualty in many relationships characterised by forms of abuse and intimate partner violence. “Respect”, wrote Simone Weil, “is due to the human being as such, and is not a matter of degree” (171). In the intimate civility ethic this quality of respect accorded as a right of beings is mutual, including ourselves with the other. When respect is eroded, much is lost. Respect arises from empathy through attuned listening. The RESPECT! Campaign originating from the Futures without Violence organisation assumes healthy relationships begin with listening between people. They promote the understanding that the core foundation of human wellbeing is relational, requiring inter-personal understanding and respect.9) Intimate civility is a form of highest regard. When we regard another we truly see them. To hold someone in high regard is to esteem them, to hold them above others, not putting them on a pedestal, or insisting they are superior, but to value them for who they are. To be esteemed for our interior, for our character, rather than what we display or what we own. It connects with the humanistic psychological concept of unconditional positive regard. The highest regard holds each other in arms and in mind. It is to see/look at, to have consideration for, and to pay attention to, recently epitomised by the campaign against human trafficking, “Can You See Me?” (Human Trafficking), whose purpose is to foster public awareness of the non-verbal signs and signals between individuals that indicate human trafficking may be taking place. In essence, teaching communal awareness towards the victimisation of individuals. 10) Intimate civility is intergenerational. We can only develop qualities such as morality and empathy, crucial for intimate relationships, if we have experienced (or imagined) intimate relationships where these qualities exist. Individuals reared in homes devoid of intimate civility could be challenged to identify and promote the interest or wellbeing of their intimate counterparts; it is a learnt behaviour, both at an interpersonal and societal level. Childhood developmental trauma research (Spinazzola and Ford) reminds us that the interaction of experiences, relational interactions, contexts and even our genetic amkeup makes individuals both vulnerable to repeating the behaviour of past generations. However, treatment of the condition and surrounding individuals with people in their intimate world who have different life experiences and personal histories, i.e., those who have acquired respectful relationship habits, can have a positive impact on the individuals’ capacity to change their learned negative behaviours. In conclusion, the work on intimate civility as a potential concept to alleviate rage in human relationships has hardly begun. The decalogue provides a checklist that indicates the necessity of ‘intersectionality’ — where the concepts of intimate civility connect to many points within the public/private and personal/political domains. Any analysis of intimacy must reach further than prepositions tied to social construction and attachment theory (Fonagy), to include current understandings of trauma and inter-generational violence and the way these influence people’s ability to act in healthy and balanced interpersonal relationships. While not condoning violent acts, locating the challenges to intimate civility on both personal and societal levels may leverage a compassionate view of those caught up in interpersonal violence. The human condition demands that we continue the struggle to meet the challenges of intimate civility in our personal actions with others as well as the need to replicate civil behaviour throughout all societies. ReferencesBowlby, John. Attachment and Loss. Vol. 3. New York: Basic Books, 1980.Carter, Stephen. Civility: Manners, Morals and the Etiquette of Democracy. New York: Basic Books, 1998.Dallos, Rudi, and Ros Draper. An Introduction to Family Therapy: Systemic Theory and Practice. 2nd ed. Open University Press: Berkshire, 2005.Australian Institutes of Health and Welfare, Australian Government. Family, Domestic and Sexual Violence in Australia. 2018. 6 Feb. 2019 <https://www.aihw.gov.au/reports/domestic-violence/family-domestic-sexual-violence-in-australia-2018/contents/summary>. Fonagy, Peter. Attachment Theory and Psychoanalysis. New York: Other Press, 2001.Gringart, Eyal, Madalena Grobbelaar, and Alise Bender. Intimate Civility: The Perceptions and Experiences of Women on Harmonising Intimate Relationships. Honours thesis, 2018.Holmes, Jeremy, and Arietta Slade. Attachment in Therapeutic Practice. Los Angeles: Sage, 2018. Human Trafficking, Jan. 2019. 14 Feb. 2019 <https://www.a21.org/content/can-you-see-me/gnsqqg?permcode=gnsqqg&site=true>.Kristeva, Julia. Teresa My Love: An Imagined Life of the Saint of Avila. New York: Columbia UP, 2016.Morrison, Scott. “National Press Club Address.” 11 Feb. 2019. 26 Feb. 2019 <https://www.pm.gov.au/media/national-press-club-address-our-plan-keeping-australians-safe-and-secure>.Pateman, Carole. “The Patriarchal Welfare State.” Defining Women: Social Institutions and Gender Divisions. Eds. Linda McDowell and Rosemary Pringle. London: Polity Press, 1994. 223-45.Reid Boyd, Elizabeth. “How Creativity Can Help Us Cultivate Moral Imagination.” The Conversation, 30 Jan. 2019. 11 Feb. 2019 <http://theconversation.com/how-creativity-can-help-us-cultivate-moral-imagination-101968>.Reid Boyd, Elizabeth, and Abigail Bray. Ladies and Gentlemen: Sex, Love and 21st Century Courtesy. Unpublished book proposal, 2005.Commonwealth of Australia. Respect Campaign. 2018, 9 Jan. 2019 <http://www.respect.gov.au/the-campaign/campaign-materials/>.Shelley, Percy Bysshe. A Defence of Poetry. London: Ginn and Company, 1840.Soble, Alan. Philosophy of Sex and Love. St Paul, MN: Paragon House, 1998.Weil, Simone. Waiting on God. London: Fontana Collins, 1968.Wells, Jamelle. “Geoffrey Rush, Erin Norvill and the Daily Telegraph: The Stakes Are High in This Defamation Trial.” ABC News 12 Nov. 2018. 23 Feb. 2019 <http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-11-10/geoffrey-rush-defamation-trial-a-drama-with-final-act-to-come/10483944>.Yan, Liu, and Luce Irigaray. “Feminism, Sexuate Rights and the Ethics of Sexual Difference: An Interview with Luce Irigaray.” Foreign Literature Studies (2010): 1-9.

In this article I discuss a story told by the South Australian Ngarrindjeri Aboriginal elder, Aunty Hilda Wilson (nee Varcoe), about the time when, at not quite sixteen, she was sent from the Point Pearce Aboriginal Station to work in the Adelaide Hills, some 500 kilometres away, as a housekeeper for “one of Adelaide’s leading doctors”. Her secondment was part of a widespread practice in early and mid-twentieth century Australia of placing young Aboriginal women “of marriageable age” from missions and government reserves into domestic service. Consciously deploying Indigenous storytelling practices as pedagogy, Hilda Wilson recounted this episode in a number of distinct ways during the late 1990s and early 2000s. Across these iterations, each building on the other, she exhibited a personal resilience in her subjectivity, embedded in Indigenous knowledge systems of relationality, kin and work, which informed her agency and determination in a challenging situation in which she was both caring for a white socially-privileged family of five, while simultaneously grappling with the injustices of a state system of segregated indentured labour. Kirmayer and colleagues propose that “notions of resilience emerging from developmental psychology and psychiatry in recent years address the distinctive cultures, geographic and social settings, and histories of adversity of indigenous peoples”. Resilience is understood here as an ability to actively engage with traumatic change, involving the capacity to absorb stress and to transform in order to cope with it (Luthar et al.). Further to this, in an Indigenous context, Marion Kickett has found the capacity for resilience to be supported by three key factors: family connections, culture and belonging as well as notions of identity and history. In exploring the layers of this autobiographical story, I employ this extended psychological notion of resilience in both a domestic ambit as well as the broader social context for Indigenous people surviving a system of external domination. Additionally I consider the resilience Aunty Hilda demonstrates at a pivotal interlude between girlhood and womanhood within the trajectory of her overall long and productive life, and within an intergenerational history of resistance and accommodation. What is especially important about her storytelling is its refusal to be contained by the imaginary of the settler nation and its generic Aboriginal-female subject. She refuses victimhood while at the same time illuminating the mechanisms of injustice, hinting also at possibilities for alternative and more equitable relationships of family and work across cultural divides. Considered through this prism, resilience is, I suggest, also a quality firmly connected to ideas of Aboriginal cultural-sovereignty and standpoint and to, what Victoria Grieves has identified as, the Aboriginal knowledge value of sharing (25, 28, 45). Storytelling as Pedagogy The story I discuss was verbally recounted in a manner that Westphalen describes as “a continuation of Dreaming Stories”, functioning to educate and connect people and country (13-14). As MacGill et al. note, “the critical and transformative aspects of decolonising pedagogies emerge from storytelling and involve the gift of narrative and the enactment of reciprocity that occurs between the listener and the storyteller.” Hilda told me that as a child she was taught not to ask questions when listening to the stories of an Elder, and her own children were raised in this manner. Hilda's oldest daughter described this as a process involving patience, intrigue and surprise (Elva Wanganeen). Narratives unfold through nuance and repetition in a complexity of layers that can generate multiple levels of meaning over time. Circularity and recursivity underlie this pedagogy through which mnemonic devices are built so that stories become re-membered and inscribed on the body of the listener. When a perceived level of knowledge-transference has occurred, a narrator may elect to elaborate further, adding another detail that will often transform the story’s social, cultural, moral or political context. Such carefully chosen additional detail, however, might re-contextualise all that has gone before. As well as being embodied, stories are also emplaced, and thus most appropriately told in the Country where events occurred. (Here I use the Aboriginal English term “Country” which encompasses home, clan estate, and the powerful complex of spiritual, animate and inanimate forces that bind people and place.) Hilda Wilson’s following account of her first job as a housekeeper for “one of Adelaide’s leading doctors”, Dr Frank Swann, provides an illustration of how she expertly uses traditional narrative forms of incrementally structured knowledge transmission within a cross-cultural setting to tell a story that expresses practices of resilience as resistance and transformation at its core. A “White Doctor” Story: The First Layer Aunty Hilda first told me this story when we were winding along the South Eastern Freeway through the Adelaide hills between Murray Bridge and Mount Barker, in 1997, on our way home to Adelaide from a trip to Camp Coorong, the Ngarrindjeri cultural education centre co-founded by her granddaughter. She was then 86 years old. Ahead of us, the profile of Mt Lofty rose out of the plains and into view. The highest peak in the Mount Lofty ranges, Yurrebilla, as it is known to Kaurna Aboriginal people, or Mt Lofty, has been an affluent enclave of white settlement for Adelaide’s moneyed elite since early colonial times. Being in place, or in view of place, provided the appropriate opportunity for her to tell me the story. It belongs to a group of stories that during our initial period of working together changed little over time until one day two years later she an added contextual detail which turned it inside out. Hilda described the doctor’s spacious hill-top residence, and her responsibilities of caring for Dr Swann’s invalid wife (“an hysteric who couldn't do anything for herself”), their twin teenage boys (who attended private college in the city) along with another son and younger daughter living at home (pers. com. Hilda Wilson). Recalling the exhilaration of looking down over the sparkling lights of Adelaide at night from this position of apparent “privilege” on the summit, she related this undeniably as a success story, justifiably taking great pride in her achievements as a teenager, capable of stepping into the place of the non-Indigenous doctor's wife in running the large and demanding household. Successfully undertaking a wide range of duties employed in the care of a family, including the disabled mother, she is an active participant crucial to the lives of all in the household, including to the work of the doctor and the twin boys in private education. Hilda recalled that Mrs Swann was unable to eat without her assistance. As the oldest daughter of a large family Hilda had previously assisted in caring for her younger siblings. Told in this way, her account collapses social distinctions, delineating a shared social and physical space, drawing its analytic frame from an Indigenous ethos of subjectivity, relationality, reciprocity and care. Moreover Hilda’s narrative of domestic service demonstrates an assertion of agency that resists colonial and patriarchal hegemony and inverts the master/mistress-servant relationship, one she firmly eschews in favour of the self-affirming role of the lady of the house. (It stands in contrast to the abuse found in other accounts for example Read, Tucker, Kartinyeri. Often the key difference was a continuity of family connections and ongoing family support.) Indeed the home transformed into a largely feminised and cross-culturalised space in which she had considerable agency and responsibility when the doctor was absent. Hilda told me this story several times in much the same way during our frequent encounters over the next two years. Each telling revealed further details that fleshed a perspective gained from what Patricia Hill Collins terms an “epistemic privilege” via her “outsider-within status” of working within a white household, lending an understanding of its social mechanisms (12-15). She also stressed the extent of her duty of care in upholding the family’s well-being, despite the work at times being too burdensome. The Second Version: Coming to Terms with Intersecting Oppressions Later, as our relationship developed and deepened, when I began to record her life-narrative as part of my doctoral work, she added an unexpected detail that altered its context completely: It was all right except I slept outside in a tin shed and it was very cold at night. Mount Lofty, by far the coldest part of Adelaide, frequently experiences winter maximum temperatures of two or three degrees and often light snowfalls. This skilful reframing draws on Indigenous storytelling pedagogy and is expressly used to invite reflexivity, opening questions that move the listener from the personal to the public realm in which domestic service and the hegemony of the home are pivotal in coming to terms with the overlapping historical oppressions of class, gender, race and nation. Suddenly we witness her subjectivity starkly shift from one self-defined and allied with an equal power relationship – or even of dependency reversal cast as “de-facto doctor's wife” – to one diminished by inequity and power imbalance in the outsider-defined role of “mistreated servant”. The latter was signalled by the dramatic addition of a single signifying detail as a decoding device to a deeper layer of meaning. In this parallel stratum of the story, Hilda purposefully brings into relief the politics in which “the private domain of women's housework intersected with the public domain of governmental social engineering policies” (Haskins 4). As Aileen Moreton-Robinson points out, what for White Australia was cheap labour and a civilising mission, for Indigenous women constituted stolen children and slavery. Protection and then assimilation were government policies under which Indigenous women grew up. (96) Hilda was sent away from her family to work in 1927 by the universally-feared Sister Pearl McKenzie, a nurse who too-zealously (Katinyeri, Ngarrindjeri Calling, 23) oversaw the Chief Protector’s policies of “training” Aboriginal children from the South Australian missions in white homes once they reached fourteen (Haebich, 316—20). Indeed many prominent Adelaide hills’ families benefited from Aboriginal labour under this arrangement. Hilda explained her struggle with the immense cultural dislocation that removal into domestic service entailed, a removal her grandfather William Rankine had travelled from Raukkan to Government House to protest against less than a decade earlier (The Register December 21, 1923). This additional layer of story also illuminates Hilda’s capacity for resilience and persistence in finding a way forward through the challenge of her circumstances (Luthar et al.), drawing on her family networks and sense of personhood (Kickett). Hilda related that her father visited her at Mount Lofty twice, though briefly, on his way to shearing jobs in the south-east of the state. “He said it was no good me living like this,” she stated. Through his active intervention, reinforcement was requested and another teenager from Point Pearce, Hilda’s future husband’s cousin, Annie Sansbury, soon arrived to share the workload. But, Hilda explained, the onerous expectations coupled with the cultural segregation of retiring to the tin shed quickly became too much for Annie, who stayed only three months, leaving Hilda coping again alone, until her father applied additional pressure for a more suitable placement to be found for his daughter. In her next position, working for the family of a racehorse trainer, Hilda contentedly shared the bedroom with the small boy for whom she cared, and not long after returned to Point Pearce where she married Robert Wilson and began a family of her own. Gendered Resilience across Cultural Divides Hilda explicitly speaks into these spaces to educate me, because all but a few white women involved have remained silent about their complicity with state sanctioned practices which exploited Indigenous labour and removed children from their families through the policies of protection and assimilation. For Indigenous women, speaking out was often fraught with the danger of a deeper removal from family and Country, even of disappearance. Victoria Haskins writes extensively of two cases in New South Wales where young Aboriginal women whose protests concerning their brutal treatment at the hands of white employers, resulted in their wrongful and prolonged committal to mental health and other institutions (147-52, 228-39). In the indentured service of Indigenous women it is possible to see oppression operating through Eurocentric ideologies of race, class and gender, in which Indigenous women were assumed to take on, through displacement, the more oppressed role of white women in pre-second world war non-Aboriginal Australian society. The troubling silent shadow-figure of the “doctor’s wife” indeed provides a haunting symbol of - and also a forceful rebellion against – the docile upper middle-class white femininity of the inter-war era. Susan Bordo has argued that that “the hysteric” is archetypal of a discourse of ‘pathology as embodied protest’ in which the body may […] be viewed as a surface on which conventional constructions of femininity are exposed starkly to view in extreme or hyperliteral form. (20) Mrs Swann’s vulnerability contrasts markedly with the strength Hilda expresses in coping with a large family, emanating from a history of equitable gender relations characteristic of Ngarrindjeri society (Bell). The intersection of race and gender, as Marcia Langton contends “continues to require deconstruction to allow us to decolonise our consciousness” (54). From Hilda’s brief description one grasps a relationship resonant with that between the protagonists in Tracy Moffat's Night Cries, (a response to the overt maternalism in the film Jedda) in which the white mother finds herself utterly reliant on her “adopted” Aboriginal daughter at the end of her life (46-7). Resilience and Survival The different versions of story Hilda deploys, provide a pedagogical basis to understanding the broader socio-political framework of her overall life narrative in which an ability to draw on the cultural continuity of the past to transform the future forms an underlying dynamic. This demonstrated capacity to meet the challenging conditions thrown up by the settler-colonial state has its foundations in the connectivity and cultural strength sustained generationally in her family. Resilience moves from being individually to socially determined, as in Kickett’s model. During the onslaught of dispossession, following South Australia’s 1836 colonial invasion, Ngarrindjeri were left near-starving and decimated from introduced diseases. Pullume (c1808-1888), the rupuli (elected leader of the Ngarrindjeri Tendi, or parliament), Hilda’s third generation great-grandfather, decisively steered his people through the traumatic changes, eventually negotiating a middle-path after the Point McLeay Mission was established on Ngarrindjeri country in 1859 (Jenkin, 59). Pullume’s granddaughter, the accomplished, independent-thinking Ellen Sumner (1842—1925), played an influential educative role during Hilda’s youth. Like other Ngarrindjeri women in her lineage, Ellen Sumner was skilled in putari practice (female doctor) and midwifery culture that extended to a duty of care concerning women and children (teaching her “what to do and what not to do”), which I suggest is something Hilda herself drew from when working with the Swann family. Hilda’s mother and aunties continued aspects of the putari tradition, attending births and giving instruction to women in the community (Bell, 171, Hughes Grandmother, 52-4). As mentioned earlier, when the South Australian government moved to introduce The Training of Children Act (SA) Hilda’s maternal grandfather William Rankine campaigned vigorously against this, taking a petition to the SA Governor in December 1923 (Haebich, 315-19). As with Aunty Hilda, William Rankine used storytelling as a method to draw public attention to the inequities of his times in an interview with The Register which drew on his life-narrative (Hughes, My Grandmother, 61). Hilda’s father Wilfred Varcoe, a Barngarrla-Wirrungu man, almost a thousand kilometres away from his Poonindie birthplace, resisted assimilation by actively pursuing traditional knowledge networks using his mobility as a highly sought after shearer to link up with related Elders in the shearing camps, (and as we saw to inspect the conditions his daughter was working under at Mt Lofty). The period Hilda spent as a servant to white families to be trained in white ways was in fact only a brief interlude in a long life in which family connections, culture and belonging (Kickett) served as the backbone of her resilience and resistance. On returning to the Point Pearce Mission, Hilda successfully raised a large family and activated a range of community initiatives that fostered well-being. In the 1960s she moved to Adelaide, initially as the sole provider of her family (her husband later followed), to give her younger children better educational opportunities. Working with Aunty Gladys Elphick OBE through the Council of Aboriginal Women, she played a foundational role in assisting other Aboriginal women establish their families in the city (Mattingly et al., 154, Fisher). In Adelaide, Aunty Hilda became an influential, much loved Elder, living in good health to the age of ninety-six years. The ability to survive changing circumstances, to extend care over and over to her children and Elders along with qualities of leadership, determination, agency and resilience have passed down through her family, several of whom have become successful in public life. These include her great-grandson and former AFL football player, Michael O’Loughlin, her great-nephew Adam Goodes and her-grand-daughter, the cultural weaver Aunty Ellen Trevorrow. Arguably, resilience contributes to physical as well as cultural longevity, through caring for the self and others. Conclusion This story demonstrates how sociocultural dimensions of resilience are contextualised in practices of everyday lives. We see this in the way that Aunty Hilda Wilson’s self-narrated story resolutely defies attempts to know, subjugate and categorise, operating instead in accord with distinctively Aboriginal expressions of gender and kinship relations that constitute an Aboriginal sovereignty. Her storytelling activates a revision of collective history in ways that valorise Indigenous identity (Kirmayer et al.). Her narrative of agency and personal achievement, one that has sustained her through life, interacts with the larger narrative of state-endorsed exploitation, diffusing its power and exposing it to wider moral scrutiny. Resilience in this context is inextricably entwined with practices of cultural survival and resistance developed in response to the introduction of government policies and the encroachment of settlers and their world. We see resilience too operating across Hilda Wilson’s family history, and throughout her long life. The agency and strategies displayed suggest alternative realities and imagine other, usually more equitable, possible worlds. References Bell, Diane. Ngarrindjeri Wurruwarrin: A World That Is, Was and Will Be. Melbourne: Spinifex, 1998. Bordo, Susan. “The Body and the Reproduction of Femininity.” Writing on the Body: Female Embodiment and Feminist Theory. Eds. Katie Conboy, Nadia Medina, and Sarah Stanbury. New York: Columbia UP, 1997. 90-110. Collins, Patricia Hill. Black Feminist Thought. New York: Routledge, 2000. Fisher, Elizabeth M. "Elphick, Gladys (1904–1988)." Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, 29 Sep. 2013. ‹http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/elphick-gladys-12460/text22411>. Grieves, Victoria. Aboriginal Spirituality: Aboriginal Philosophy, The Basis of Aboriginal Social and Emotional Wellbeing, Melbourne University: Cooperative Research Centre for Aboriginal Health, 2009. Haebich, Anna. Broken Circles: The Fragmenting of Indigenous Families. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Press, 2000. Haskins, Victoria. My One Bright Spot. London: Palgrave, 2005. Hughes, Karen. "My Grandmother on the Other Side of the Lake." PhD thesis, Department of Australian Studies and Department of History, Flinders University. Adelaide, 2009. ———. “Microhistories and Things That Matter.” Australian Feminist Studies 27.73 (2012): 269-278. ———. “I’d Grown Up as a Child amongst Natives.” Outskirts: Feminisms along the Edge 28 (2013). 29 Sep. 2013 ‹http://www.outskirts.arts.uwa.edu.au/volumes/volume-28/karen-hughes>. Jenkin, Graham. Conquest of the Ngarrindjeri. Adelaide: Rigby, 1979. Kartinyeri, Doris. Kick the Tin. Melbourne: Spinifex, 2000. Kartinyeri, Doreen. My Ngarrindjeri Calling, Adelaide: Wakefield, 2007. Kickett, Marion. “Examination of How a Culturally Appropriate Definition of Resilience Affects the Physical and Mental Health of Aboriginal People.” PhD thesis, Curtin University, 2012. Kirmayer, L.J., S. Dandeneau, E. Marshall, M.K. Phillips, K. Jenssen Williamson. “Rethinking Resilience from Indigenous Perspectives.” Canadian Journal of Psychiatry 56.2 (2011): 84-91. Luthar, S., D. Cicchetti, and B. Becker. “The Construct of Resilience: A Critical Evaluation and Guidelines for Future Work.” Child Development 71.3 (2000): 543-62. MacGill, Bindi, Julie Mathews, Ellen Trevorrow, Alice Abdulla, and Deb Rankine. “Ecology, Ontology, and Pedagogy at Camp Coorong,” M/C Journal 15.3 (2012). Mattingly, Christobel, and Ken Hampton. Survival in Our Own Land, Adelaide: Wakefield, 1988. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. Talkin’ Up to the White Woman. St Lucia: UQP, 2000. Night Cries, A Rural Tragedy. Dir. Tracy Moffatt. Chili Films, 1990. Read, Peter. A Rape of the Soul So Profound. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2002. Tucker, Margaret. If Everyone Cared. Sydney: Ure Smith, 1977. Wanganeen, Elva. Personal Communication, 2000. Westphalen, Linda. An Anthropological and Literary Study of Two Aboriginal Women's Life Histories: The Impacts of Enforced Child Removal and Policies of Assimilation. New York: Mellen Press, 2011.

In the heady expansion of capital’s productive capacity during the post-war period, E.P. Thompson wondered optimistically at potentials accruing to humanity by accelerating automation. He asked, “If we are to have enlarged leisure, in an automated future, the problem is not ‘how are men going to be able to consume all these additional time-units of leisure?’ but ‘what will be the capacity for experience of the men who have this undirected time to live?’” (Thompson 36). Indeed, linear and economistic variants of Marxian materialism have long emphasised that the socialisation of production by the use of machinery will eventually free us from work. At the very least, the underemployment produced by the automation of pivotal labour roles is supposed to create a political subject capable of agitating successfully against bourgeois and capitalist hegemony. But contrary to these prognostications, the worker of 2019 is caught up in a process of generalising work far beyond what is considered necessary by tradition, or at least the convention of what David Harvey calls “embedded liberalism” (11). As Anne Helen Peterson wrote in a recent Buzzfeed article,even the trends millennials have popularized — like athleisure — speak to our self-optimization. Yoga pants might look sloppy to your mom, but they’re efficient: you can transition seamlessly from an exercise class to a Skype meeting to child pickup. We use Fresh Direct and Amazon because the time they save allows us to do more work. (Peterson)For the work-martyr, activity in its broadest Aristotelian sense is evaluated by and subordinated to the question of efficiency and productivity. Occupations of time that were once considered external to “work” as matters of “life” (to use Kathi Weeks’s vocabulary) are reconceived as waste when not deployed in the service of value-generation (Weeks 15).The point here, then, is to provide some answers for why the decrease in socially-necessary labour time in an age of automation has not coincided with the Thompsonian expansion of free time. The current dilemma of the neoliberal “work-martyr” is traceable to the political responses generated by crises in production during the depression and the stagflationary disaccumulation of the 1960s-70s, and the major victory in the “battle for ideas” was the transformation of the political subject into human capital. This “intensely constructed and governed” suite of possible values is tasked, according to Wendy Brown, “with improving and leveraging its competitive positioning and with enhancing its (monetary and nonmonetary) portfolio value across all of its endeavours and ventures” (Brown 10). Connecting the creation of this subject in relation to personal or free time is important partly because of time’s longstanding importance to philosophies of subjectivity. But more to the point, the focus on time is important because it serves to demonstrate the economic foundations of the incursion of capitalist governance into the most private domains of existence. Against the criticism of Marx’s ‘abstract’ theory of value, one can see that the laws of capitalist accumulation make their mark in all parts of contemporary human being, including temporality. By tracing the emergence of afterwork as the unpaid continuation of the accumulation of value, one can show how each subject increasingly ‘lives’ capital. This marks a turning point in political economy. When work spills over a temporal limit, its relationship to reproduction is finally blurred to the point of indistinction. What this means for value-creation in 2019 is something in urgent need of critique.State ReproductionAccording to the Marxian theory, labour’s minimum cost is abstractly determined by the price of the labourer’s necessities. Once they have produced enough objects of value to cover these costs, the rest of their work is surplus value in the hands of the capitalist. The capitalist’s aim, then, is to extend the overall working-day for as long beyond the minimum as possible. Theoretically, the full 24 hours of the day may be used. The rise of machine production in the 19th century allowed the owners to make this theory a reality. The only thing that governed the extension of work-time was the physical minimum of labour-power’s reproduction (Marx 161). But this was on the provision that all the labourer’s “free” time was to be spent regrouping their energies. Anything in excess of this was a privilege: time wasted that could have been spent in the factory. “If the labourer consumes his disposable time for himself”, says Marx, “he robs the capitalist” (162).This began to change with the socialisation of the work process and the increase in technical proficiency that labour demanded in early 20th-century industry. With the changes in the sophistication of the manufacture process, the labourer came to be factored in the production process less as an “appendage of the machine” and more as a collection of decisive skills. Fordism based itself around the recognition that capital itself was “dependent on a family-based reproduction” (Weeks 27). In Ford’s America, the sense that work’s intensity might supplant losses in the working day propelled owners of production to recognise the economic need of ensuring a robust culture of social reproduction. In capital’s original New Deal, Ford provided an increase in wages (the Five Dollar Day) in exchange for a rise in productivity (Dalla Costa v). To preserve the increased rhythm of industrial production required more than a robust wage, however. It required “the formation of a physically efficient and psychologically disciplined working class” (Dalla Costa 2). Companies began to hire sociologists to investigate how workers spent their spare time (Dalla Costa 8). They led the charge in a what we might call the first “anthropological revolution” of the American 20th century, whereby the improved wage of the worker was underpinned by the economisation of their reproduction. This was enabled by the cheapening of social necessities (and thus a reduction in socially-necessary labour time) in profound connection to the development of household economy on the backs of unpaid female labour (Weeks 25).This arrangement between capital and labour persisted until 1929. When the inevitable crisis came, however, wages faltered, and many workers joined the ranks of the unemployed. Unable to afford even the basics of their own reproduction, the working-class looked to the state. They created political and social pressure through marches, demonstrations, attacks on shops and the looting of supply trucks (Dalla Costa 40). The state held out against them, but the crisis in production eventually reached such a point of intensity that the government was forced to intervene. Hoover instituted the Emergency Relief Act and Financial Reconstruction Corporation in 1932. This was expanded the following year by FDR’s New Deal, transforming Emergency Relief into a federal institution and creating the Civil Works Association to stimulate the job market (Dalla Costa 63). The security of the working class was decisively linked to the state through the wage guarantees, welfare measures and even the legal guarantee of collective bargaining.For the most part, the state’s intervention in social reproduction took the pressure off industry by ensuring that the workforce would remain able to handle its burdens and that the unemployed would remain employable. It guaranteed a minimum wage for the employed to ensure that demand didn’t collapse, and provided care outside the workforce to women, children and the elderly.Once the state took responsibility for reproduction, however, it immediately became interested in how free time could be made efficient and cost effective. Abroad, they noted the example of European statist and corporativist approaches. Roosevelt sent a delegation to Europe to study the various measures taken by fascist and United Front governments to curb the effects of economic crisis (Dogliani 247). Among these was Mussolini’s OND (Opera Nazionale Dopolavoro) which sought to accumulate the free time of workers to the ends of production. Part of this required the responsibilisation of the broader community not only for regeneration of labour-power but the formation of a truly fascist political subject.FDR’s social reform program was able to reproduce this at home by following the example of workers’ community organisation during the depression years. Throughout the early ‘30s, self-help cooperatives, complete with “their own systems of payment in goods or currency” emerged among the unemployed (Dalla Costa 61). Black markets in consumer goods and informal labour structures developed in all major cities (Dalla Costa 34). Subsistence goods were self-produced in a cottage industry of unpaid domestic labour by both men and women (Dalla Costa 71). The paragon of self-reproducing communities was urbanised black Americans, whose internal solidarity had saved lives throughout the depression. The state took notice of these informal economies of production and reproduction, and started to incorporate the possibility of community engineering into their national plan. Roosevelt convened the Civilian Conservation Corps to absorb underemployed elements of the American workforce and recover consumer demand through direct state sponsorship (wages) (Dogliani, 247). The Committee of Industrial Organisation was transformed into a “congress” linking workers directly to the state (Dalla Costa 74). Minium wages were secured in the supreme court in 1937, then hiked in 1938 (78). In all, the state emerged at this time as a truly corporativist entity- the guarantor of employment and of class stability. From Social Reproduction to Human Capital InvestmentSo how do we get from New Deal social engineering to yoga pants? The answer is deceptively simple. The state transformed social reproduction into a necessary part of the production process. But this also meant that it was instrumentalised. The state only had to fund its workforce’s reproduction so long as this guaranteed productivity. After the war, this was maintained by a form of “embedded liberalism” which sought to provide full employment, economic growth and welfare for its citizens while anchoring the international economy in the Dollar’s gold-value. However, by providing stable increases in “relative value” (wages), this form of state investment incentivised capital flight and its spectacular consequent: deindustrialisation. The “embedded liberalism” of the state-capital-labour compromise began to breakdown with a new crisis of accumulation (Harvey 11-12). The relocation of production to non-union states and decolonised globally-southern sites of hyper-exploitation led to an ‘urban crisis’ in the job market. But as capitalist expansion carried on abroad, inflation kept dangerous pace with the rate of unemployment. This “stagflation” put irresistible pressure on the post-war order. The Bretton-Woods policy of maintaining fixed interest rates while pinning the dollar to gold was abandoned in 1971 and exchange rates were floated all over the world (Harvey 12). The spectre of a new crisis loomed, but one which couldn’t be resolved by the simple state sponsorship of production and reproduction.While many solutions were offered in place of this, one political vision singled out the state’s intervention into reproduction as the cause of the crisis. The ‘neoliberal’ political revolution began at the level of individual groups of capitalist agitants seeking governmental influence in a crusade against communism. It was given its first run on the historical pitch in Chile as part of the CIA-sponsored Pinochet revanchism, and then imported to NYC to deal with the worsening urban crisis of the 1970s. Instead of focusing on production (which required state intervention to proceed without crisis), neoliberal theory promulgated a turn to monetisation and financialisation. The rule of the New York banks after they forced the City into near-bankruptcy in 1975 prescribed total austerity in order to make good on its debts. The government was forced by capital itself to withdraw from investment in the reproduction of its citizens and workers. This was generalised to a federal policy as Reagan sought to address the decades-long deficit during the early years of his presidential term. Facilitating the global flow of finance and the hegemony of supranational institutions like the IMF, the domestic labour force now became beholden to an international minimum of socially-necessary labour time. At the level of domestic labour, the reduction of labour’s possible cost to this minimum had dramatic consequences. International competition allowed the physical limitations of labour to, once again, vanish from sight. Removed from the discourse of reproduction rights, the capitalist edifice was able to focus on changing the ratio of socially necessary labour to surplus. The mechanism that enabled them to do so was competition among the workforce. With the opening of the world market, capital no longer had to worry about the maintenance of domestic demand.But competition was not sufficient to pull off so grand a feat. What was required was a broader “battle of ideas”; the second anthropological revolution of the American century. The protections that workers had relied upon since the Fordist compromise and the corporativist solution eroded as the new “class-power” of the bourgeoisie levelled neoliberal assaults against associated labour (Harvey 23). While unions were gradually disempowered to fight the inevitable tide of deindustrialisation and capital flight, individual workers were coddled by a stream of neoliberal propaganda promising “Freedom” to those who would leave the stifling atmosphere of collective association. The success of this double enervation crippled union power, and the capitalist could rely increasingly on internal workplace wage stratification to regulate labour at an enterprise level (Dalla Costa 25). Incentive structures transformed labour rights into privileges; imagining old entitlements as concessions from above. In the last thirty years, the foundation of worker protections at large has, according to Brown, become illegible (Brown 38).Time and ValueThe reduction of time needed to produce has not coincided with an expansion of free time. The neoliberal anthropological revolution has wormed its way into the depth of the individual subject’s temporalising through a dual assault on labour conditions and propaganda. The privatisation of reproduction means that its necessary minimum is once again the subject of class struggle. Time spent unproductively outside the workplace now not only robs the capitalist, but the worker. If an activity isn’t a means to increase one’s “experience” (the vector of employability), it is time poorly spent. The likelihood of being hired for a job, in professional industries especially, is dependent on your ability to outperform others not only in your talents and skills, but in your own exploitability. Brown points out that the groups traditionally defined by the “middle strata … works more hours for less pay, fewer benefits, less security, and less promise of retirement or upward mobility than at any time in the past century” (Brown 28-29).This is what is meant by the transformation of workers into ‘human capital’. As far as the worker is concerned, the capitalist no longer purchases their labour-power: they purchase the sum of their experiences and behaviours. A competitive market has emerged for these personality markers. As a piece of human capital, one must expend one’s time not only in reproduction, but the production of their own surplus value. Going to a play adds culture points to your brand; speaking a second language gives you a competitive edge; a robust Instagram following is the difference between getting or missing out on a job. For Jess Whyte, this means that the market is now able to govern in place of the state. It exercises a command over people’s lives in and out of the workplace “which many an old tyrannical state would have envied” (Whyte 20).There is a question here of change and continuity. A survey of the 20th century shows that the reduction of ‘socially necessary labour time’ does not necessarily mean a reduction in time spent at work. In fact, the minimum around which capitalist production circulates is not worktime but wages. It is only at the political level that the working class prevented capital from pursuing this minimum. With the political victory of neoliberalism as a “restoration of class power” to the bourgeoisie, however, this minimum becomes a factor at the heart of all negotiations between capital and labour. The individual labourer lying at the heart of the productive process is reduced to his most naked form: human capital. This capital must spend all its time productively for its own benefit. Mundane tasks are avoidable, as stipulated by the piece of human capital sometimes known as Anne Helen Peterson, if they “wouldn’t make my job easier or my work better”. People are never really after-work under neoliberalism; their spare time is structurally adjusted into auxiliary labour. Competition has achieved what the state could never have dreamed of: a total governance of spare hours. This governance unites journalists tweeting from bed with Amazon workers living where they work, not to mention early-career academics working over a weekend to publish an article in an online journal that is not even paying them. These are all ways in which the privatisation of social reproduction transforms afterwork into unpaid overtime.ReferencesBrown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution. New York: Zone Books, 2015.Dalla Costa, Maria. Family, Welfare, and the State: Between Progressivism and the New Deal. Brooklyn: Common Notions, 2015.Harvey, David. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005.Engels, Friedrich, and Karl Marx. The Marx-Engels Reader. Ed. R.C. Tucker. New York: Norton, 1978.Marx, Karl. Capital: A Critical Analysis of Capitalist Production. Vol. 1 and 2. Trans. E. Aveling and E. Untermann. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics of World Literature, 2013.Peterson, Anne Helen. “How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation.” Buzzfeed. 10 Oct. 2019 <https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/annehelenpetersen/millennials-burnout-generation-debt-work>.Postone, Moishe. Time, Labour and Social Domination. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993.Thompson, E.P. “Time, Work-Discipline, and Industrial Capitalism.” In Stanley Aronowitz and Michael J. Roberts, eds., Class: The Anthology. Hoboken: Wiley, 2018.Wang, Jackie. Carceral Capitalism. Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2018.Weeks, Kathi. The Problem with Work: Feminism, Marxism, Antiwork Politics, and Postwork Imaginaries. Durham: Duke UP, 2011.Whyte, Jessica. “The Invisible Hand of Friedrich Hayek: Submission and Spontaneous Order.” Political Theory (2017): 1-29.

The Resident Evil video game series is especially notable for engaging with uncanny nature and monstrous reproduction, often facilitated through viral contamination. These third-person games usually feature an outbreak of some kind, instigated by a shadowy organisation, and star a member of law enforcement or the military as the protagonist. However, the seventh and eighth games of the franchise were different. While they explored many of the same themes and conventions as their predecessors, the technologies by which they evoked fear and suspense had become further immersed in the survival horror genre and ecoGothic affect. Survival horror video games, which often exploit anxieties surrounding uncanny motherhood to produce feelings of dread, use the processes and spectacle of reproduction, gestation, and childbirth as the locus of player fear. The ecoGothic, that is the non-human ecology rendered uncanny, monstrous, and sublime, permeates survival horror spaces and has the potential to empower these malevolent matriarchs. In Resident Evil 7: Biohazard (Nakanishi) and Resident Evil VIII: Village (Sato), player-protagonist Ethan Winters is under constant attack from female antagonists. From unexpected onslaughts from his rapidly transforming wife Mia at the beginning of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, to his heart being wrenched from his body by the overarching villain Mother Miranda in Resident Evil VIII: Village, Ethan’s life is under constant threat from women and girls infected by a parasitic fungus. These monstrous females, through their corporeal forms and means of control, blur the boundaries between the human and the non-human. Furthermore, they represent the perceived degradation of the human form and delegitimisation of man's dominion over nature. These women—who have merged with the non-human ecosystem—have become creatures that challenge our conception of what it is to be human. It is this intersection of ecophobia and the perceived transgression of gender roles that make up the anatomy of the female and non-cis-masculine presenting videoludic monster. Using Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village as my primary examples, in this article I unpack the implications of these fungus-infested women, and explore how family and trauma play a role in their narratives. EcoGothic Origins In defining the ecoGothic it is important to acknowledge its origins as a response to the idealised ecologies of the nature writing of the Romantic period (Smith and Hughes 2). Rather than sweeping through the green pastoral valleys of the Romantic novel, the ecoGothic lurks in the shadows of labyrinthine forests and stands awestruck before sublime wonders. The ecoGothic shatters the illusion of human control, confronting the audience with their fears and anxieties. The ecoGothic monsters of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard (referred to here as Resident Evil 7) and Resident Evil VIII: Village (referred to here as Village) represent deep-seated anxieties about the boundaries between the human and the non-human. Whilst Gothic narratives have traditionally expressed fears about the loss of control to nature, Estok notes that this loss of control is a real and present threat in the environmental crisis of the Anthropocene (Estok 29), lending these modern ecoGothic monsters additional relevance and potency. The ecoGothic challenges human corporeality through transformation, hybridity, and invasion, destabilising our ideas of the human as separate from, and superior to, the greater ecology. It is vital to interrogate assumptions associated with the false dichotomy between humans and nature to demonstrate the anxieties at play within these manifestations of female eco-monstrosity. As Tidwell notes, ecohorror narratives are “fundamentally predicated upon a relationship between humanity and nature that does not allow for their interconnectedness” (539). These games, through the compromised, infected form of the protagonist, problematise the dichotomy between the good of humanity and the evil of the non-human. However, they still weaponise anxieties about human specificity and depict hybridity as monstrous and unstable. The patriarchal fear of transgressive female power is similarly weaponised through the female antagonists. These monstrous female antagonists are used to police boundaries of acceptable womanhood and their fates demonstrate the dangers of transgressing those boundaries. Through an ecofeminist lens we can examine the interplay between anxieties surrounding gender and anxieties surrounding the wildness and unpredictability of the ecology. As the intersection between ecocriticism, which is interested in the interconnectedness of ecologies, and feminism, which is interested in the “social analysis” of power structures and systems of domination (Carr 160), ecofeminism allows us to analyse the subjugation, exploitation, and demonisation of the feminine and the broader ecology. Part of what makes a female monster so threatening is that she transgresses two societal modes of categorisation. She is a predator rather than prey, no longer fitting the submissive female archetype, and she has become a hybrid form closely associated with the animal. Krzywinska highlights the role of this altered power relationship as being a potent manifestation of the Gothic in video games (33). This common expression of transgressive and monstrous female power draws on the traditional role of the Gothic in facilitating the male experience of fear and vulnerability with impunity (Krzywinska 33). Resident Evil as a video game series has an inconsistent history of depicting women and female-presenting entities, both antagonists and protagonists alike. MacCallum-Stewart asserts that the series’ shift towards more problematic and monstrous female representation coincides with a move from action-adventure to survival horror (170). The series has long been preoccupied with monstrous inheritance and legacy, but Resident Evil 7 and Village represent a new move towards female villains, abandoning patriarchal dynasties like the Weskers. The female ecoGothic monsters of Resident Evil 7 and Village transgress gender and species norms, signifying a move further into the ecoGothic realm of the uncanny. The Technology of Ecohorror The Resident Evil series uses science fiction conventions to explain the mystery that lies at the centre of its horrific spectacles. Despite the distinctly ecoGothic affect of Resident Evil 7 and Village, the ’scientific’ explanation provided in-game for these supernatural occurrences is a mutated fungus with psychotropic and self-replicating properties. The Cadou (Romanian for “gift”) is a fictional fungus developed from a fungal root under the village, and altered to create bioweapons by a shadowy organisation, The Connections. Known as the megamycete in the English script (not used in the Japanese script), the fungus has various effects including controlling its host, retaining and replicating genetic information, and rapid growths capable of focussed movement. A second fungal root was established in Louisiana, under the Baker House of Resident Evil 7. As a locus of human anxiety, fungal bodies are inherently unstable and defy characterisation, thus queering ideas of the corporeal body (Bishop et al. 220). Bishop posits that in the human consciousness fungus is closely linked to the animal as they live on “dead or decomposing matter”. Some fungal species reproduce asexually “through the release of spores that produces new organisms that are genetically identical to the parent organism” (Bishop et al. 204). This asexual reproduction means that fictional fungal bodies are representative of a reproductive process that runs contrary to the human-sanctioned sexual reproduction and established gendered power dynamics. Reproduction through tiny spores allows the site of reproduction to go undetected, opening the possibility within the human imagination for the invasion and violation of the human form. Bishop also notes that fungal bodies “are hardly contained organisms; they form complex systems of mycorrhizae, symbiotic underground relationships with other fungal and vegetal life” (Bishop et al. 204). It is this resistance to categorisation is an emergent theme as we define the parameters of these female eco-monsters. Whilst the fungal properties of the Cadou are behind the malevolent forces at work within Resident Evil 7 and Village, the mould and associated slime are a looming presence in the bulk of the gameplay. It clings to the walls in the Baker house and lurks in the shadows of the Village. It exists within the interior and exterior of the human body, threatening to control, corrupt, and engulf. The invasive presence of the mould in the Old House places the phenomenon firmly in the domestic sphere, in the space to which the matriarch of the family, Marguerite, is bound (McGreevy et al. 254). Hurley notes that slime “constitutes a threat to the integrity of the human subject” (35), due to its lack of fixed identity and form. Slime represents a challenge to the human understanding of the body as a closed system that is impenetrable and self-contained. Estok posits that slime’s resistance to categorisation and refusal to fit within male delineated boundaries creates an association with the feminine (33). Slime is unstable and resists control, making it a culturally pervasive expression of fears about the loss of established systems of power that reinforce sexism and misogyny (Estok 31). This theory of the gendered significance of slime brings new meaning to use of the mould and slime forms of the Cadou for the purposes of unnatural reproduction and the exercising of psychological control. The abhuman, or not-quite-human (Hurley 3), spectacles of Resident Evil’s Cadou infected antagonists are able to be at once tragic and disposable. While the player is required to kill vast hordes of amorphous “molded”, emaciated “thralls” and degenerated “lycans”, the humanoid bosses or key antagonists complicate human claims to exceptionalism and specificity. Tidwell notes that “this breakdown of the animacy hierarchy and of separations between human and nonhuman emphasizes materiality itself and de-emphasizes consciousness or sentience” (546). It is implied that we are to think of the zombie-like hordes of non-player combatants as non-sentient, as under the complete control of the non-human, therefore entirely expendable. This othering of non-player combatant is a staple of the survival horror genre as it offers monstrosity as both motive and mitigation. As Perron notes, the monsters of videoludic horror are constructed from “mundane” player anxieties, allowing the player to kill that which they fear (11). The Scientist and the ‘Broodmother’ The dangerous potential of the grieving mother is demonstrated in the actions of Mother Miranda, whose loss of her daughter Eva serves as the catalyst for the Cadou narrative arc of Resident Evil 7 and Village. Miranda, through her experimentation with the mould and her pathological determination to resurrect her child, becomes a monstrous maternal spectacle. Miranda forces both children and adults to become infantilised, deferential hosts to the Cadou, attempting to create a “vessel” to carry her daughter’s DNA and consciousness. As Paxton notes, such monstrous and destructive maternal behaviour is “pathologized as unnatural and identified as the seamy underside of woman’s nature” (170). This depiction of unnatural maternal behaviour is compounded by her means of reproduction and the multitudes of “children” she has produced. Stang notes that “the monster polices the borders of what is permissible” and Miranda’s status as the “Broodmother”, through her complex combination of asexual reproduction and infection, represents transgressions of those borders that circumvent patriarchal processes (235). Killing Miranda is the culmination of a two-game arc that requires the player-character to kill her “false children”. The similarities between the unnatural birth of Frankenstein’s creature and the unnatural birth of Miranda’s children are significant. Facilitated by science and societal transgression, they are constructed from death and ultimately result in parental rejection. Miranda cements her status as the monstrous mother by revealing that the player has been doing her bidding in killing her children: "you've fulfilled your purpose, Mr. Winters. You disposed of my false children and awakened the glorious Megamycete” (Sato). In creating these “children” and then casting them aside, Mother Miranda fashions a hierarchy of hybrid entities, desperate for her approval and under her thrall due to the controlling properties of the Cadou. The player-character’s mission to kill Miranda as the monstrous maternal figure expresses a “revulsion and fear towards female fecundity” and a “potent fear” of “female reproduction without male input” (Stang 238). The damage perpetuated by Miranda’s unnatural motherhood is far reaching, with one of her “failed vessels”, Eveline, becoming the source of the Louisiana Cadou infestation from Resident Evil 7. Eveline was originally created as a bioweapon (or B.O.W.) using the DNA of Miranda’s dead daughter and a sample of the Cadou mould. Manifesting as a ten-year old girl, Eveline has an insatiable drive to create a family which motivates her manipulation and infection of the Bakers, Mia, and the play-character Ethan. "I don't want to live at the lab anymore. I want a house. And I want you to be my mommy" says Eveline to Mia (Nakanishi). Eveline’s ability to reproduce and infect is even more monstrous and abject than that of her “Broodmother” as she is ostensibly a young girl. Her status as an uncanny, abhuman “mother” is not a means of empowerment and comes at a tremendous cost. As Stang writes the ecoGothic mother’s reproductive power “is often the result of infection, contamination, or mutation and causes abject transformations, madness, and, eventually, death at the hands of the protagonist” (238). Therefore, with each one of these abject mothers Ethan kills he is completing the patriarchal narrative of the dangers of unnatural reproduction and matriarchal power structures. The Abhuman Mother Resident Evil 7 antagonist Marguerite Baker is already a mother when the Cadou, brought into her home by Eveline, establishes fungal growths on her brain. She and Jack take in Eveline and Mia out of a genuine human concern and compassion which has completely disappeared by the time Ethan arrives in the home. Soon Eveline’s drive for a family kicks in and she begins to insidiously control the Bakers, worming her way into their psyche and infecting them with the mould. From this point on Marguerite begins to mutate into a maternal monster, referring to spiders and insects as her babies. Not only does her nurturing begin to transgress species, but she begins to feed her human family human flesh, creating grotesque parodies of the nurturing and nourishing mother: "I'll feed you to my babies and fertilize the garden with what was left" Marguerite to Ethan (Nakanishi). As Marguerite begins her homicidal pursuit of Ethan, the ecohorror of her monstrous body is revealed. She transforms becoming progressively less human. Her “monster” form, with its elongated limbs and mutated vulva, becomes more closely aligned with a female arthropod or arachnid. McGreevy et al notes that “Marguerite’s transformation mirrors the impact of mycoestrogens, such as zearalenone, which the body treats as a high dose of estrogen … . The infection thus amplifies feminine traits to a dangerous level, as the female body is abject: horrific and alluring” (261). The insects that are birthed from her genitals have an intrinsic association with death and decomposition, playing a key role in the process of disarticulating the human form (Shelomi 31). From this association we might infer that the fear and disgust the player feels at Marguerite’s association with insects and her mutated arachnid form goes beyond anxieties of ambiguity between the human and the non-human. The Eastern European castle and snow-capped peaks of Village offer a different type of female monstrosity to that found on the bayou in Louisiana. Whilst not a vampire through the traditional transmission mode of Dracula and his ilk, Alcina Dimitrescu’s vampirism is necessitated by an inherited blood condition and invites discussion of matriarchal lines of reproduction. The inhabitants of the Castle Dimitrescu play into the same ecoGothic conventions as that have been employed in female vampire narratives. These narratives play into anxieties about unnatural reproduction, in this case reproduction without the men or masculine forces. Paxton in their exploration of Le Fanu’s Carmilla draws connections between female vampirism and parasitic ichneumon wasps, resonating with the depiction of Cadou infestation in Resident Evil (170). Like fungus vampirism is depicted as parasitic and a disruption to the patriarchal lineage through its potential for asexual reproduction. Not unlike the structure of infection, psychic control, and reproduction that we see in vampire fiction, Mother Miranda operates as matriarchal head of an expansive hivemind that mimics a family like structure. Alcina Dimitrescu is a sexualised spectacle whose rejection and suspicion of men reinforces her role as a transgressive woman. Alcina and her daughters determine the fates of their victims by gender, with men being consumed and women being enslaved and drained of blood for the production of wine. She further transgresses normative expectations of the mother through the animalism associated with vampirism (Paxton 178) and her stature. She is an imposing nine feet tall with rapidly growing claws due to the effects of the Cadou, making her difficult to dominate through brute strength. Further compounding her threat to patriarchal power structures, she explicitly expresses hatred for men during her attacks. Her voice lines demonstrate a powerful drive to protect her daughters from patriarchal power and masculine violence: “You ungrateful, selfish wretch! You come into MY house—You lay your filthy man-hands on MY daughters”—Alcina Dimetrescu to Ethan (Sato). Depicted as a beautiful, elegant lady, the vampiric body of Alcina Dimitrescu, transforms into a grotesque dragon-like creature, providing visual confirmation of her underlying status as non-human. The abhuman as the covert and deceptive non-human monstrosity plays into her late-stage transformation reinforces her disconnect from the human, legitimising her death. Mother Miranda’s daughter Donna Beneviento poses a deeper psychological threat to the player, stepping further away from the action-adventure genre with which Resident Evil has previously been associated. Like Marguerite, her house manifests her psychological state, reflecting her trauma and implied mental illness. This trauma manifests externally, turning the Beneviento mansion into an extension of her psychic agency. She achieves this through the use of secreted fungal hallucinogens activated by pollen allowing her to manifest and prey on the anxieties of her victims. Donna Beneviento’s relationship to her Cadou infested and their uncanny animation echoes the unnatural reproduction of Mother Miranda. Throughout the Beneviento mansion motifs of parenthood and childbirth play out in increasingly grotesque forms, culminating in a giant foetus monster emerging from the shadows, wailing and giggling. Donna Beneviento is playing with Ethan expressing her status as child, despite the reality of her adulthood. Donna is infantilised, crafting dolls in an expression her loneliness and desire for family in a manner similar to Eveline’s misguided attempts to construct a family. The Sanctioned Mother and the Good Daughter The counterpoint to these spectacles of female monstrosity are female characters who manage to maintain the appearance of human specificity and adherence to societal norms. Marguerite’s daughter Zoe remains relatively unaffected by the Cadou and retains her humanity, aligning herself with the player-character. She is the good daughter, the sanctioned and acceptable human daughter. Ethan’s wife Mia is intermittently affected by the same fungal infestation as Marguerite, yet her initial monstrous manifestation and frenzied chainsaw attack on Ethan at the beginning of the game is all but forgotten through her subsequent ability to maintain the appearance of human specificity. By the beginning of Village Mia is depicted as an ideal picture of rehabilitated motherhood and femininity. Positioning herself as the “good” in the good/bad mother dichotomy, she is cooking, wearing soft fabrics and colours, and is nurturing her baby (Digioia 15-16). But this figure of the socially sanctioned mother has been replaced by the “bad” Mother Miranda. This raises further questions about the illusory and performative qualities of maternal affection in the Resident Evil series. After being kidnapped, Ethan’s baby Rose is dissected into four parts and given to four main antagonists of Village. It is only through her integration with the Cadou and the resurrection procedure of Mother Miranda that she is revived. Rose’s resurrection is an obscured and noncorporeal affair, unlike the resurrection of Alcina Dimatrescu’s daughters Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra, which is documented in scientific detail. As a discarded “Insect observation journal” notes, their corpses became covered in carnivorous insects that “vigorously consume meat”, morphing and mutating to recreate their resurrected human forms (Sato). The visceral descriptions of this process and their subsequent ability to control hordes of insects are reminiscent Marguerite’s monster form. Like Mia and Zoe, Rose’s acceptability and status as the good daughter is predicated on her ability to adhere to societal norms and patriarchal categorisations. Conclusion In depicting female antagonists as ecoGothic monstrosities, Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village position the player character in vain defence of human specificity and supremacy. It is telling that, as a figure who has been unknowingly infected with the Cadou, Ethan Winters has already lost the battle against the parasitic invasion of his own corporeal form. By tapping into ecophobic anxieties about fungus and slime that defy categorisation, Resident Evil is able to challenge the player’s human specificity and agency. This lack of specificity and agency is only accentuated by the monstrous and transgressive presence of the unnatural mother and the dangerous female. It is this loss of control and vulnerability that is common to both the ecoGothic and the survival horror genre. By contrasting examples of the monstrous feminine with sanctioned feminine figures like Mia, Rose, and Zoe, Resident Evil 7: BioHazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village establish policeable boundaries for female behaviour and a means of justifying the killing of abhuman bodies. While the powerful monstrous female antagonists of the games are able to exert a phenomenal amount of agency when compared to their monstrous peers, their construction still plays into destructive misogynist and ecophobic ideas of the female and the non-human world. References Bishop, Katherine E., David Higgins, and Jerry Määttä. Plants in Science Fiction: Speculative Vegetation. Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2020. Carr, Emily. “The Riddle Was the Angel in the House: Towards an American Ecofeminist Gothic.” Ecogothic. Eds. Andrew Smith and William Hughes. United Kingdom: Manchester UP, 2016. 160-176. DiGioia, Amanda. Childbirth and Parenting in Horror Texts : The Marginalized and the Monstrous. Bingley: Emerald, 2017. Estok, Simon C. “Corporeality, Hyper-Consciousness, and the Anthropocene ecoGothic: Slime and Ecophobia”. Neohelicon 1 (2020). 27 Aug. 2021 <https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11059-020-00519-0>. Hurley, Kelly. The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. Krzywinska, Tanya. “The Gamification of Gothic Coordinates”. Revenant: Critical and Creative Studies of the Supernatural 1 (2015). 26 Aug. 2021 <http://www.revenantjournal.com/contents/the-gamification-of-gothic-coordinates-in-videogames/>. McGreevy, Alan, Christina Fawcett, and Marc A. Ouellette. “The House and the Infected Body: The Metonomy of Resident Evil 7.” 2020. 28 Aug. 2021 <https://digitalcommons.odu.edu/english_fac_pubs/155/>. Paxton, Amanda. “Mothering by Other Means: Parasitism and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla”. ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 1 (2021). 2 Aug. 2021 <https://doi-org.ezproxy-f.deakin.edu.au/10.1093/isle/isz119>. Perron, Bernard. The World of Scary Video Games: A Study in Videoludic Horror. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2018. Resident Evil 7: Biohazard. Dev. Koshi Nakanishi. Capcom 2017. Resident Evil Village. Dev. Morimasa Sato. Capcom, 2021. Shelomi, Matan. “Entomoludology: Arthropods in Video Games”. American Entomologist 2 (2019). 28 Aug. 2021 <https://doi.org/10.1093/ae/tmz028>. Smith, Andrew, and William Hughes. Introduction. In EcoGothic. Manchester University Press, 2015. Stang, Sarah. “The Broodmother as Monstrous – Feminine – Abject Maternity in Video Games.” 42 (2019). 28 Aug. 2021 <https://doi.org/10.7557/13.5014>. Tidwell, Christy. “Monstrous Natures Within: Posthuman and New Materialist Ecohorror in Mira Grant’s ‘Parasite’.” ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 3 (2014). 27 Aug. 2021 <https://www.jstor.org/stable/26430361>.

The recent threats to a presumed international order posed by acts of heightened terrorism have overshadowed the promise of an emergent order evoked by such concepts as ‘the third way’ and ‘the knowledge society’. Part of the problem with these notions is that they have resonance for only a fairly selective group of intellectuals. Additionally, the terms are somewhat amorphous, so they have not achieved secure purchase in the popular media. But their meanings are not necessarily cancelled by the disordering events of political extremism, worrying as those events are. In the domestic policies of governments, and in workplaces, these other calls to (a beneficent) order continue to be heard and acted upon. The questions are those one must ask of any putative order: what kind of order is it, and is it really beneficial? It is perhaps all the more important to ask these questions when we might be otherwise distracted by the more dramatic events. The End of History? Both the knowledge society and the third way are variations on the ‘end of history’ thesis proposed by the US political scientist, Francis Fukuyama, after the collapse of the Soviet Union. For Fukuyama, as is by now well known, this collapse (for him of Marxism or communism, not just of the Soviet Union) ushered in the triumph of liberalism and capitalism as practiced in the United States and other Western-style democracies. In the third way thesis, as propounded by Anthony Giddens and others, a similar conviction about the bankruptcy of Marxism is accompanied by a more tempered view of liberal capitalism. The third way is, in practice, a middle path between the two, one which recognizes the need for State intervention, not only to condition and discipline the market – which left to its own devices will inevitably have detrimental social effects – but also to facilitate optimum participation in society generally. Hence, the focus of governments on what they call ‘capacity building’, which strongly emphasizes education and training amongst their responsibilities. As a result, the antithesis between communism and capitalism can now appear to have been resolved in a higher synthesis, leaving no room for further dramatic shifts in social organization. The knowledge society – formerly and still sometimes referred to as ‘the knowledge economy’ – has a similar ‘end of history’ flavor because it promises to resolve or at least ameliorate class conflict. It is based on the idea that, increasingly, machines can perform repetitive work, and that basic necessities can be easily met in modern economies. This creates ample scope for product differentiation (niche marketing) and for the provision of cultural goods – entertainment and so on. Everybody will have the opportunity to learn and apply knowledge, and therefore find fulfilling work. Everybody will have the capacity to innovate, and therefore improve the company’s performance, by which each person gains satisfaction and a stake in the future of the business. Technology is also frequently evoked: the interactive new media are said to be particularly amenable to knowledge sharing and innovation. At least in theory, the knowledge society can itself be seen as a third way, or meeting point, between economics and culture, science and arts; and therefore all disciplines, all areas of education and training, are equally important to future social and economic wellbeing. Both these notions have their clear attractions, and can be logically argued to institute improvements on previous orders. But how fully can they achieve their promises, or more importantly, are their promised benefits not just logical entailments but reasonably certain consequences of their social realization? Or can this new order be exploited to the same ends as previous orders? In this short essay, I can do no more than signal a few warnings or reservations concerning the promises that have been made. Social Unity? First of all, both concepts appeal to a putative unity of society, typically grounded in such notions as ‘social capital’ or ‘civil society’. This is problematic, if it is suspected that such unity is a chimera, impossible to achieve, and indeed a dangerous ambition in that it licenses the powerful to find a scapegoat for its elusiveness. Glyn Daly sums the situation up as follows: In every attempt to command the social terrain – to create an antagonism-free new order – various culprits are identified and made responsible for the original loss, or theft, of the fantastical object: Society, Harmony, Salvation, etc. Indeed, the very construction(s) of the social might be understood as a never-ending attempt to solve the original ‘crime’: to identify who has possession of the lost/stolen objects that would enable the full realization/representation of ‘us’. (79) So today, in my own country, New Zealand, we are given a false picture of a nation that lacks enterprise, drives away its best young intellects, can’t convert ideas into business reality, and so on. That paradise of the past when we ‘punched above our weight’, produced Nobel Prize winners and dominated the world in sports, has been stolen away from us. But all around is evidence that is at least partially to the contrary (it is also a fact that it is a big world, and the rest of it is catching up to our once privileged position). Any edition of the Dominion Post’s technology supplement, Info Tech Weekly, is bursting with technological and new media success stories: new start-ups, joint ventures, profitable sellouts, investment from overseas, revolutionary software, value-added agricultural products. Some of these crash and burn: contrary to the myth about the over-gentle, risk-averse New Zealanders, this is sometimes the result of brashness, rashness, and arrogance. New Artisans? Secondly, similar promises about new and improved orders of capitalism have been made before, but the situation was turned to the advantage of capital. In his book on Walter Benjamin, Julian Roberts refers to the ‘cooperative patterns of control’ implied by technology in the new order emerging between the wars. The production management systems that came to be known as Taylorism and Fordism, for example, by instituting processes based on the division of labor, ensured – in theory – that all participants in production were mutually dependent and therefore in some sense equal. Roberts suggests that these new arrangements threatened the old dispensation centered on private ownership of the means of production, and corrective action was not long following. ‘In order to retain this ownership, capitalism . . . resorted to a number of stratagems of which the most important was the division of the world into thinkers and doers, directors and directed, controllers and controlled’ (170). Does contemporary technology, particularly the advent of computers and the Internet as a significant means of production, imply a change in the pattern of control? Conceivably, computer technology and virtual knowledge products (software, etc.) could facilitate a return to a widespread artisan-like mode of production, and we see this to some extent in the new start-ups based on one or a few individuals, engaged in small-scale production. But we have also already seen that where these new enterprises are successful, they tend to expand and subsume, or are bought out by larger concerns. Significantly, we are in a business climate that remains strongly pro-growth, a feature of which is the repeated exhortation of self-employed or small firms to expand, to gear up to an export level of production. In the dissemination of this entrepreneurial message, the business media, which have themselves multiplied in recent years, have played a prominent role. Diverse and Mutually Enriching Knowledges? The concept of knowledge society has come to privilege science and technology. In the news media, as influenced by powerful interests, knowledge society and science and technology are more or less conflated. They are as well in the minds of important people, including those in the all-important research-funding bodies. A pertinent example in New Zealand is the Foundation for Research, Science and Technology. While official foundation publicity is relatively embracing of different approaches to knowledge – ‘the concept of a knowledge society includes the creation, distribution and application of new knowledge to all aspects and across all parts of society’ (FRST, “Foundation’s Role” 4) – specific individual pronouncements betray the actual emphases. For example, in announcing the appointment of a new CEO, the foundation’s Chairman, Neil Richardson said: ‘We live in exciting times and one can sense that the country is finally embracing the value of science and innovation and with it, the concept of a knowledge economy’ (FRST, “Permanent CEO” 1). By such means, ‘knowledge society’ is being used to maintain a division between science and arts, science and culture, when the term’s initial appearance promised a new or renewed awareness of the entanglement of these categories. (This is an outcome which has been only partly mitigated by the burgeoning of the creative industries, since there has been a trend to coining other terms such as ‘the creative economy’ to characterize this phenomenon.) In consequence, a fully nuanced evaluation of the role of scientific and technological development in contemporary society, as well as of its creeping commercialization, is further postponed. Conclusion Immanuel Wallerstein suggests that what he calls the Capitalist World-System has entered a period of transition towards a new system that may or may not be better than the present one. It is possible to imagine that the ‘third way’ and the ‘knowledge society’ – despite the reservations I have outlined – represent a moderating of the capitalist order that will usher in or help condition the arrival of the new. Or failing that, the privileging of knowledge will foster a reflectivity that will enable society to find a better way. Interestingly, however, Wallerstein suspects that such moderation will only prolong the current order, and that something more drastic (if not revolutionary) will be required in the long run if any significant improvement is to be achieved. And as far as reflectivity is concerned, the opposite is arguably true: that ‘knowledge’ merely serves rhetorically to conceal an intensification of the drive for profit and the general expansion of the business mentality. Note I am grateful for the comments of the anonymous referees of this article, which have been helpful in bringing it to its final form. References Daly, Glyn. ‘Politics and the Impossible: Beyond Psychoanalysis and Deconstruction’. Theory, Culture & Society 16.4 (1999): 75-98. Fukuyama, Francis. The End of History and the Last Man. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1992. Foundation for Research, Science and Technology, ‘The Foundation’s Role in Creating Value from Knowledge’. http://www.frst.govt.nz/public/thesource/FRSTrole.htm, 2001. Foundation for Research, Science and Technology. ‘Permanent CEO for FRST’. Media statement, 22 August, 2001. Giddens, Anthony. The Third Way: The Renewal of Social Democracy. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998. Roberts, Julian. Walter Benjamin. London: Macmillan, 1982. Wallerstein, Immanuel. Unthinking Social Science: The Limits of Nineteenth-century Paradigms. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Wallace, Derek. "Knowledge Society and Third Way: A New Beneficent Order?." M/C Journal 7.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/03-wallace.php>. APA Style Wallace, D. (Jan. 2005) "Knowledge Society and Third Way: A New Beneficent Order?," M/C Journal, 7(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/03-wallace.php>.

Property as both an idea and a practice has been interpreted through the prism of a liberal, law and economics paradigm since at least the 18th century. This dominant (and domineering) perspective stresses the primacy of individualism, the power of exclusion, and the values of private commodity. By contrast, concepts of property that evolved out of the counterculture of the 1960s and early 1970s challenged this hegemony. Countercultural, or Aquarian, ideas of property stressed pre-liberal, long forgotten property norms such as sociability, community, inclusion and personhood, and contested a private uniformity that seemed “totalizing and universalizing” (Blomley, Unsettling 102). This paper situates what it terms “Aquarian property” in the context of emergent property theory in the 1960s and 1970s, and the propertied practices these new theories engendered. Importantly, this paper also grounds Aquarian ideas of property to location. As legal geographers observe, the law inexorably occurs in place as well as time. “Nearly every aspect of law is located, takes place, is in motion, or has some spatial frame of reference” (Braverman et al. 1). Property’s radical yet simultaneously ancient alter-narrative found fertile soil where the countercultural experiment flourished. In Australia, one such place was the green, sub-tropical landscape of the New South Wales Northern Rivers, home of the 1973 Australian Union of Student’s Aquarius Festival at Nimbin. The Counterculture and Property Theory Well before the “Age of Aquarius” entered western youth consciousness (Munro-Clark 56), and 19 years before the Nimbin Aquarius Festival, US legal scholar Felix Cohen defined property in seminally private and exclusionary terms. To the world: Keep off X unless you have my permission, which I may grant or withhold.Signed: Private citizenEndorsed: The state. (374) Cohen’s formula was private property at its 1950s apogee, an unambiguous expression of its centrality to post-war materialism. William Blackstone’s famous trope of property as “that sole and despotic dominion” had become self-fulfilling (Rose, Canons). Why had this occurred? What had made property so narrow and instrumentalist to a private end? Several property theorists identify the enclosure period in the 17th and 18th centuries as seminal to this change (Blomley, Law; Graham). The enclosures, and their discourse of improvement and modernity, saw ancient common rights swept away in favour of the liberal private right. Property diversity was supplanted by monotony, group rights by the individual, and inclusion by exclusion. Common property rights were rights of shared use, traditionally agrarian incidents enjoyed through community membership. However, for the proponents of enclosure, common rights stood in the way of progress. Thus, what was once a vested right (such as the common right to glean) became a “mere practice”, condemned by its “universal promiscuity” and perceptions of vagrancy (Buck 17-8). What was once sited to context, to village and parish, evolved into abstraction. And what had meaning for person and place, “a sense of self; […] a part of a tribe’ (Neeson 180), became a tradable commodity, detached and indifferent to the consequences of its adverse use (Leopold). These were the transformed ideas of property exported to so-called “settler” societies, where colonialists demanded the secure property rights denied to them at home. In the common law tradition, a very modern yet selective amnesia took hold, a collective forgetting of property’s shared and sociable past (McLaren). Yet, property as commodity proved to be a narrow, one-sided account of property, an unsatisfactory “half right” explanation (Alexander 2) that omits inconvenient links between ownership on the one hand, and self and place on the other. Pioneering US conservationist Aldo Leopold detected as much a few years before Felix Cohen’s defining statement of private dominance. In Leopold’s iconic A Sand County Almanac, he wrote presciently of the curious phenomenon of hardheaded farmers replanting selected paddocks with native wildflowers. As if foreseeing what the next few decades may bring, Leopold describes a growing resistance to the dominant property paradigm: I call it Revolt – revolt against the tedium of the merely economic attitude towards land. We assume that because we had to subjugate the land to live on it, the best farm is therefore the one most completely tamed. These […] farmers have learned from experience that the wholly tamed farm offers not only a slender livelihood but a constricted life. (188)By the early 1960s, frustrations over the constrictions of post-war life were given voice in dissenting property literature. Affirming that property is a social institution, emerging ideas of property conformed to the contours of changing values (Singer), and the countercultural zeitgeist sweeping America’s universities (Miller). Thus, in 1964, Charles Reich saw property as the vanguard for a new civic compact, an ambitious “New Property” that would transform “government largess” into a property right to address social inequity. For Joseph Sax, property scholar and author of a groundbreaking citizen’s manifesto, the assertion of public property rights were critical to the protection of the environment (174). And in 1972, to Christopher Stone, it seemed a natural property incident that trees should enjoy equivalent standing to legal persons. In an age when “progress” was measured by the installation of plastic trees in Los Angeles median strips (Tribe), jurists aspired to new ideas of property with social justice and environmental resonance. Theirs was a scholarly “Revolt” against the tedium of property as commodity, an act of resistance to the centuries-old conformity of the enclosures (Blomley, Law). Aquarian Theory in Propertied Practice Imagining new property ideas in theory yielded in practice a diverse Aquarian tenure. In the emerging communes and intentional communities of the late 1960s and early 1970s, common property norms were unwittingly absorbed into their ethos and legal structure (Zablocki; Page). As a “way out of a dead-end future” (Smith and Crossley), a generation of young, mostly university-educated people sought new ways to relate to land. Yet, as Benjamin Zablocki observed at the time, “there is surprisingly little awareness among present-day communitarians of their historical forebears” (43). The alchemy that was property and the counterculture was given form and substance by place, time, geography, climate, culture, and social history. Unlike the dominant private paradigm that was placeless and universal, the tenurial experiments of the counter-culture were contextual and diverse. Hence, to generalise is to invite the problematic. Nonetheless, three broad themes of Aquarian property are discernible. First, property ceased being a vehicle for the acquisition of private wealth; rather it invested self-meaning within a communitarian context, “a sense of self [as] a part of a tribe.” Second, the “back to the land” movement signified a return to the country, an interregnum in the otherwise unidirectional post-enclosure drift to the city. Third, Aquarian property was premised on obligation, recognising that ownership was more than a bundle of autonomous rights, but rights imbricated with a corresponding duty to land health. Like common property and its practices of sustained yield, Aquarian owners were environmental stewards, with inter-connected responsibilities to others and the earth (Page). The counterculture was a journey in self-fulfillment, a search for personal identity amidst the empowerment of community. Property’s role in the counterculture was to affirm the under-regarded notion of property as propriety; where ownership fostered well lived and capacious lives in flourishing communities (Alexander). As Margaret Munro-Clark observed of the early 1970s, “the enrichment of individual identity or selfhood [is] the distinguishing mark of the current wave of communitarianism” (33). Or, as another 1970s settler remarked twenty years later, “our ownership means that we can’t liquefy our assets and move on with any appreciable amount of capital. This arrangement has many advantages; we don’t waste time wondering if we would be better off living somewhere else, so we have commitment to place and community” (Metcalf 52). In personhood terms, property became “who we are, how we live” (Lismore Regional Gallery), not a measure of commoditised worth. Personhood also took legal form, manifested in early title-holding structures, where consensus-based co-operatives (in which capital gain was precluded) were favoured ideologically over the capitalist, majority-rules corporation (Munro-Clark). As noted, Aquarian property was also predominantly rural. For many communitarians, the way out of a soulless urban life was to abandon its difficulties for the yearnings of a simpler rural idyll (Smith and Crossley). The 1970s saw an extraordinary return to the physicality of land, measured by a willingness to get “earth under the nails” (Farran). In Australia, communities proliferated on the NSW Northern Rivers, in Western Australia’s southwest, and in the rural hinterlands behind Queensland’s Sunshine Coast and Cairns. In New Zealand, intentional communities appeared on the rural Coromandel Peninsula, east of Auckland, and in the Golden Bay region on the remote northwestern tip of the South Island. In all these localities, land was plentiful, the climate seemed sunny, and the landscape soulful. Aquarians “bought cheap land in beautiful places in which to opt out and live a simpler life [...] in remote backwaters, up mountains, in steep valleys, or on the shorelines of wild coastal districts” (Sargisson and Sargent 117). Their “hard won freedom” was to escape from city life, suffused by a belief that “the city is hardly needed, life should spring out of the country” (Jones and Baker 5). Aquarian property likewise instilled environmental ethics into the notion of land ownership. Michael Metzger, writing in 1975 in the barely minted Ecology Law Quarterly, observed that humankind had forgotten three basic ecological laws, that “everything is connected to everything else”, that “everything must go somewhere”, and that “nature knows best” (797). With an ever-increasing focus on abstraction, the language of private property: enabled us to create separate realities, and to remove ourselves from the natural world in which we live to a cerebral world of our own creation. When we act in accord with our artificial world, the disastrous impact of our fantasies upon the natural world in which we live is ignored. (796)By contrast, Aquarian property was intrinsically contextual. It revolved around the owner as environmental steward, whose duty it was “to repair the ravages of previous land use battles, and to live in accord with the natural environment” (Aquarian Archives). Reflecting ancient common rights, Aquarian property rights internalised norms of prudence, proportionality and moderation of resource use (Rose, Futures). Simply, an ecological view of land ownership was necessary for survival. As Dr. Moss Cass, the Federal environment minister wrote in the preface to The Way Out: Radical Alternatives in Australia, ‘”there is a common conviction that something is rotten at the core of conventional human existence.” Across the Tasman, the sense of latent environmental crisis was equally palpable, “we are surrounded by glistening surfaces and rotten centres” (Jones and Baker 5). Property and Countercultural Place and Time In the emerging discipline of legal geography, the law and its institutions (such as property) are explained through the prism of spatiotemporal context. What even more recent law and geography scholarship argues is that space is privileged as “theoretically interesting” while “temporality is reduced to empirical history” (Braverman et al. 53). This part seeks to consider the intersection of property, the counterculture, and time and place without privileging either the spatial or temporal dimensions. It considers simply the place of Nimbin, New South Wales, in early May 1973, and how property conformed to the exigencies of both. Legal geographers also see property through the theory of performance. Through this view, property is a “relational effect, not a prior ground, that is brought into being by the very act of performance” (Blomley, Performing 13). In other words, doing does not merely describe or represent property, but it enacts, such that property becomes a reality through its performance. In short, property is because it does. Performance theory is liberating (Page et al) because it concentrates not on property’s arcane rules and doctrines, nor on the legal geographer’s alleged privileging of place over time, but on its simple doing. Thus, Nicholas Blomley sees private property as a series of constant and reiterative performances: paying rates, building fences, registering titles, and so on. Adopting this approach, Aquarian property is described as a series of performances, seen through the prism of the legal practitioner, and its countercultural participants. The intersection of counterculture and property law implicated my family in its performative narrative. My father had been a solicitor in Nimbin since 1948; his modest legal practice was conducted from the side annexe of the School of Arts. Equipped with a battered leather briefcase and a trusty portable typewriter, like clockwork, he drove the 20 miles from Lismore to Nimbin every Saturday morning. I often accompanied him on his weekly visits. Forty-one years ago, in early May 1973, we drove into town to an extraordinary sight. Seen through ten-year old eyes, surreal scenes of energy, colour, and longhaired, bare-footed young people remain vivid. At almost the exact halfway point in my father’s legal career, new ways of thinking about property rushed headlong and irrevocably into his working life. After May 1973, dinnertime conversations became very different. Gone was the mundane monopoly of mortgages, subdivisions, and cottage conveyancing. The topics now ranged to hippies, communes, co-operatives and shared ownerships. Property was no longer a dull transactional monochrome, a lifeless file bound in pink legal tape. It became an idea replete with diversity and innovation, a concept populated with interesting characters and entertaining, often quirky stories. If property is a narrative (Rose, Persuasion), then the micro-story of property on the NSW Northern Rivers became infinitely more compelling and interesting in the years after Aquarius. For the practitioner, Aquarian property involved new practices and skills: the registration of co-operatives, the drafting of shareholder deeds that regulated the use of common lands, the settling of idealistic trusts, and the ever-increasing frequency of visits to the Nimbin School of Arts every working Saturday. For the 1970s settler in Nimbin, performing Aquarian property took more direct and lived forms. It may have started by reading the open letter that festival co-organiser Graeme Dunstan wrote to the Federal Minister for Urban Affairs, Tom Uren, inviting him to Nimbin as a “holiday rather than a political duty”, and seeking his support for “a community group of 100-200 people to hold a lease dedicated to building a self-sufficient community [...] whose central design principles are creative living and ecological survival” (1). It lay in the performances at the Festival’s Learning Exchange, where ideas of philosophy, organic farming, alternative technology, and law reform were debated in free and unstructured form, the key topics of the latter being abortion and land. And as the Festival came to its conclusion, it was the gathering at the showground, titled “After Nimbin What?—How will the social and environmental experiment at Nimbin effect the setting up of alternative communities, not only in the North Coast, but generally in Australia” (Richmond River Historical Society). In the days and months after Aquarius, it was the founding of new communities such as Co-ordination Co-operative at Tuntable Creek, described by co-founder Terry McGee in 1973 as “a radical experiment in a new way of life. The people who join us […] have to be prepared to jump off the cliff with the certainty that when they get to the bottom, they will be all right” (Munro-Clark 126; Cock 121). The image of jumping off a cliff is a metaphorical performance that supposes a leap into the unknown. While orthodox concepts of property in land were left behind, discarded at the top, the Aquarian leap was not so much into the unknown, but the long forgotten. The success of those communities that survived lay in the innovative and adaptive ways in which common forms of property fitted into registered land title, a system otherwise premised on individual ownership. Achieved through the use of outside private shells—title-holding co-operatives or companies (Page)—inside the shell, the norms and practices of common property were inclusively facilitated and performed (McLaren; Rose, Futures). In 2014, the performance of Aquarian property endures, in the dozens of intentional communities in the Nimbin environs that remain a witness to the zeal and spirit of the times and its countercultural ideals. Conclusion The Aquarian idea of property had profound meaning for self, community, and the environment. It was simultaneously new and old, radical as well as ancient. It re-invented a pre-liberal, pre-enclosure idea of property. For property theory, its legacy is its imaginings of diversity, the idea that property can take pluralistic forms and assert multiple values, a defiant challenge to the dominant paradigm. Aquarian property offers rich pickings compared to the pauperised private monotone. Over 41 years ago, in the legal geography that was Nimbin, New South Wales, the imaginings of property escaped the conformity of enclosure. The Aquarian age represented a moment in “thickened time” (Braverman et al 53), when dissenting theory became practice, and the idea of property indelibly changed for a handful of serendipitous actors, the unscripted performers of a countercultural narrative faithful to its time and place. References Alexander, Gregory. Commodity & Propriety: Competing Visions of Property in American Legal Thought 1776-1970. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1999. Aquarian Archives. "Report into Facilitation of a Rural Intentional Community." Lismore, NSW: Southern Cross University. Blomley, Nicholas. Law, Space, and the Geographies of Power. New York: Guildford Press, 1994. Blomley, Nicholas. Unsettling the City: Urban Land and the Politics of Property. New York: Routledge, 2004. Blomley, Nicholas. “Performing Property, Making the World.” Social Studies Research Network 2053656. 5 Aug. 2013 ‹http://ssrn.com/abstract=2053656›. Braverman, Irus, Nicholas Blomley, David Delaney, and Sandy Kedar. The Expanding Spaces of Law: A Timely Legal Geography. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2014. Buck, Andrew. The Making of Australian Property Law. Sydney: Federation Press, 2006. Cock, Peter. Alternative Australia: Communities of the Future. London: Quartet Books, 1979. Cohen, Felix. “Dialogue on Private Property.” Rutgers Law Review 9 (1954): 357-387. Dunstan, Graeme. “A Beginning Rather than an End.” The Nimbin Good Times 27 Mar. 1973: 1. Farran, Sue. “Earth under the Nails: The Extraordinary Return to the Land.” Modern Studies in Property Law. Ed. Nicholas Hopkins. 7th edition. Oxford: Hart, 2013. 173-191. Graham, Nicole. Lawscape: Property, Environment, Law. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011. Jones, Tim, and Ian Baker. A Hard Won Freedom: Alternative Communities in New Zealand. Auckland: Hodder & Staughton, 1975. Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac with Other Essays on Conservation from Round River. New York: Ballantine Books, 1966. Lismore Regional Gallery. “Not Quite Square: The Story of Northern Rivers Architecture.” Exhibition, 13 Apr. to 2 June 2013. McLaren, John. “The Canadian Doukhobors and the Land Question: Religious Communalists in a Fee Simple World.” Land and Freedom: Law Property Rights and the British Diaspora. Eds. Andrew Buck, John McLaren and Nancy Wright. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, 2001. 135-168. Metcalf, Bill. Co-operative Lifestyles in Australia: From Utopian Dreaming to Communal Reality. Sydney: UNSW Press, 1995. Miller, Timothy. The 60s Communes: Hippies and Beyond. Syracuse: Syracuse UP, 1999. Munro-Clark, Margaret. Communes in Rural Australia: The Movement since 1970. Sydney: Hale & Iremonger, 1986. Neeson, Jeanette M. Commoners: Common Right, Enclosure and Social Change in England, 1700-1820. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996. Page, John. “Common Property and the Age of Aquarius.” Griffith Law Review 19 (2010): 172-196. Page, John, Ann Brower, and Johannes Welsh. “The Curious Untidiness of Property and Ecosystem Services: A Hybrid Method of Measuring Place.” Pace Environmental Law Rev. 32 (2015): forthcoming. Reich, Charles. “The New Property.” Yale Law Journal 73 (1964): 733-787. Richmond River Historical Society Archives. “After Nimbin What?” Nimbin Aquarius file, flyer. Lismore, NSW. Rose, Carol M. Property and Persuasion Essays on the History, Theory, and Rhetoric of Ownership. Boulder: Westview, 1994. Rose, Carol M. “The Several Futures of Property: Of Cyberspace and Folk Tales, Emission Trades and Ecosystems.” Minnesota Law Rev. 83 (1998-1999): 129-182. Rose, Carol M. “Canons of Property Talk, or Blackstone’s Anxiety.” Yale Law Journal 108 (1998): 601-632. Sargisson, Lucy, and Lyman Tower Sargent. Living in Utopia: New Zealand’s Intentional Communities. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2004. Sax, Joseph L. Defending the Environment: A Strategy for Citizen Action. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1971. Singer, Joseph. “No Right to Exclude: Public Accommodations and Private Property.” Nw. U.L.Rev. 90 (1995): 1283-1481. Smith, Margaret, and David Crossley, eds. The Way Out: Radical Alternatives in Australia. Melbourne: Lansdowne Press, 1975. Stone, Christopher. “Should Trees Have Standing? Toward Legal Rights for Natural Objects.” Southern Cal. L. Rev. 45 (1972): 450-501. Tribe, Laurence H. “Ways Not to Think about Plastic Trees: New Foundations for Environmental Law.” Yale Law Journal 83 (1973-1974): 1315-1348. Zablocki, Benjamin. Alienation and Charisma: A Study of Contemporary American Communes. New York: Free Press, 1980.

Dear readers,We offer you a new English issue of Envigogika which thematically focuses on case studies of regional sustainable development where social actors play specific roles in communication processes – it documents both the promotion of positive changes at regional level and/or also provide evidence to illuminate seemingly unresolvable conflicts. The concept of social learning from an educational point of view frames this thematic edition – as with any other learning process, stakeholder dialogue has a transformative aspect, the opportunity to confront and possibly change opinions and act on the basis of agreed emergent standpoints. In particular, this collection of case studies specifically tries to illuminate role of science and education in regional development, and attempts to introduce methods of analysis of diverse social relationships as well as practical ways of facilitation of communication processes.In this issue of Envigogika two types of case studies are presented – regional development and regional conflicts. Progress in both is highly dependent on the involvement of actors who shape discussions and consequently frame the issue. Analysis of social aspects is hence highly desirable and first steps undertaken here show some interesting results.The first area of interest (development issues) is a traditional focus of Actor Analysis (AA) and this method is widely used abroad in the envisioning stage and helps to facilitate negotiation processes. In the Czech context however, deliberation processes take place rather spontaneously and without a proper analytical stage, and reflections on negotiations in specific cases illustrates exactly this. A hypothesis about the need for continuous cultivation of democratic conditions in the Czech Republic, (with help of sound scientific analytical methods) specifically concerning deliberation processes, was posed as a result of a collaborative research process. This hypothesis was explored in different ways by our invited authors.To provide a brief overview of the issue:Simon Burandt, Fabienne Gralla and Beatrice John in their article Actor Analysis in Case Studies for (regional) Sustainable Development introduce the Actor Analysis analytical tool used to reflect regional (sustainable) development challenges throughout several articles in this issue. This method can be used with the aim not only of studying social capital, but also to have an impact on decision making and community choices. Its role in describing social players and their interactions, to assist in understanding regional development processes and potential conflicts, and to provide information for strategy development is demonstrated through a specific case (the Ore Mountains). The steps of an actor analysis described in the article can be read as guideline for implementing this analysis and an analytical perspective on this process is provided by this article.An outstanding Czech sustainability oriented local economy project is presented in an article by Jan Labohý, Yvonna Gaillyová and Radim Machů: A sustainability assessment of the Hostětín cider house project. The authors assess the sustainability of the project in relation to different kinds of capital using complex indicators that uncover different aspects of the production process and its local cultural characteristics; moreover, effects to the local economy are measured using the local multiplier effect indicator. From this assessment it is clear that the cider house project meets the primary goals of regional sustainable development in a long term perspective.Another – opposite, negative – case is described by Jan Skalík in the analyses the Debate about the Šumava National Park in the Czech Chamber of Deputies. The article demonstrates persisting conflict and its roots with help of the text analysis method applied to the transcripts of parliamentary debates about National Park Šumava (ŠNP) in the Chamber of Deputies between 1990 and 2013. The relationship between politicians and local people within decision-making process, which is depicted as a consequence of this conflict, is then discussed. Interesting conclusions concern the plurality of dialogue and roles of the actors within it; the influence of scientists on the solutions; and the inflammatory and emotional characteristics of recent debate.As a contrast, which serves as a counterargument to show the power of civic society, Vendula Zahumenská refers to a case in Hradec Králové where environmentalists and local developers have been in conflict concerning the development and commercial use of the Na Plachtě natural monument. This case study shows the role of public participation in environmental protection and describes the specific opportunities for influencing environmental decision-making.But there are cases in CR where declared economic interests are so strong that they eliminate dialogue with civic society – for example, as a result of brown coal mining and its associated industrial development, 106 towns and villages were obliterated in North Bohemia and its population was resettled to newly built prefabricated housing estates. A Case study analysing biographic interviews with the displaced people of Tuchomyšl is presented by Ivana Hermová. The author shows that the former Tuchomyšlers continue to identify strongly with the social space of the obliterated village, and discovers how they reflect on their forced eviction 35 years after the physical destruction of the village.That these conclusions concerning the involvement of social actors might be reflected (and used) in the practice of school education, is described by Alois Hynek, Břetislav Svozil, Jakub Trojan and Jan Trávníček. In a reflection on the Deblínsko landscape project these authors refer to the roles of stakeholders including a university, primary school and kindergarten, and also owners, users, decision-makers, shareholders and stakeholders within public administration. The project is driven by Masaryk University which applies sustainability/security concepts in practice while closely relating these activities with research and teaching. This experience shows that social learning processes can start early among children/pupils/students.A brief analytical overview of cases in this special issue, as well as an overview of information and experiences from a database of case studies from different regions of the Czech Republic and from abroad (compiled by authors beyond the scope of this issue), is provided in an article Potential for social learning in sustainable regional development: analysis of stakeholder interaction … by Jana Dlouhá and Martin Zahradník. The conditions for the success or failure of environmental or sustainable development strategies from a social point of view have been analysed here with a focus on the roles of actors in a dialogue about regional sustainability issues within cooperative or conflict situations and concern for the communication processes among actors, scientists included. As a result of this analysis, interesting hypotheses were formulated, related to the role of future visioning as a ground for discussion, communication frameworks which involve all concerned actors, and the (non)existence of facilitation practices. These findings highlight the importance of reflecting on development issues’ social aspects to help understand and promote democratic decision making processes at regional level.The case studies which follow the research section of the issue take the opportunity to provide a colourful depiction of local sustainable development conditions. The Description of old industrial regions in Europe and potential for their transformation is described by Joern Harfst and David Osebik who stress social learning as an important transformative factor. In particular the involvement of research partners may support joint learning effects and knowledge transfer between all actors. Establishment of trusting working relationships may be crucial to overcome certain reservations on all sides before innovative approaches can be pursued successfully.The Vulkanland case study case written by Michael Ober traces the first glimpses of a sustainable development vision for a border region with little hope for economic prosperity to the successful development of a new identity which has reinforced local peoples’ self-confidence. The initiators of the project first imagined a future built on different standards than the past and consequently managed to substantially transform this region within a period of 15 years. The ‘Steirisches Vulkanland’ region now includes 79 municipalities which together promote local, green, self-sustaining businesses and continue to be ambitious about their future visions including achieving energy independence.As part of the theme illustrated in this Special issue and mentioned also within the analysis of the cases is a text Discovery of a supposed extinct settlement species made at Königsmühle in the Ore Mountains (published previously in Envigogika 9/1 last year but worth republishing in English in the context of this thematic issue). Author Petr Mikšíček pays attention to footprints left in the landscape by bygone generations of inhabitants (and also to present-day footprints left by our generation) and struggles to retain this memory for future generations. Clashes with the interests of some of the actors (land owners in this case) are necessary to preserve the footprints that are on the brink of being wiped out.A brief introduction to the new publication Analysis and support for participatory decision-making processes aimed at regional sustainable development strategies through the use of actor analysis methodology which is available fully online here is presented in the Information section of the Issue.From this overview, some general conclusions can be derived:Conflict situations described in this issue emerged when traditional concepts were enforced by strong actors (without joint envisioning and planning with the others); these circumstances usually do not allow for balanced discussions about the future. However the important role of minor actors such as scientists was also revealed. Experiences with their involvement provided a chance to highlight the role of scientists in policy-making.Based on the findings of this and other related research, the role of scientists can be framed not only as providers of the (rather technical) expertise to reach the goals that were set within the environment or SD oriented decision-making, but also as entering policy negotiations providing an insight into the processes they undergo. If invited at an early stage of decision-making, they can have a considerable impact on its results (then their involvement can be described as an action research). This finding might be used in planning of similar practical and scientific projects.As we can see, several interesting ideas resulted from a comparative meta-analysis of the case studies and were outlined in this issue of Envigogika. In general, it is a social point of view that provides an insight into the nature of the examples presented from the Czech Republic and the good practices from abroad. A scientific method of description is used here to reflect policy mechanisms as well as to indicate a way forward for integrating decision making practice into very sensitive, local or regional sustainability contexts. We sincerely hope that this will precipitate a broad process of public dialogue among experts as well as other actors – beyond the realm of academic discussions only, but nevertheless with substantial academic input.We wish you an enjoyable read and a pleasant and relaxing summer!On behalf of the Envigogika editorial teamJana and Jiří DlouhýAcknowledgementResearch in several articles of this issue was supported by the following projects: Interdisciplinary network of cooperation for policy development in the field of sustainable development (Mezioborová síť spolupráce pro policy development v oblasti udržitelného rozvoje – MOSUR, 2011‑2014) CZ.1.07_2.4.00_17.0130 from the OPVK program of Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports; and TD020120 (TAČR), and 14/36005S (GAČR).

Teichman notes in her study of illegitimacy that “the point of the legitimate/illegitimate distinction is not to cause suffering; rather, it has to do with certain widespread human aims connected with the regulation of sexual activities and of population” (4). She also writes that, until relatively recently, “the shame of being an unmarried mother was the worst possible shame a woman could suffer” (119). Hence the secrecy, silences, and lies that used to be so common around the issue of an illegitimate birth and adoption.I was adopted at birth in the mid-1960s in New Zealand because my mother was a long way from family in England and had no support. She and my father had fallen in love, and planned to marry, but it all fell apart, and my mother was left with decisions to make. It was indeed a difficult time for unwed mothers, and that issue of shame and respectability was in force. The couple who adopted me were in their late forties and had been married for twenty-five years. My adoptive father had served in World War Two in the Royal Air Force before being invalided out for health problems associated with physical and psychological injuries. He was working in the same organisation as my mother and approached her when he learned of her situation. My adoptive mother loved England as her Home all of her life, despite living in Australia permanently from 1974 until her death in 2001. I did not know of my adoption until 1988, when I was twenty-three years old. The reasons for this were at least partly to do with my adoptive parents’ fear that I would leave them to search for my birth parents. My feelings about this long-held secret are complex and mixed. My adoptive mother never once mentioned my adoption, not on the day I was told by my adoptive father, nor at any point afterwards. My adoptive father only mentioned it again in the last two years of his life, after a long estrangement from me, and it made him weep. Even in the nursing home he did not want me to tell anyone that I had been adopted. It was impossible for me to obey this request, for my sense of self and my own identity, and for the recognition of the years of pain that I had endured as his daughter. He wanted to keep so much a secret; I could not, and would not, hold anything back anymore.And so I found myself telling anyone who would listen that I was adopted, and had only found out as an adult. This did not transmogrify into actively seeking out my birth parents, at least not immediately. It took some years before I obtained my original birth certificate, and then a long while again before I searched for, and found, my birth mother. It was not until my adoptive mother died that I launched into the search, probably because I did not want to cause her pain, though I did not consciously think of it that way. I did not tell my adoptive father of the search or the discovery. This was not an easy decision, as my birth mother would have liked to see him again and thank him, but I knew that his feelings were quite different and I did not want to risk further hurt to either my birth mother or my adoptive father. My own pain endures.I also found myself writing about my family. Other late discovery adoptees, as we are known, have written of their experiences, but not many. Maureen Watson records her shock at being told by her estranged husband when she was 40 years old; Judith Lucy, the comedian, was told in her mid-twenties by her sister-in-law after a tumultuous Christmas day; the Canadian author Wayson Choy was in his late fifties when he received a mysterious phone call from a woman about seeing his “other” mother on the street.I started with fiction, making up fairy tales or science fiction scenarios, or one act plays, or poetry, or short stories. I filled notebooks with these words of confusion and anger and wonder. Eventually, I realised I needed to write about my adoptive life in fuller form, and in life story mode. The secrecy and silences that had dominated my family life needed to be written out on the page and given voice and legitimacy by me. For years I had thought my father’s mental disturbance and destructive behaviour was my fault, as he often told me it was, and I was an only child isolated from other family and other people generally. My adoptive mother seemed to take the role of the shadow in the background, only occasionally stepping forward to curb my father’s disturbing and paranoid reactions to life.The distinction between legitimacy and illegitimacy may not have been created and enforced to cause suffering, but that, of course, is what it did for many caught in its circle of grief and exclusion. For me, I did not feel the direct effect of being illegitimate at birth, because I did not “know”. (What gathered in my unconscious over the years was another thing altogether.) This was different for my birth mother, who suffered greatly during the time she was pregnant, hoping something would happen that would enable her to keep me, but finally having to give me up. She does not speak of shame, only heartache. My adoptive father, however, felt the shame of having to adopt a child; I know this because he told me in his own words at the end of his life. Although I did not know of my adoption until I was an adult, I picked up his fear of my inadequacy for many years beforehand. I realise now that he feared that I was “soiled” or “tainted”, that the behaviour of my mother would be revisited in me, and that I needed to be monitored. He read my letters, opened my diaries, controlled my phone calls, and told me he had spies watching me when I was out of his range. I read in Teichman’s work that the word “bastard”, the colloquial term for an illegitimate child or person, comes from the Old French ba(s)t meaning baggage or luggage or pack-saddle, something that could be slept on by the traveller (1). Being illegitimate could feel like carrying heavy baggage, but someone else’s, not yours. And being adopted was supposed to render you legitimate by giving you the name of a father. For me, it added even more heavy baggage. Writing is one way of casting it off, refusing it, chipping it away, reducing its power. The secrecy of my adoption can be broken open. I can shout out the silence of all those years.The first chapter of the memoir, “A Shark in the Garden”, has the title “Revelation”, and concerns the day I learned of my adoptive status. RevelationI sat on my bed, formed fists in my lap, got up again. In the mirror there was my reflection, but all I saw was fear. I sat down, thought of what I was going to say, stood again. If I didn’t force myself out through my bedroom door, all would be lost. I had rung the student quarters at the hospital, there was a room ready. I had spoken to Dr P. It was time for me to go. The words were formed in my mouth, I had only to speak them. Three days before, I had come home to find my father in a state of heightened anxiety, asking me where the hell I had been. He’d rung my friend C because I had told him, falsely, that I would be going over to her place for a fitting of the bridesmaid dresses. I lied to him because the other bridesmaid was someone he disliked intensely, and did not approve of me seeing her. I had to tell him the true identity of the other bridesmaid, which of course meant that I’d lied twice, that I’d lied for a prolonged period of time. My father accused me of abusing my mother’s good nature because she was helping me make my bridesmaid’s dress. I was not a good seamstress, whereas my mother made most of her clothes, and ours, so in reality she was the one making the dress. When you’ve lied to your parents it is difficult to maintain the high ground, or any ground at all. But I did try to tell him that if he didn’t dislike so many of my friends, I wouldn’t have to lie to him in order to shield them and have a life outside home. If I knew that he wasn’t going to blaspheme the other bridesmaid every time I said her name, then I could have been upfront. What resulted was a dark silence. I was completing a supplementary exam in obstetrics and gynaecology. Once passed, I would graduate with a Bachelor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery degree, and be able to work as an intern in a hospital. I hated obstetrics and gynaecology. It was about bodies like my own and their special functions, and seemed like an invasion of privacy. Women were set apart as specimens, as flawed creatures, as beings whose wombs were always going wrong, a difficult separate species. Men were the predominant teachers of wisdom about these bodies, and I found this repugnant. One obstetrician in a regional hospital asked my friend and me once if we had regular Pap smears, and if our menstrual blood contained clots. We answered him, but it was none of his business, and I wished I hadn’t. I can see him now, the small eyes, the bitchiness about other doctors, the smarminess. But somehow I had to get through it. I had to get up each morning and go into the hospital and do the ward rounds and see patients. I had to study the books. I had to pass that exam. It had become something other than just an exam to me. It was an enemy against which I must fight.My friend C was getting married on the 19th of December, and somehow I had to negotiate my father as well. He sometimes threatened to confiscate the keys to the car, so that I couldn’t use it. But he couldn’t do that now, because I had to get to the hospital, and it was too far away by public transport. Every morning I woke up and wondered what mood my father would be in, and whether it would have something to do with me. Was I the good daughter today, or the bad one? This happened every day. It was worse because of the fight over the wedding. It was a relief to close my bedroom door at night and be alone, away from him. But my mother too. I felt as if I was betraying her, by not being cooperative with my father. It would have been easier to have done everything he said, and keep the household peaceful. But the cost of doing that would have been much higher: I would have given my life over to him, and disappeared as a person.I could wake up and forget for a few seconds where I was and what had happened the day before. But then I remembered and the fear exploded in my stomach. I lived in dread of what my father would say, and in dread of his silence.That morning I woke up and instantly thought of what I had to do. After the last fight, I realised I did not want to live with such pain and fear anymore. I did not want to cause it, or to live with it, or to kill myself, or to subsume my spirit in the pathology of my father’s thinking. I wanted to live.Now I knew I had to walk into the living room and speak those words to my parents.My mother was sitting in her spot, at one end of the speckled and striped grey and brown sofa, doing a crossword. My father was in his armchair, head on his hand. I walked around the end of the sofa and stood by ‘my’ armchair next to my mother.“Mum and Dad, I need to talk with you about something.”I sat down as I said this, and looked at each of them in turn. Their faces were mildly expectant, my father’s with a dark edge.“I know we haven’t been getting on very well lately, and I think it might be best if I leave home and go to live in the students’ quarters at the hospital. I’m twenty-three now. I think it might be good for us to spend some time apart.” This sounded too brusque, but I’d said it. It was out in the atmosphere, and I could only wait. And whatever they said, I was going. I was leaving. My father kept looking at me for a moment, then straightened in his chair, and cleared his throat.“You sound as if you’ve worked this all out. Well, I have something to say. I suppose you know you were adopted.”There was an enormous movement in my head. Adopted. I suppose you know you were adopted. Age of my parents at my birth: 47 and 48. How long have you and Dad been married, Mum? Oooh, that’s a tricky one. School principal’s wife, eyes flicking from me to Mum and back again, You don’t look much like each other, do you? People referring to me as my Mum’s friend, not her daughter. I must have got that trait from you Oh no I know where you got that from. My father not wanting me to marry or have children. Not wanting me to go back to England. Moving from place to place. No contact with relatives. This all came to me in a flash of memory, a psychological click and shift that I was certain was audible outside my mind. I did not move, and I did not speak. My father continued. He was talking about my biological mother. The woman who, until a few seconds before, I had not known existed.“We were walking on the beach one day with you, and she came towards us. She didn’t look one way or another, just kept her eyes straight ahead. Didn’t acknowledge us, or you. She said not to tell you about your adoption unless you fell in with a bad lot.”I cannot remember what else my father said. At one point my mother said to me, “You aren’t going to leave before Christmas are you?”All of her hopes and desires were in that question. I was not a good daughter, and yet I knew that I was breaking her heart by leaving. And before Christmas too. Even a bad daughter is better than no daughter at all. And there nearly was no daughter at all. I suppose you know you were adopted.But did my mother understand nothing of the turmoil that lived within me? Did it really not matter to her that I was leaving, as long as I didn’t do it before Christmas? Did she understand why I was leaving, did she even want to know? Did she understand more than I knew? I did not ask any of these questions. Instead, at some point I got out of the chair and walked into my bedroom and pulled out the suitcase I had already packed the night before. I threw other things into other bags. I called for a taxi, in a voice supernaturally calm. When the taxi came, I humped the suitcase down the stairs and out of the garage and into the boot, then went back upstairs and got the other bags and humped them down as well. And while I did this, I was shouting at my father and he was shouting at me. I seem to remember seeing him out of the corner of my eye, following me down the stairs, then back up again. Following me to my bedroom door, then down the stairs to the taxi. But I don’t think he went out that far. I don’t remember what my mother was doing.The only words I remember my father saying at the end are, “You’ll end up in the gutter.”The only words I remember saying are, “At least I’ll get out of this poisonous household.”And then the taxi was at the hospital, and I was in a room, high up in a nondescript, grey and brown building. I unpacked some of my stuff, put my clothes in the narrow wardrobe, my shoes in a line on the floor, my books on the desk. I imagine I took out my toothbrush and lotions and hairbrush and put them on the bedside table. I have no idea what the weather was like, except that it wasn’t raining. The faces of the taxi driver, of the woman in reception at the students’ quarters, of anyone else I saw that day, are a blur. The room is not difficult to remember as it was a rectangular shape with a window at one end. I stood at that window and looked out onto other hospital buildings, and the figures of people walking below. That night I lay in the bed and let the waves of relief ripple over me. My parents were not there, sitting in the next room, speaking in low voices about how bad I was. I was not going to wake up and brace myself for my father’s opprobrium, or feel guilty for letting my mother down. Not right then, and not the next morning. The guilt and the self-loathing were, at that moment, banished, frozen, held-in-time. The knowledge of my adoption was also held-in-time: I couldn’t deal with it in any real way, and would not for a long time. I pushed it to the back of my mind, put it away in a compartment. I was suddenly free, and floating in the novelty of it.ReferencesChoy, Wayson. Paper Shadows: A Chinatown Childhood. Ringwood: Penguin, 2000.Lucy, Judith. The Lucy Family Alphabet. Camberwell: Penguin, 2008.Teichman, Jenny. Illegitimacy: An Examination of Bastardy. New York: Cornell University Press, 1982. Watson, Maureen. Surviving Secrets. Short-Stop Press, 2010.

IntroductionI have been studying the creation of Metro style train travel in Sydney for over a decade. My focus has been on the impact that media has had on the process (see Richardson, “Curatorial”; “Upheaval”; “Making”). Through extensive expert, public, and media research, I have investigated the coalitions and alliances that have formed (and disintegrated) between political, bureaucratic, news media, and public actors and the influences at work within these actor-networks. As part of this project, I visited an underground Métro turning fifty in Montreal, Canada. After many years studying the development of a train that wasn’t yet tangible, I wanted to ask a functional train the simple ethnomethodological/Latourian style question, “what do you do for a city and its people?” (de Vries). Therefore, in addition to research conducted in Montreal, I spent ten days wandering through many of the entrances, tunnels, staircases, escalators, mezzanines, platforms, doorways, and carriages of which the Métro system consists. The purpose was to observe the train in situ in order to broaden potential conceptualisations of what a train does for a city such as Montreal, with a view of improving the ideas and messages that would be used to “sell” future rapid rail projects in other cities such as Sydney. This article outlines a selection of the pathways wandered, not only to illustrate the power of social research based on physical wandering, but also the potential power the metaphorical and conceptual wandering an Actor-Network Theory (ANT) assemblage affords social research for media communications.Context, Purpose, and ApproachANT is a hybrid theory/method for studying an arena of the social, such as the significance of a train to a city like Montreal. This type of study is undertaken by following the actors (Latour, Reassembling 12). In ANT, actors do something, as the term suggests. These actions have affects and effects. These might be contrived and deliberate influences or completely circumstantial and accidental impacts. Actors can be people as we are most commonly used to understanding them, and they can also be texts, technological devices, software programs, natural phenomena, or random occurrences. Most significantly though, actors are their “relations” (Harman 17). This means that they are only present if they are relating to others. These relations and the resulting influences and impacts are called networks. A network in the ANT sense is not as simple as the lines that connect train stations on a rail map. Without actions, relations, influences, and impacts, there are no actors. Hence the hyphen in actor-network; the actor and the network are symbiotic. The network, rendered visible through actor associations, consists of the tenuous connections that “shuttle back and forth” between actors even in spite of the fact their areas of knowledge and reality may be completely separate (Latour Modern 3). ANT, therefore, may be considered an empirical practice of tracing the actors and the network of influences and impacts that they both help to shape and are themselves shaped by. To do this, central ANT theorist Bruno Latour employs a simple research question: “what do you do?” This is because in the process of doing, somebody or something is observed to be affecting other people or things and an actor-network becomes identifiable. Latour later learned that his approach shared many parallels with ethnomethodology. This was a discovery that more concretely set the trajectory of his work away from a social science that sought explanations “about why something happens, to ontological ones, that is, questions about what is going on” (de Vries). So, in order to make sense of people’s actions and relations, the focus of research became asking the deceptively simple question while refraining as much as possible “from offering descriptions and explanations of actions in terms of schemes taught in social theory classes” (14).In answering this central ANT question, studies typically wander in a metaphorical sense through an array or assemblage (Law) of research methods such as formal and informal interviews, ethnographic style observation, as well as the content analysis of primary and secondary texts (see Latour, Aramis). These were the methods adopted for my Montreal research—in addition to fifteen in-depth expert and public interviews conducted in October 2017, ten days were spent physically wandering and observing the train in action. I hoped that in understanding what the train does for the city and its people, the actor-network within which the train is situated would be revealed. Of course, “what do you do?” is a very broad question. It requires context. In following the influence of news media in the circuitous development of rapid rail transit in Sydney, I have been struck by the limited tropes through which the potential for rapid rail is discussed. These tropes focus on technological, functional, and/or operational aspects (see Budd; Faruqi; Hasham), costs, funding and return on investment (see Martin and O’Sullivan; Saulwick), and the potential to alleviate peak hour congestion (see Clennell; West). As an expert respondent in my Sydney research, a leading Australian architect and planner, states, “How boring and unexciting […] I mean in Singapore it is the most exciting […] the trains are fantastic […] that wasn’t sold to the [Sydney] public.” So, the purpose of the Montreal research is to expand conceptualisations of the potential for rapid rail infrastructure to influence a city and improve communications used to sell projects in the future, as well as to test the role of both physical and metaphorical ANT style wanderings in doing so. Montreal was chosen for three reasons. First, the Métro had recently turned fifty, which made the comparison between the fledgling and mature systems topical. Second, the Métro was preceded by decades of media discussion (Gilbert and Poitras), which parallels the development of rapid transit in Sydney. Finally, a different architect designed each station and most stations feature art installations (Magder). Therefore, the Métro appeared to have transcended the aforementioned functional and numerically focused tropes used to justify the Sydney system. Could such a train be considered a long-term success?Wandering and PathwaysIn ten days I rode the Montreal Métro from end to end. I stopped at all the stations. I wandered around. I treated wandering not just as a physical research activity, but also as an illustrative metaphor for an assemblage of research practices. This assemblage culminates in testimony, anecdotes, stories, and descriptions through which an actor-network may be glimpsed. Of course, it is incomplete—what I have outlined below represents only a few pathways. However, to think that an actor-network can ever be traversed in its entirety is to miss the point. Completion is a fallacy. Wandering doesn’t end at a finish line. There are always pathways left untrodden. I have attempted not to overanalyse. I have left contradictions unresolved. I have avoided the temptation to link paths through tenuous byways. Some might consider that I have meandered, but an actor-network is never linear. I can only hope that my wanderings, as curtailed as they may be, prove nuanced, colourful, and rich—if not compelling. ANT encourages us to rethink social research (Latour, Reassembling). Central to this is acknowledging (and becoming comfortable with) our own role as researcher in the illumination of the actor-network itself.Here are some of the Montreal pathways wandered:First Impressions I arrive at Montreal airport late afternoon. The apartment I have rented is conveniently located between two Métro stations—Mont Royal and Sherbrooke. I use my phone and seek directions by public transport. To my surprise, the only option is the bus. Too tired to work out connections, I decide instead to follow the signs to the taxi rank. Here, I queue. We are underway twenty minutes later. Travelling around peak traffic, we move from one traffic jam to the next. The trip is slow. Finally ensconced in the apartment, I reflect on how different the trip into Montreal had been, from what I had envisaged. The Métro I had travelled to visit was conspicuous in its total absence.FloatingIt is a feeling of floating that first strikes me when riding the Métro. It runs on rubber tyres. The explanation for the choice of this technology differs. There are reports that it was the brainchild of strong-willed mayor, Jean Drapeau, who believed the new technology would showcase Montreal as a modern world-scale metropolis (Gilbert and Poitras). However, John Martins-Manteiga provides a less romantic account, stating that the decision was made because tyres were cheaper (47). I assume the rubber tyres create the floating sensation. Add to this the famous warmth of the system (Magder; Hazan, Hot) and it has a thoroughly calming, even lulling, effect.Originally, I am planning to spend two whole days riding the Métro in its entirety. I make handwritten notes. On the first day, at mid-morning, nausea develops. I am suffering motion sickness. This is a surprise. I have always been fine to read and write on trains, unlike in a car or bus. It causes a moment of realisation. I am effectively riding a bus. This is an unexpected side-effect. My research program changes—I ride for a maximum of two hours at a time and my note taking becomes more circumspect. The train as actor is influencing the research program and the data being recorded in unexpected ways. ArtThe stained-glass collage at Berri-Uquam, by Pierre Gaboriau and Pierre Osterrath, is grand in scale, intricately detailed and beautiful. It sits above the tunnel from which the trains enter and leave the platform. It somehow seems wholly connected to the train as a result—it frames and announces arrivals and departures. Other striking pieces include the colourful, tiled circles from the mezzanine above the platform at station Peel and the beautiful stained-glass panels on the escalator at station Charlevoix. As a public respondent visiting from Chicago contends, “I just got a sense of exploration—that I wanted to have a look around”.Urban FormAn urban planner asserts that the Métro is responsible for the identity and diversity of urban culture that Montreal is famous for. As everyone cannot live right above a Métro station, there are streets around stations where people walk to the train. As there is less need for cars, these streets are made friendlier for walkers, precipitating a cycle. Furthermore, pedestrian-friendly streets promote local village style commerce such as shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants. So, there is not only more access on foot, but also more incentive to access. The walking that the Métro induces improves the dynamism and social aspects of neighbourhoods, a by-product of which is a distinct urban form and culture for different pockets of the city. The actor-network broadens. In following the actors, I now have to wander beyond the physical limits of the system itself. The streets I walk around station Mont Royal are shopping and restaurant strips, rich with foot traffic at all times of day; it is a vibrant and enticing place to wander.Find DiningThe popular MTL blog published a map of the best restaurants the Métro provides access to (Hazan, Restaurant).ArchitectureStation De La Savane resembles a retro medieval dungeon. It evokes thoughts of the television series Game of Thrones. Art and architecture work in perfect harmony. The sculpture in the foyer by Maurice Lemieux resembles a deconstructed metal mace hanging on a brutalist concrete wall. It towers above a grand staircase and abuts a fence that might ring a medieval keep. Up close I realise it is polished, precisely cut cylindrical steel. A modern fence referencing another time and place. Descending to the platform, craggy concrete walls are pitted with holes. I get the sense of peering through these into the hidden chambers of a crypt. Overlaying all of this is a strikingly modern series of regular and irregular, bold vertical striations cut deeply into the concrete. They run from floor to ceiling to add to a cathedral-like sense of scale. It’s warming to think that such a whimsical train station exists anywhere in the world. Time WarpA public respondent describes the Métro:It’s a little bit like a time machine. It’s a piece of the past and piece of history […] still alive now. I think that it brings art or form or beauty into everyday life. […] You’re going from one place to the next, but because of the history and the story of it you could stop and breathe and take it in a little bit more.Hold ups and HostagesA frustrated General Manager of a transport advocacy group states in an interview:Two minutes of stopping in the Métro is like Armageddon in Montreal—you see it on every media, on every smartphone [...] We are so captive in the Métro [there is a] loss of control.Further, a transport modelling expert asserts:You’re a hostage when you’re in transportation. If the Métro goes out, then you really are stuck. Unfortunately, it does go out often enough. If you lose faith in a mode of transportation, it’s going to be very hard to get you back.CommutingIt took me a good week before I started to notice how tired some of the Métro stations had grown. I felt my enthusiasm dip when I saw the estimated arrival time lengthen on the electronic noticeboard. Anger rose as a young man pushed past me from behind to get out of a train before I had a chance to exit. These tendrils of the actor-network were not evident to me in the first few days. Most interview respondents state that after a period of time passengers take less notice of the interesting and artistic aspects of the Métro. They become commuters. Timeliness and consistency become the most important aspects of the system.FinaleI deliberately visit station Champ-de-Mars last. Photos convince me that I am going to end my Métro exploration with an experience to savour. The station entry and gallery is iconic. Martins-Manteiga writes, “The stained-glass artwork by Marcelle Ferron is almost a religious experience; it floods in and splashes down below” (306). My timing is off though. On this day, the soaring stained-glass windows are mostly hidden behind protective wadding. The station is undergoing restoration. Travelling for the last time back towards station Mont Royal, my mood lightens. Although I had been anticipating this station for some time, in many respects this is a revealing conclusion to my Métro wanderings.What Do You Do?When asked what the train does, many respondents took a while to answer or began with common tropes around moving people. As a transport project manager asserts, “in the world of public transport, the perfect trip is the one you don’t notice”. A journalist gives the most considered and interesting answer. He contends:I think it would say, “I hold the city together culturally, economically, physically, logistically—that’s what I do […] I’m the connective tissue of this city”. […] How else do you describe infrastructure that connects poor neighbourhoods to rich neighbourhoods, downtown to outlying areas, that supports all sorts of businesses both inside it and immediately adjacent to it and has created these axes around the city that pull in almost everybody [...] And of course, everyone takes it for granted […] We get pissed off when it’s late.ConclusionNo matter how real a transportation system may be, it can always be made a little less real. Today, for example, the Paris metro is on strike for the third week in a row. Millions of Parisians are learning to get along without it, by taking their cars or walking […] You see? These enormous hundred-year-old technological monsters are no more real than the four-year-old Aramis is unreal: They all need allies, friends […] There’s no inertia, no irreversibility; there’s no autonomy to keep them alive. (Latour, Aramis 86)Through ANT-based physical and metaphorical wanderings, we find many pathways that illuminate what a train does. We learn from various actors in the actor-network through which the train exists. We seek out its “allies” and “friends”. We wander, piecing together as much of the network as we can. The Métro does lots of things. It has many influences and it influences many. It is undeniably an actor in an actor-network. Transport planners would like it to appear seamless—commuters entering and leaving without really noticing the in-between. And sometimes it appears this way. However, when the commuter is delayed, this appearance is shattered. If a signal fails or an engine falters, the Métro, through a process mediated by word of mouth and/or social and mainstream media, is suddenly rendered tired and obsolete. Or is it historic and quaint? Is the train a technical problem for the city of Montreal or is it characterful and integral to the city’s identity? It is all these things and many more. The actor-network is illusive and elusive. Pathways are extensive. The train floats. The train is late. The train makes us walk. The train has seeded many unique villages, much loved. The train is broken. The train is healthy for its age. The train is all that is right with Montreal. The train is all that is wrong with Montreal. The artwork and architecture mean nothing. The artwork and architecture mean everything. Is the train overly limited by the tyres that keep it underground? Of course, it is. Of course, it isn’t. Does 50 years of history matter? Of course, it does. Of course, it doesn’t. It thrives. It’s tired. It connects. It divides. It’s functional. It’s dirty. It’s beautiful. It’s something to be proud of. It’s embarrassing. A train offers many complex and fascinating pathways. It is never simply an object; it lives and breathes in the network because we live and breathe around it. It stops being effective. It starts becoming affective. Sydney must learn from this. My wanderings demonstrate that the Métro cannot be extricated from what Montreal has become over the last half century. In May 2019, Sydney finally opened its first Metro rail link. And yet, this link and other ongoing metro projects continue to be discussed through statistics and practicalities (Sydney Metro). This offers no affective sense of the pathways that are, and will one day be, created. By selecting and appropriating relevant pathways from cities such as Montreal, and through our own wanderings and imaginings, we can make projections of what a train will do for a city like Sydney. We can project a rich and vibrant actor-network through the media in more emotive and powerful ways. Or, can we not at least supplement the economic, functional, or technocratic accounts with other wanderings? Of course, we can’t. Of course, we can. 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Prince of Networks: Bruno Latour and Metaphysics. Melbourne: re.press, 2009.Hasham, Nicole. “Driverless Trains Plan as Berejiklian Does a U-Turn.” Sydney Morning Herald 6 Jun. 2013. 16 Jan. 2018 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/driverless-trains-plan-as-berejiklian-does-a-u-turn-20130606-2ns4h.html>.Hazan, Jeremy. “Montreal’s First-Ever Official Metro Restaurant Map.” MTL Blog 17 May 2010. 11 Oct. 2017 <https://www.mtlblog.com/things-to-do-in-mtl/montreals-first-ever-official-metro-restaurant-map/1>.———. “This Is Why Montreal’s STM Metro Has Been So Hot Lately.” MTL Blog 22 Sep. 2017. 11 Oct. 2017 <https://www.mtlblog.com/whats-happening/this-is-why-montreals-stm-metro-has-been-so-hot-lately>. Latour, Bruno. We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993.———. Aramis: Or the Love of Technology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996. ———. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.Law, John. After Method: Mess in Social Science Research. New York: Routledge, 2004.Magder, Jason. “The Metro at 50: Building the Network.” Montreal Gazette 13 Oct. 2016. 18 Oct. 2017 <http://montrealgazette.com/news/local-news/the-metro-at-50-building-the-network>.Martin, Peter, and Matt O’Sullivan. “Cabinet Leak: Sydney to Parramatta in 15 Minutes Possible, But Not Preferred.” Sydney Morning Herald 14 Aug. 2017. 7 Dec. 2017 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/cabinet-leak-sydney-to-parramatta-in-15-minutes-possible-but-not-preferred-20170813-gxv226.html>.Martins-Manteiga, John. Métro: Design in Motion. Dominion Modern: Canada 2011.Richardson, Nicholas. “Political Upheaval in Australia: Media, Foucault and Shocking Policy.” ANZCA Conference Proceedings 2015. Eds. D. Paterno, M. Bourk, and D. Matheson.———. “A Curatorial Turn in Policy Development? Managing the Changing Nature of Policymaking Subject to Mediatisation” M/C Journal 18.4 (2015). 7 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/998>.———. “‘Making it Happen’: Deciphering Government Branding in Light of the Sydney Building Boom.” M/C Journal 20.2 (2017). 7 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1221>.Saulwick, Jacob. “Plenty of Sums in Rail Plans But Not Everything Adds Up.” Sydney Morning Herald 7 Nov. 2011. 17 Apr. 2012 <http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/politics/plenty-of-sums-in-rail-plans-but-not-everything-adds-up-20111106-1n1wn.html>.Sydney Metro. 16 July 2019. <https://www.sydneymetro.info/>.West, Andrew. “Second Harbour Crossing – or Chaos.” Sydney Morning Herald 31 May 2010. 17 Jan. 2018 <http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/second-harbour-crossing--or-chaos-20100530-wnik.html>.

Although I'm a rich white guy, I'm also a feminist anti-racism activist who fights for the rights of the poor and oppressed. (Carl Kenner)Systemic bias is a scourge to the pillar of neutrality. (Cerejota)Count me in. Let's leave the bias to the mainstream media. (Orcar967)Because this is so important. (CuttingEdge)These are a handful of comments posted by online editors who have banded together in a virtual coalition to combat Western bias on the world’s largest digital encyclopedia, Wikipedia. This collective action by Wikipedians both acknowledges the inherent inequalities of a user-controlled information project like Wikpedia and highlights the potential for progressive change within that same project. These community members are taking the responsibility of social change into their own hands (or more aptly, their own keyboards).In recent years much research has emerged on Wikipedia from varying fields, ranging from computer science, to business and information systems, to the social sciences. While critical at times of Wikipedia’s growth, governance, and influence, most of this work observes with optimism that barriers to improvement are not firmly structural, but rather they are socially constructed, leaving open the possibility of important and lasting change for the better.WikiProject: Countering Systemic Bias (WP:CSB) considers one such collective effort. Close to 350 editors have signed on to the project, which began in 2004 and itself emerged from a similar project named CROSSBOW, or the “Committee Regarding Overcoming Serious Systemic Bias on Wikipedia.” As a WikiProject, the term used for a loose group of editors who collaborate around a particular topic, these editors work within the Wikipedia site and collectively create a social network that is unified around one central aim—representing the un- and underrepresented—and yet they are bound by no particular unified set of interests. The first stage of a multi-method study, this paper looks at a snapshot of WP:CSB’s activity from both content analysis and social network perspectives to discover “who” geographically this coalition of the unrepresented is inserting into the digital annals of Wikipedia.Wikipedia and WikipediansDeveloped in 2001 by Internet entrepreneur Jimmy Wales and academic Larry Sanger, Wikipedia is an online collaborative encyclopedia hosting articles in nearly 250 languages (Cohen). The English-language Wikipedia contains over 3.2 million articles, each of which is created, edited, and updated solely by users (Wikipedia “Welcome”). At the time of this study, Alexa, a website tracking organisation, ranked Wikipedia as the 6th most accessed site on the Internet. Unlike the five sites ahead of it though—Google, Facebook, Yahoo, YouTube (owned by Google), and live.com (owned by Microsoft)—all of which are multibillion-dollar businesses that deal more with information aggregation than information production, Wikipedia is a non-profit that operates on less than $500,000 a year and staffs only a dozen paid employees (Lih). Wikipedia is financed and supported by the WikiMedia Foundation, a charitable umbrella organisation with an annual budget of $4.6 million, mainly funded by donations (Middleton).Wikipedia editors and contributors have the option of creating a user profile and participating via a username, or they may participate anonymously, with only an IP address representing their actions. Despite the option for total anonymity, many Wikipedians have chosen to visibly engage in this online community (Ayers, Matthews, and Yates; Bruns; Lih), and researchers across disciplines are studying the motivations of these new online collectives (Kane, Majchrzak, Johnson, and Chenisern; Oreg and Nov). The motivations of open source software contributors, such as UNIX programmers and programming groups, have been shown to be complex and tied to both extrinsic and intrinsic rewards, including online reputation, self-satisfaction and enjoyment, and obligation to a greater common good (Hertel, Niedner, and Herrmann; Osterloh and Rota). Investigation into why Wikipedians edit has indicated multiple motivations as well, with community engagement, task enjoyment, and information sharing among the most significant (Schroer and Hertel). Additionally, Wikipedians seem to be taking up the cause of generativity (a concern for the ongoing health and openness of the Internet’s infrastructures) that Jonathan Zittrain notably called for in The Future of the Internet and How to Stop It. Governance and ControlAlthough the technical infrastructure of Wikipedia is built to support and perhaps encourage an equal distribution of power on the site, Wikipedia is not a land of “anything goes.” The popular press has covered recent efforts by the site to reduce vandalism through a layer of editorial review (Cohen), a tightening of control cited as a possible reason for the recent dip in the number of active editors (Edwards). A number of regulations are already in place that prevent the open editing of certain articles and pages, such as the site’s disclaimers and pages that have suffered large amounts of vandalism. Editing wars can also cause temporary restrictions to editing, and Ayers, Matthews, and Yates point out that these wars can happen anywhere, even to Burt Reynold’s page.Academic studies have begun to explore the governance and control that has developed in the Wikipedia community, generally highlighting how order is maintained not through particular actors, but through established procedures and norms. Konieczny tested whether Wikipedia’s evolution can be defined by Michels’ Iron Law of Oligopoly, which predicts that the everyday operations of any organisation cannot be run by a mass of members, and ultimately control falls into the hands of the few. Through exploring a particular WikiProject on information validation, he concludes:There are few indicators of an oligarchy having power on Wikipedia, and few trends of a change in this situation. The high level of empowerment of individual Wikipedia editors with regard to policy making, the ease of communication, and the high dedication to ideals of contributors succeed in making Wikipedia an atypical organization, quite resilient to the Iron Law. (189)Butler, Joyce, and Pike support this assertion, though they emphasise that instead of oligarchy, control becomes encapsulated in a wide variety of structures, policies, and procedures that guide involvement with the site. A virtual “bureaucracy” emerges, but one that should not be viewed with the negative connotation often associated with the term.Other work considers control on Wikipedia through the framework of commons governance, where “peer production depends on individual action that is self-selected and decentralized rather than hierarchically assigned. Individuals make their own choices with regard to resources managed as a commons” (Viegas, Wattenberg and McKeon). The need for quality standards and quality control largely dictate this commons governance, though interviewing Wikipedians with various levels of responsibility revealed that policies and procedures are only as good as those who maintain them. Forte, Larco, and Bruckman argue “the Wikipedia community has remained healthy in large part due to the continued presence of ‘old-timers’ who carry a set of social norms and organizational ideals with them into every WikiProject, committee, and local process in which they take part” (71). Thus governance on Wikipedia is a strong representation of a democratic ideal, where actors and policies are closely tied in their evolution. Transparency, Content, and BiasThe issue of transparency has proved to be a double-edged sword for Wikipedia and Wikipedians. The goal of a collective body of knowledge created by all—the “expert” and the “amateur”—can only be upheld if equal access to page creation and development is allotted to everyone, including those who prefer anonymity. And yet this very option for anonymity, or even worse, false identities, has been a sore subject for some in the Wikipedia community as well as a source of concern for some scholars (Santana and Wood). The case of a 24-year old college dropout who represented himself as a multiple Ph.D.-holding theology scholar and edited over 16,000 articles brought these issues into the public spotlight in 2007 (Doran; Elsworth). Wikipedia itself has set up standards for content that include expectations of a neutral point of view, verifiability of information, and the publishing of no original research, but Santana and Wood argue that self-policing of these policies is not adequate:The principle of managerial discretion requires that every actor act from a sense of duty to exercise moral autonomy and choice in responsible ways. When Wikipedia’s editors and administrators remain anonymous, this criterion is simply not met. It is assumed that everyone is behaving responsibly within the Wikipedia system, but there are no monitoring or control mechanisms to make sure that this is so, and there is ample evidence that it is not so. (141) At the theoretical level, some downplay these concerns of transparency and autonomy as logistical issues in lieu of the potential for information systems to support rational discourse and emancipatory forms of communication (Hansen, Berente, and Lyytinen), but others worry that the questionable “realities” created on Wikipedia will become truths once circulated to all areas of the Web (Langlois and Elmer). With the number of articles on the English-language version of Wikipedia reaching well into the millions, the task of mapping and assessing content has become a tremendous endeavour, one mostly taken on by information systems experts. Kittur, Chi, and Suh have used Wikipedia’s existing hierarchical categorisation structure to map change in the site’s content over the past few years. Their work revealed that in early 2008 “Culture and the arts” was the most dominant category of content on Wikipedia, representing nearly 30% of total content. People (15%) and geographical locations (14%) represent the next largest categories, while the natural and physical sciences showed the greatest increase in volume between 2006 and 2008 (+213%D, with “Culture and the arts” close behind at +210%D). This data may indicate that contributing to Wikipedia, and thus spreading knowledge, is growing amongst the academic community while maintaining its importance to the greater popular culture-minded community. Further work by Kittur and Kraut has explored the collaborative process of content creation, finding that too many editors on a particular page can reduce the quality of content, even when a project is well coordinated.Bias in Wikipedia content is a generally acknowledged and somewhat conflicted subject (Giles; Johnson; McHenry). The Wikipedia community has created numerous articles and pages within the site to define and discuss the problem. Citing a survey conducted by the University of Würzburg, Germany, the “Wikipedia:Systemic bias” page describes the average Wikipedian as:MaleTechnically inclinedFormally educatedAn English speakerWhiteAged 15-49From a majority Christian countryFrom a developed nationFrom the Northern HemisphereLikely a white-collar worker or studentBias in content is thought to be perpetuated by this demographic of contributor, and the “founder effect,” a concept from genetics, linking the original contributors to this same demographic has been used to explain the origins of certain biases. Wikipedia’s “About” page discusses the issue as well, in the context of the open platform’s strengths and weaknesses:in practice editing will be performed by a certain demographic (younger rather than older, male rather than female, rich enough to afford a computer rather than poor, etc.) and may, therefore, show some bias. Some topics may not be covered well, while others may be covered in great depth. No educated arguments against this inherent bias have been advanced.Royal and Kapila’s study of Wikipedia content tested some of these assertions, finding identifiable bias in both their purposive and random sampling. They conclude that bias favoring larger countries is positively correlated with the size of the country’s Internet population, and corporations with larger revenues work in much the same way, garnering more coverage on the site. The researchers remind us that Wikipedia is “more a socially produced document than a value-free information source” (Royal & Kapila).WikiProject: Countering Systemic BiasAs a coalition of current Wikipedia editors, the WikiProject: Countering Systemic Bias (WP:CSB) attempts to counter trends in content production and points of view deemed harmful to the democratic ideals of a valueless, open online encyclopedia. WP:CBS’s mission is not one of policing the site, but rather deepening it:Generally, this project concentrates upon remedying omissions (entire topics, or particular sub-topics in extant articles) rather than on either (1) protesting inappropriate inclusions, or (2) trying to remedy issues of how material is presented. Thus, the first question is "What haven't we covered yet?", rather than "how should we change the existing coverage?" (Wikipedia, “Countering”)The project lays out a number of content areas lacking adequate representation, geographically highlighting the dearth in coverage of Africa, Latin America, Asia, and parts of Eastern Europe. WP:CSB also includes a “members” page that editors can sign to show their support, along with space to voice their opinions on the problem of bias on Wikipedia (the quotations at the beginning of this paper are taken from this “members” page). At the time of this study, 329 editors had self-selected and self-identified as members of WP:CSB, and this group constitutes the population sample for the current study. To explore the extent to which WP:CSB addressed these self-identified areas for improvement, each editor’s last 50 edits were coded for their primary geographical country of interest, as well as the conceptual category of the page itself (“P” for person/people, “L” for location, “I” for idea/concept, “T” for object/thing, or “NA” for indeterminate). For example, edits to the Wikipedia page for a single person like Tony Abbott (Australian federal opposition leader) were coded “Australia, P”, while an edit for a group of people like the Manchester United football team would be coded “England, P”. Coding was based on information obtained from the header paragraphs of each article’s Wikipedia page. After coding was completed, corresponding information on each country’s associated continent was added to the dataset, based on the United Nations Statistics Division listing.A total of 15,616 edits were coded for the study. Nearly 32% (n = 4962) of these edits were on articles for persons or people (see Table 1 for complete coding results). From within this sub-sample of edits, a majority of the people (68.67%) represented are associated with North America and Europe (Figure A). If we break these statistics down further, nearly half of WP:CSB’s edits concerning people were associated with the United States (36.11%) and England (10.16%), with India (3.65%) and Australia (3.35%) following at a distance. These figures make sense for the English-language Wikipedia; over 95% of the population in the three Westernised countries speak English, and while India is still often regarded as a developing nation, its colonial British roots and the emergence of a market economy with large, technology-driven cities are logical explanations for its representation here (and some estimates make India the largest English-speaking nation by population on the globe today).Table A Coding Results Total Edits 15616 (I) Ideas 2881 18.45% (L) Location 2240 14.34% NA 333 2.13% (T) Thing 5200 33.30% (P) People 4962 31.78% People by Continent Africa 315 6.35% Asia 827 16.67% Australia 175 3.53% Europe 1411 28.44% NA 110 2.22% North America 1996 40.23% South America 128 2.58% The areas of the globe of main concern to WP:CSB proved to be much less represented by the coalition itself. Asia, far and away the most populous continent with more than 60% of the globe’s people (GeoHive), was represented in only 16.67% of edits. Africa (6.35%) and South America (2.58%) were equally underrepresented compared to both their real-world populations (15% and 9% of the globe’s population respectively) and the aforementioned dominance of the advanced Westernised areas. However, while these percentages may seem low, in aggregate they do meet the quota set on the WP:CSB Project Page calling for one out of every twenty edits to be “a subject that is systematically biased against the pages of your natural interests.” By this standard, the coalition is indeed making headway in adding content that strategically counterbalances the natural biases of Wikipedia’s average editor.Figure ASocial network analysis allows us to visualise multifaceted data in order to identify relationships between actors and content (Vego-Redondo; Watts). Similar to Davis’s well-known sociological study of Southern American socialites in the 1930s (Scott), our Wikipedia coalition can be conceptualised as individual actors united by common interests, and a network of relations can be constructed with software such as UCINET. A mapping algorithm that considers both the relationship between all sets of actors and each actor to the overall collective structure produces an image of our network. This initial network is bimodal, as both our Wikipedia editors and their edits (again, coded for country of interest) are displayed as nodes (Figure B). Edge-lines between nodes represents a relationship, and here that relationship is the act of editing a Wikipedia article. We see from our network that the “U.S.” and “England” hold central positions in the network, with a mass of editors crowding around them. A perimeter of nations is then held in place by their ties to editors through the U.S. and England, with a second layer of editors and poorly represented nations (Gabon, Laos, Uzbekistan, etc.) around the boundaries of the network.Figure BWe are reminded from this visualisation both of the centrality of the two Western powers even among WP:CSB editoss, and of the peripheral nature of most other nations in the world. But we also learn which editors in the project are contributing most to underrepresented areas, and which are less “tied” to the Western core. Here we see “Wizzy” and “Warofdreams” among the second layer of editors who act as a bridge between the core and the periphery; these are editors with interests in both the Western and marginalised nations. Located along the outer edge, “Gallador” and “Gerrit” have no direct ties to the U.S. or England, concentrating all of their edits on less represented areas of the globe. Identifying editors at these key positions in the network will help with future research, informing interview questions that will investigate their interests further, but more significantly, probing motives for participation and action within the coalition.Additionally, we can break the network down further to discover editors who appear to have similar interests in underrepresented areas. Figure C strips down the network to only editors and edits dealing with Africa and South America, the least represented continents. From this we can easily find three types of editors again: those who have singular interests in particular nations (the outermost layer of editors), those who have interests in a particular region (the second layer moving inward), and those who have interests in both of these underrepresented regions (the center layer in the figure). This last group of editors may prove to be the most crucial to understand, as they are carrying the full load of WP:CSB’s mission.Figure CThe End of Geography, or the Reclamation?In The Internet Galaxy, Manuel Castells writes that “the Internet Age has been hailed as the end of geography,” a bold suggestion, but one that has gained traction over the last 15 years as the excitement for the possibilities offered by information communication technologies has often overshadowed structural barriers to participation like the Digital Divide (207). Castells goes on to amend the “end of geography” thesis by showing how global information flows and regional Internet access rates, while creating a new “map” of the world in many ways, is still closely tied to power structures in the analog world. The Internet Age: “redefines distance but does not cancel geography” (207). The work of WikiProject: Countering Systemic Bias emphasises the importance of place and representation in the information environment that continues to be constructed in the online world. This study looked at only a small portion of this coalition’s efforts (~16,000 edits)—a snapshot of their labor frozen in time—which itself is only a minute portion of the information being dispatched through Wikipedia on a daily basis (~125,000 edits). Further analysis of WP:CSB’s work over time, as well as qualitative research into the identities, interests and motivations of this collective, is needed to understand more fully how information bias is understood and challenged in the Internet galaxy. The data here indicates this is a fight worth fighting for at least a growing few.ReferencesAlexa. “Top Sites.” Alexa.com, n.d. 10 Mar. 2010 ‹http://www.alexa.com/topsites>. Ayers, Phoebe, Charles Matthews, and Ben Yates. How Wikipedia Works: And How You Can Be a Part of It. 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