Journal articles on the topic 'Public libraries New South Wales History'

Abstract In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the New South Wales (NSW) government ordered the closure of all municipal libraries in order to limit the impact of the contagion. As a result, 372 public libraries in NSW ceased operation on the 23rd March 2020. While the closure of public libraries will undoubtedly contribute to restricting the spread of the coronavirus, given the pivotal role played by municipal libraries in local communities, as well as the special characteristics of library patrons, it will have other negative consequences. In this paper we consider the impact of the closure of municipal libraries in NSW from two perspectives: (a) its effect on the fiscal circumstances of local authorities and (b) its impact on the spread of the corona contagion as well as its broader effects on local community wellbeing. We conclude that rather than complete closure, partial constraints on library use should have been considered.

Public libraries make an important contribution to the wellbeing of local people often acting as community hubs by reducing the isolation felt by vulnerable members of society through promoting social interaction and supporting the wider needs of local communities. However, access to libraries is threatened in Wales, as elsewhere in the UK, by uncertainty stemming from changes in local government service delivery models, austerity-driven cuts in public spending, changing demands on the service from the public and the potential impacts of new developments in digital services and technologies. Drawing on network-based analysis of changes to library services in a predominantly rural authority in South-West Wales, the aim of this paper is to demonstrate how Geographical Information Systems can be used to monitor the impacts of alternative models of provision currently being considered by library authorities. By examining the spatial impacts of changes in services following a period of re-configuration in this library authority, we point the way to methods that enable levels of provision that meet community needs to be sought during times of budgetary pressures and proposed changes to the delivery of public services.

Carolyn Day is with the National Drug and Alcohol Research Centre, University of New South Wales. Rohan Jayasuriya is at the Graduate School of Public Health, University of Wollongong. Graham Stone is with HIV, Program AIDS, Northern Sydney Health, Manly Hospital.Acknowledgements: The HepCare trial was funded by the Commonwealth Department of Health and Family Welfare and the NSW Health Department.Hepatitis C-related discrimination was examined. Intake interviews with 606 HepCare trial participants from New South Wales were analysed to determine the prevalence and correlates of hepatitis C related discrimination. The sample was a mean age of 37 years, 54% were males, 79% reported a history of drug injecting and 35% were current injectors. Forty percent of the sample reported experiencing hepatitis C-related discrimination. Multivariate analysis revealed that current injectors, 35-44 year olds, females, those who had recently consulted a general practitioner and those who had been referred to a specialist for their hepatitis C were more likely to report discrimination than other groups. More research is required to attain a better understanding of hepatitis C-related discrimination.

ObjectivesChildren whose parents have a history of criminal offending may be at risk of higher rates of emergency department (ED) presentation, along with other adverse health outcomes. We used data from a large, population-based record linkage project to examine the association between maternal and paternal criminal offending and the incidence of ED presentations among child offspring.MethodsData for 72 772 children with linked parental records were drawn from the New South Wales Child Development Study. Information on parental criminal offending (spanning 1994–2016) and child ED presentations (spanning 2005–2016; approximately ages 2–12 years) was obtained from linked administrative records. Cox proportional hazards regression analyses were conducted to examine the association between parental offending and the incidence of children’s ED presentations for any reason and for physical injury, while accounting for important covariates.ResultsChild rates of ED presentation, particularly for physical injury, were higher among those with parental history of criminal offending, after adjusting for covariates. The magnitude of the association was higher for paternal criminal offending (ED presentation for any reason: HR=1.44 (95% CI 1.41 to 1.48); physical injury: HR=1.70 (95% CI 1.65 to 1.75)) than maternal criminal offending (any reason: HR=0.99 (95% CI 0.95 to 1.03); physical injury: HR=1.05 (95% CI 1.00 to 1.10)).ConclusionChildren of parents, particularly of fathers, with a history of criminal offending have an increased incidence of ED presentation, including for potentially avoidable physical injury. These findings require replication and further research to understand the mechanisms underlying these associations.

Background: Physicians’ inadequate involvement in sexual risk assessment has the potential to miss many asymptomatic cases. The present study was conducted to explore sexual risk assessment by physicians in clinical practice and to identify barriers in eliciting sexual histories from patients. Methods: A stratified random sample of 15% of general practitioners (GP) from New South Wales was surveyed to assess their management of sexually transmissible infections (STI). In total, 409 GP participated in the survey with a response rate of 45.4%. Results: Although nearly 70% of GP regularly elicited a sexual history from commercial sex workers whose presenting complaint was not an STI, this history taking was much lower (<10%) among GP for patients who were young or heterosexual. About 23% never took a sexual history from Indigenous patients and 19% never elicited this history from lesbian patients. Lack of time was the most commonly cited barrier in sexual history taking (55%), followed by a concern that patients might feel uncomfortable if a sexual history was taken (49%). Other constraints were presence of another person (39%) and physician’s embarrassment (15%). About 19% of GP indicated that further training in sexual history taking could improve their practice. Conclusions: The present study identifies inconsistent involvement by GP in taking sexual histories, which can result in missed opportunities for early detection of many STI. Options for overcoming barriers to taking sexual histories by GP are discussed.

Abstract In the 1830s, the British government commenced a programme of relocating poor labourers to its Australian colony of New South Wales, a practice known as ‘assisted migration’. Though intended to address the colony’s labour shortage, the new arrivals were met with hostility by the colonial elite, who claimed the immigrants were immoral and unsuitable as workers. While migration historians have shown these judgements to be largely unfair, the forces underpinning these perceptions await a thorough interrogation. This article examines colonial public rhetoric about immigration to reveal attitudes shaped by a tangle of overlapping and reinforcing political, economic, and cultural factors. Ultimately, the colonial elite wanted to control who could enter their community, both physically and socially, which became a temporally persistent pattern vital to the settler colonial project.

In 1852, the naturalist and writer Louisa Meredith observed in her book My Home in Tasmania: “I know of no place where greater order and decorum is observed by the motley crowds assembled on any public occasion than in this most shamefully slandered country: not even in an English country village can a lady walk alone with less fear of harm or insult than in this capital of Van Diemen's Land, commonly believed at home to be a pest-house, where every crime that can disgrace and degrade humanity stalks abroad with unblushing front.”Meredith's paean to life in the notorious Australian penal colony of Hobart was in stark contrast to her earlier, highly unfavourable account of colonial Sydney. It papered over the years of personal hardship she had endured in Australia, as well as avoiding mention of the racial warfare against Tasmania's Aborigines that had afforded her such a genteel European existence.Such intra-Australian complexities, however, were lost when Meredith's account was superimposed onto German debates about the desirability of penal colonies for Germany. Instead, Meredith's portrait of a cultivated city emerging from the most notorious penal colony in Australia was presented as proof that the deportation of criminals was an important dimension of the civilising mission of Europe in the extra-European world. It was also presented as a vindication of those in Germany who wished to rid Germany of its lumpen criminal class through deportation. The exact paragraph of Meredith's account cited above was quoted in German debates on deportation for almost half a century; first in 1859 by the jurist Franz von Holtzendorff, and thereafter by Friedrich Freund when advocating the establishment of a penal colony in the Preußische Jahrbücher in September 1895.

Background: Following a small pilot study in 2003, a study was set up to determine the prevalence of genital Chlamydia trachomatis infection in young women presenting to Family Planning NSW centres across New South Wales and to evaluate the characteristics of those infected. Methods: A cross-sectional survey of 621 consecutive women aged from 16 to 24 years was carried out over a 3-month period in 2004 at five Family Planning NSW centres. Urine samples were tested for C. trachomatis using the polymerase chain reaction (PCR) method. Women with a positive result were reviewed and treated. Results: Of 925 eligible clients, 621 (67%) were recruited to the study. Chlamydia trachomatis was detected in 35 of the 621 recruits (5.6%, 95% CI 3.8–7.4). The prevalence at the Hunter centre was significantly higher than the combined prevalence at the other four participating centres (9.7% compared with 3.9%; P = 0.008). Two characteristics were identified as independent predictors of infection in this study: ‘reporting a recent change of partner in the past three months’ (crude odds ratio (OR) 3.33, 95% CI 1.67–6.64) and ‘reporting three or more partners in the past year’ (crude OR 3.69, 95% CI 1.83–7.46). Reported condom use, a history of one or more sexually transmissible infections and current combined oral contraceptive pill use were not associated with infection in this study. Conclusions: The prevalence of C. trachomatis infection is sufficiently high to support targeted testing of 16–24-year-old women in the Family Planning NSW setting and informs the development of a national screening strategy.

AbstractIn 1948 the New South Wales government instituted an inquiry into the claims of John Braund – a 78-year-old self-described ‘quack’ – that his secret treatment had cured 317 cancer sufferers. The ‘Braund controversy’, as it became known, was one of Australia’s most prominent cases of medical fraud. This paper examines that controversy and its effects on cancer philanthropy, medical research, and especially on legislation regulating treatment providers up to the present. With the Braund controversy in mind, the New South Wales (NSW) parliament struggled to develop legislation that would protect patients and punish quacks but also allow for serendipitous, unorthodox discoveries. Recent decades saw new elements added to this calculus – allowing a wide-ranging health marketplace, and allowing patients to choose their therapies. This paper argues that the particular body of law legislatures used in regulating cancer treatment and how regulations were framed reflected the changing context of healthcare and illustrates the calculus legislatures have undertaken in regulating the health marketplace, variously factoring in public safety, serendipitous discovery, the authority of orthodox medicine, patient choice, and economic opportunity.

Abstract From the nineteenth century, Sydney’s Art Gallery of New South Wales has been a marker of cultural ambition in Australia. This paper critically considers five large French paintings purchased at the end of the nineteenth century at significant expense by the gallery. Feted by contemporaries as examples of the French academic style, they formed part of plans to develop a representative collection to further understanding of art in the colony and, over time, they have taken on a rich role in the collective cultural memory. Through close examination of these paintings, their historical reception, criticism, reproduction and traces in the gallery’s archives this article reveals a history of taste, class and the formation of the cultural value of art. Using an object-based approach, it positions these works as evidence of changing cultural ideas within the context of a state collection to offer new insight into their status, the gallery itself, and the multiple roles of public art collections.

Abstract Objective – To discover public library clients’ needs and preferences for modes of training on the use of the Internet and the libraries’ online resources and to apply these findings to improve training offered by public library staff. Design – Multiple exploratory case study. Setting – Two public libraries in New South Wales, Australia: a regional library (Mudgee Branch of the Mid-Western Regional Council Library Service) and a metropolitan library (Marrickville Central Library). Subjects – A total of 24 public library clients. The participants were split evenly between the two libraries, with 12 from the Mudgee Branch and 12 from the Marrickville Central. The respondents were further subdivided into two groups based on age (35 to 44 years old and 65 or older) and evenly distributed by sex within the groups. Methods – This study used naturalistic inquiry to frame the multiple exploratory case study of two public libraries. Ruthven used maximum variation sampling to guide the selection of participants. Library staff helped the researcher to identify possible participants at Marrickville, while the researcher advertised for participants at Mudgee Library and at an Internet/database course taught at the Mudgee Business Enterprise Centre. She used snowball sampling to find additional participants at both sites. Ruthven conducted semi-structured interviews with the participants, with questions covering their preferences, recommendations, and needs for online resource training. The data from the interviews and search logs were analyzed using inductive data analysis. Main Results – Participants preferred small group, face-to-face, formalized instruction for initial training on online resources. For further training, participants preferred individualized assistance and immediate support instead of formal classes. They noted a lack of training opportunities and a lack of help from library staff as sources of frustration when trying to learn to use online resources at the public libraries. Conclusion – Public library staff should offer formalized classes for those beginning to learn about using online resources, and focus on ad hoc, individualized assistance for more advanced learners. Since offering this type of instructional program is dependent on staff knowledge and staff availability, library staff members need to be trained in the use of online resources and classroom presentation skills.

This paper briefly describes the history and service context of the Psychiatric Disability Rehabilitation and Support sector (PDRSS) in Victoria, and, to a lesser extent, in New South Wales, South Australia and Western Australia. In describing the sector we will call upon the experience of a particular PDRSS - Neami - in operating and developing services, and the challenges it faced in establishing a culture of quality that directly improves consumer outcomes. Elements of this experience may serve as a guide in the development of mental health service policy at state and federal level.

There is, among many students of Australian law, a tendency to regard the establishment of constitutional government in Australia in positivistic terms: as a result of the passage of the New South Wales Act in 1823, or of the Australian Courts Act in 1828, or of the Australian Constitution Acts of 1842 and 1850, or even of the Commonwealth of Australia Constitution Act in 1900. This is understandable, for, as Sir Victor Windeyer once put it, there was in the foundation of European society on these islands no element whatever of a social contract. Rather, the move to populate the Australian territories was a consequence entirely of a prospectively looking determination made by the government in London. And, as Windeyer went on to note, the formal establishment of local government was effected by ceremonies that were by their very essence positivistic in nature. On 26 January 1788, there was first a formal ceremony in which the Union flag was raised and a salute fired. Then, on 7 February, the whole population of the colony was assembled and the royal letters patent were read, which formally instructed Captain Phillip to go about the duty of creating a penal establishment.

AbstractThis article considers the expression of Protestant feminist public theology by the first women to gain access to leading positions in the Uniting Church in Australia, which was inaugurated in 1977. Roman Catholic and Protestant feminist theologians have started to provide theories of feminist public theology. The case studies of Lilian Wells, first Moderator of the Synod of New South Wales, and Jill Tabart, first woman President of the Assembly of the Uniting Church, provide evidence for the revision of these theories. The article argues that both the desire for and the expression by women of feminist public theology has a history that is longer than might be assumed. It also argues that such history confirms but also challenges aspects of received theories of feminist public theology, and that the two cases outlined below provide insight into the constraints inherent in the expression of feminist public theology in Protestant denominations such as the Uniting Church in Australia.

Rates of drug use remain substantially higher among gay and bisexual men (GBM) and people living with HIV (PLHIV) in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. The use of drugs to enhance sexual pleasure within cultures of Party and Play creates opportunities to discuss sexual health, mental health, consent and wellbeing. Community organisations with a history of HIV prevention, care, treatment are well-placed to respond. ACON’s (formerly the AIDS Council of New South Wales) multi-dimensional response to ‘chemsex’ includes: direct client services support for individuals seeking to manage or reduce their use; health promotion activities that support peer education; partnerships with research institutions to better understand cultures of chemsex; and policy submissions that call for drug use to be approached as a health, rather than a criminal, issue. The approach speaks the language of Party and Play subcultures; employs culturally relevant terminology and imagery; uses content designed, created and delivered by peers; and operates within a pleasure-positive, harm-reduction and community-led framework. These interventions have led to increased service uptake, strong community engagement, robust research partnerships and the recognition of GBM as a priority population in relevant strategies.

Purpose This paper provides a critical interpretative analysis of the first secondary English syllabus for schools in New South Wales (NSW), Australia, contained within the Courses for Study for High Schools (New South Wales Department of Public Instruction, 1911). The purpose of the paper is to examine the “continuities that link English curriculum discourses and practices with previous discourses and practices” in the rhetorical curriculum. The analysis identifies those aspects of the 1911 English syllabus that have since become normative and challenges the appropriateness of certain enduring orthodoxies in a twenty-first century context. Design/methodology/approach Focussing on a landmark historical curriculum document from 1911, this paper draws on methods of historical comparative and documentary analysis. It sits within the tradition of historical curriculum research that critiques curriculum documents as a primary source for understanding continuities of discourses and practices. A social constructionist approach informs the analysis. Findings The conceptualisation of subject English evident in the structure, content and emphases of the 1911 English syllabus encodes a range of “discourses and practices” that have in some form endured or been “reconstituted and remade” (Cormack, 2008, p. 275) over the course of a century. The analysis draws attention to those aspects of the subject that have remained unproblematised and taken-for-granted, and the implications of this for universal student participation and attainment. Originality/value This paper reorients critical attention to a significant historical curriculum document that has not, to date, been explored against the backdrop twenty-first century senior secondary English curriculum. In doing so, it presents extended insights into a range of now normative structures, beliefs, ideas, assumptions and practices and questions the potential impact of these on student learning, access and achievement in senior secondary English in NSW in the twenty-first century.

After the democratic elections of April 1994 in South Africa, a new Ministry of Arts, Culture, Science and Technology was established, the first of its kind in the history of the country. The Minister has appointed an Arts and Culture Task Group (ACTAG) to formulate proposals for a new arts and culture policy, after wide and intensive consultation, workshops and public hearings, taking into account numerous submissions from the arts community, professional bodies, the academic sphere and civil society. The proposals, contained in a Report presented to the Minister on 31st July 1995, centred on an envisaged National Arts and Culture Council, complemented by three autonomous bodies: a National Film Institute, a National Heritage Council and a National Council for Libraries and Information.

During 2006, NSW and ACT Health Departments jointly engaged KPMG to develop an Operating Theatre Requirements’ Projection Model and an accompanying planning guideline. A research scan was carried out to identify drivers of surgical demand, theatre capacity and theatre performance, as well as locating existing approaches to modelling operating theatre requirements for planning purposes. The project delivered a Microsoft Excel-based model for projecting future operating theatre requirements, together with an accompanying guideline for use of the model and interpretation of its outputs. It provides a valuable addition to the suite of tools available to Health staff for service and capital planning. The model operates with several limitations, largely due to being data dependent, and the state and completeness of available theatre activity data. However, the operational flexibility built into the model allows users to compensate for these limitations, on a case by case basis, when the user has access to suitable, local data. The design flexibility of the model means that updating the model as improved data become available is not difficult; resulting in revisions being able to be made quickly, and disseminated to users rapidly. What is known about the topic? In New South Wales there has been no documented, consistent, robust planning methodology to guide the estimated future requirements for operating and procedural suites, nor recommendations available to determine the number of operating theatres that provide optimal efficiency. What does this paper add? Opportunities to design and build new operating suites rarely arise. There is a great deal of uncertainty about future surgical models of care and recent history shows that technology and development of new procedures and approaches have greatly changed the nature of the theatres and rooms required for many interventions. This paper describes the process of developing a planning methodology to estimate the future operating suite capacity required to meet forecast future surgical demand across New South Wales for both metropolitan and rural Area Health Services. What are the implications for practitioners? Although now used only in the New South Wales public sector, the methodology can easily be applied to planning requirements for operating theatres in the private sector.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to relate the compelling story of Viennese-born and educated Anna Marie Hlawaczek (c.1849–1893) and her employment as the second headmistress at Maitland Girls High School in the colony of New South Wales (NSW) from 1885 to 1887. Design/methodology/approach Through a biographical lens, this paper uses traditional documentary research mainly in the school administration files in the NSW State Archives to explore Hlawaczek’s experiences. Findings The first set of findings forms the narrative of Anna Hlawaczek’s troubled employment in the NSW teaching service at the beginnings of public girls’ secondary education. It shows the ways in which ethnicity, gender, career history and expectations worked on both sides to exacerbate the potential for misunderstanding between her and the all-male administrators of the NSW Department of Public Instruction. The second set of findings suggests two ways in which the national worked as a transnational shaping factor in her story, both constraining and empowering her. Originality/value The careers of non-Anglo women working in the early colonial secondary schools for girls have been rarely studied. This paper presents a previously untold story of one pioneering transnational headmistress in the NSW Department of Public Instruction. Her story complicates the transnational approach in the history of women’s education by highlighting the power of the national within the transnational.

Ranked choice voting (RCV) is experiencing a surge of interest in the United States, highlighted by its 2018 use for Congressional elections in Maine, the first application of a ranked ballot for national-level elections in American history. A century ago, the same system was introduced in another federal, two-party continental-sized democracy: Australia. RCV’s utility as a solution to inter-party coordination problems helps to explain its appeal in both countries, underscoring the potential benefits of a comparative analytical approach. This article examines this history of adoption and then turns to a comparison of recent RCV elections in Maine with state elections in New South Wales and Queensland, the two Australian states which share the same form of RCV as that used in the United States. This comparison shows how candidate and party endorsements influence voters’ rankings and can, over time, promote reciprocal exchanges between parties and broader systemic support for RCV. Such cross-partisan support helps explain the stability of RCV in Australia, with implications for the system’s prospects in the United States.

Departing from the “Orientalist” view of the learned society in South Asia, this paper examines the role of the learned society in Southeast Asia as a site of sociability and intellectual exchange. It traces the emergence of such societies as independent, rather than official, initiatives, from nineteenth-century societies in Singapore to the Siam Society and Burma Research Society in the early twentieth century. Their journals provided pluralist interpretations of the nation, turning from grand histories of kings to new practices of social history. While such societies were limited to a small circle of European and Asian literati, they also contributed to an emerging intellectual culture of libraries, public lectures, and universities. Moreover, via correspondence, travel, and exchanges of publications, such societies contributed to a growing sense of Southeast Asian regionalism, laying the institutional foundations for in-depth study for the region and the post-war emergence of Southeast Asian studies.

This article provides an historical and descriptive account of the introduction and development of the use of drug detection dogs as a tool for street-level illicit drugs policing in one Australian jurisdiction, NSW. Within this account, the legal and political context in which drug detection dogs emerged and gained prominence is described. The introduction of drug detection dogs was contingent on the political imperatives at work throughout the 1990s in NSW, and the increased salience of both policing and illicit drugs issues at this time. In documenting the emergence of the use of drug detection dogs from the early 2000s, and the associated legal challenges and rapid legislative responses, the role of third sector organisations and the media in generating debate is notable. Debates concerning the dogs’ effectiveness emerged in the mid- to late-2000s, giving rise to anomalies between policy and evidence. The more recent legislative developments and public and political debate about drug detection dogs from 2012 to 2014 can be seen in light of this history. By taking a different view which situates decisions and events in their historical and political context, we begin to see the dynamic processes and contingency involved in the development and implementation of particular illicit drugs policing policies over time. As debate about drug detection dogs continues to play out, generating new insights into drugs policing policy processes is imperative.

The 1989 Fitzgerald Report into police and governmental corruption in Queensland has been a model for public sector reform in Australia. It is especially timely to consider the impact of those reforms in light of the current overhaul of the largest police agency in Australia, the New South Wales Police Service, and of continuing problems with public sector probity in other states. Queensland made significant advances in improving electoral and administrative processes, and creating external independent oversight of the police. Nonetheless, unforeseen gaps in the Fitzgerald agenda allowed reactionary forces to dilute the reform process. Three primary areas remain ‘unreconstructed’. Reform has not been firmly established from the top down, beginning with progressing the system of representative democracy and opening up cabinet. Additionally, the Police Service appears to have successfully resisted the prescribed re-orientation away from law enforcement to community policing. Detection and control of misconduct also remain weak. A more interventionist Criminal Justice Commission is needed, with more proactive strategies for developing compliance with ethical standards.

The history of methadone treatment in Australia has been and continues to be marked by conflict between two competing aims: harm minimisation and abstinence. The two approaches tend to be associated with high dose-long term and low dose-short term treatment, respectively. Most programmes fail to provide adequate ancillary services, often to the detriment of patient outcome. Despite chronic under-funding, a relative lack of staff training and, in some states, the absence of a system of clinical accountability, Australian methadone services have grown significantly in the last decade. Factors influencing the growth of programmes have been described using the New South Wales programme as the example as it represents the largest and most complex programme in the country. Current problems and the impact of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus on policy development are highlighted.

Expectations and patterns of publication have changed markedly with evolving online availability and associated development of new citation gathering databases. Perhaps the most vulnerable components of the scientific literature to ongoing change are books and book chapters, given their elongated publication timelines and generally more limited online availability. To test this, we applied citation analyses and assessments of library holdings to determine the use of the natural history books published by Surrey Beatty & Sons between 1987 and 2010. We (i) evaluated the relative use of book chapters and journal papers by comparing citations to chapters in the five books of the Nature Conservation series by Surrey Beatty & Sons to citations of journal chapters in four Australian journals published in the same years, (ii) determined the efficacy of four different databases in retrieving citations to book chapters by comparing their recovery of citations to the five books of the Nature Conservation series, and (iii) quantified noncitation measures related to library holdings to evaluate the use of the books on the entire Surrey Beatty & Sons list. Mean citations/chapter to the first three books in the Nature Conservation series were similar to the mean citations/ paper in four Australian journals published in the same years. However, the mean citations/chapter of the last two books declined relative to citations/paper for the journals, suggesting a fall in book use evident by early this century. Citation retrieval varied across databases; Google Scholar retrieved most citations, followed by Scopus, Web of Science (Cited Reference Search) and Web of Knowledge. Contrary to published concerns, no citations retrieved by Google Scholar were in questionable sources such as contents pages - many were from highly ranked journals. Each book in the full Surrey Beatty & Sons list was held by an average of 45.3 libraries in Australia and 36.1 in the USA, and less than five in each of the UK, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Canada, Germany and South Africa. This was a similar coverage to another Australian publisher, the Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales, and indicated strong markets in Australia and the USA. It was less, though, than the number of libraries with current or past subscriptions to five Australian journals publishing nature conservation content. We conclude that citation data for books and book chapters are available and that library holdings provide another measure of use. The online ‘visibility’ of books may be a problem, but can be improved through better marketing and improved author search techniques.

Relocating a natural history collection is a daunting prospect. Underpinning successful relocation is getting the fundamentals right. From the moment the seed of an idea for a new facility is planted, a raft of detailed planning and preparation issues emerge. Meticulous planning and management is essential, from initial design through to the last specimen being housed in its new location. Herbaria are complex organisms each with a core collection of specimen sheets and associated infrastructure to house them; ancillary collections such as ‘spirit’ and ‘DNA’, a library, databasing, mounting, materials, imaging, loans and exchange, facilities for environmental control, biosecurity, space for staff, volunteers, research students, and class or public access and outreach. All these elements require careful consideration for relocation regardless of the size of the collection. Timelines for relocations from initial decisions to commencement of the move vary widely. Early involvement of core herbarium staff is critical to managing risks to the integrity of the collection during a move. Success of the operation can be gauged immediately after the move and again, much later, based on feedback on the operation of the facility and whether planned expansion will meet future needs. All these considerations are important and essentially the same, irrespective of distance of relocation or size of the collection. We will discuss the fundamental issues of herbarium relocation based on two recent case studies.The Western Australian Herbarium moved from its 1970s home to a modern, purpose-built, best practice facility incorporating innovative design features in 2011 with c. 800,000 specimens. The John T. Waterhouse Herbarium at UNSW Sydney (The University of New South Wales) moved c. 66,000 specimens in October 2017 from within a 1962 departmental building, to a modern, purpose-built facility, incorporating significant improvements, as part of a much larger relocation of its School. We will provide a guide to assist future relocations, both imminent (such as the N.C.W. Beadle Herbarium at the University of New England (&gt;100,000 specmens), and the National Herbarium of New South Wales, &gt;1,400,000 specimens) and for those yet to be considered. This will be a presentation on behalf of the Managers of Australasian Herbarium Collections (MAHC), a network of herbarium Collection Managers in Australia and New Zealand.

Travelling stock reserves (TSRs) are thought to represent some of the highest-quality and least degraded remnants of threatened temperate woodland in south-eastern Australia. These public reserves have not had the same high levels of grazing pressure and other disturbances as woodland remnants on private land. Thus, TSRs are expected to be important for the protection of biodiversity in heavily cleared and modified landscapes. We tested the hypothesis that land tenure had significant effects on the quality of woodlands by comparing vegetation structural attributes between TSRs and remnant vegetation used for primary production purposes. Vegetation attributes were monitored in 155 permanent plots over 5 years in remnant temperate woodland sites in the Riverina bioregion of New South Wales. Overall, TSRs supported higher native plant species richness and were characterised by higher ground cover of native shrubs and less cover of exotic plant species than agricultural production areas. We found land tenure had significant effects on some vegetation attributes demonstrated to be important for threatened fauna. We attribute these results to TSRs having a history of lower grazing pressure compared with remnants managed for agricultural production. Our study provides empirical evidence to support the high conservation value of TSRs in formerly woodland-dominated, but now extensively cleared agricultural landscapes.

Breast cancer is the most common cause of cancer amongst Australian women and the second most common cause of cancer mortality. Despite the proven effectiveness of early intervention, screening rates remain subpar across many regions in New South Wales (NSW). Screening rates are particularly low within the culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) area of South Western Sydney (SWS). The objective of this study was to qualitatively explore barriers and facilitators to breast screening from the perspectives of CALD women from SWS. CALD women aged ≥40 who resided in SWS were invited to participate in a semi-structured interview to explore barriers and facilitators to breast cancer screening. Interviews were recorded, transcribed verbatim and analysed thematically to identify recurring patterns in the data. Sixteen women from CALD backgrounds participated. Women in this study reported absence of symptoms, fatalistic beliefs and embarrassment during the procedure to be the primary reasons for reluctance to screen. Lack of general practitioner (GP) endorsement, transport issues and pain associated with the procedure were also reported as additional barriers to screening. Common facilitators to screening included encouragement from family and friends, family history of cancer and media adverts. CALD women have distinctive barriers to mammography, which lead to poor breast screening participation rates. Opportunistic health promotion in this area is warranted and may lead to better health outcomes amongst this population.

National surveillance for newly diagnosed HIV infection indicates an increasing trend in Queensland, South Australia and Victoria but not in New South Wales. It was not clear if trends in newly diagnosed HIV infection were due to different patterns of HIV antibody testing. We report the pattern of HIV antibody testing among people seen through a network of sexual health clinics in Australia. Six public metropolitan sexual health clinics (Sydney Sexual Health Centre (SSHC), South West Sexual Health Centre (SSWSHC), NSW; Brisbane Sexual Health Clinic (BSHC), Gold Coast Sexual Health Clinic (GCSHC), QLD; Clinic 275, SA; Melbourne Sexual Health Centre (MSHC), VIC) provide annual tabulations of the number of people seen, the number tested for HIV antibody, and the number with newly diagnosed HIV infection, broken down by sex, exposure category and testing history. The number of men seen at the clinics ranged from 17 138 in 1996 to 19 184 in 2005. Among men seen, the percentage who were tested for HIV declined from 62% in 1996 to 50% in 2001 and increased to 56% in 2005. HIV prevalence remained stable in 1996-2005 at 0.5% and was highest at SSHC (0.7-1.1%) and among homosexually active men (1.8% in 1996 and 1.6% in 2005). The percentage of men retested within 12 months of a negative test increased from 41% in 1996 to 44% in 2005. At SSHC, retesting among homosexually active men declined from 56% in 1996 to 44% in 2001 and increased to 58% by 2005. At Clinic 275 and MSHC, 50-60% and around 50% of homosexually active men were retested in 1996 - 2005 and in 2004-2005, respectively. HIV infection was newly diagnosed in 0.4% (8) in 1996 and in 0.8% (26) in 2005. While HIV antibody testing patterns vary between the clinics, incidence of newly diagnosed HIV infection has remained low.

Management of free-ranging horses (Equus ferus caballus) is a complex socio-ecological issue in Australia (AU), New Zealand (NZ), and the United States (US). In these countries, horses are the results of colonial introductions and occupy very harsh rangeland environments exerting a grazing disturbance that has generated ecological concerns. Although many social and ecological concerns are similar, each country also has nuances. In 2018, we conducted a field-based comparison of AU, NZ, and US using an inductive approach to identify similarities, differences, and emerging themes through conversations with &gt;100 individuals from New South Wales Australia, the North Island of New Zealand, and the western US. Additional data sources included field observations and archival documents. Consistent emergent themes identified included: strong public emotion, politicization of management, population growth concerns, negative ecological impact concerns, agreement that horses should be treated humanely, disagreement as to what practices were the most humane, interest and scepticism about fertility control, the need for transparency, compromise to accommodating horses and acknowledgement of social values, and recognition that collaboration is the only means to achieve both healthy rangelands and healthy horses. Unique themes identified included: NZ empowering advocate groups to become part of the solution, conflict between horses and livestock is a mostly US conflict, equids originated in the US, concern about the sustainability of adoption programs, different expectations/options for management on private lands, cultural history such as brumby running in AU, permanent branding of horses in the US, litigation as a uniquely US strategy (although a judgement on recent AU litigation is pending), government data accepted to guide removals in NZ but not always in AU or US, and complex heterogeneous land surface ownership patterns makes management difficult in the US. The difficulty of horse management in these countries is attributed to social intricacies rather than biological/ecological gaps of knowledge.

Resolving competition over rights to the resources of Australia's rangelands is an issue of national prominence. In the early 20th century, European competition over the rangelands reflected the idea that the land needed to be used 'productively' for its occupation to be legitimate, and the idea that the rangelands were the 'public estate'. These perspectives about rights to the rangelands expose roots of today's conflicts. A central theme of 19th century Australian history has been conflict between squatters and colonial governments. By the beginning of the 20th century, occupation of the rangelands had been mostly legitimised through leases and licenses. Governments have continued to use leases to influence access and the use of the rangelands. The 20th century saw conflict continue over rights to the rangelands. Closer settlement, an expression of this conflict, sometimes led to land use that was disastrous for the land and those who used it. The career of the pastoralist Sidney Kidman illustrates the conflicts between the landed and landless, and the inseparability of 'productive' and 'legitimate' land use. The beginning of the 20th century also saw growing knowledge about the environmental impacts of rangeland pastoralism. The rights of lessees and governments were widely renegotiated, in the example of New South Wales, in all attempt to make land use better reflect this new knowledge and to protect the 'public estate'. Today, the history of the rangelands is used by different groups to justify perceived rights to its resources — these rights are legitimised culturally as well by the narrower prescriptions of the law. As social values change, different interests in the rangelands need to be accommodated. A better awareness of past ideas about the rights to the rangelands may in a small way help reconcile these interests, if only by reminding us that in the continuing process of adapting to the rangelands, rights have always been contested and negotiated rather than immutable.

In 2014 Indigenous theatre director Wesley Enoch announced in an interview that ‘the aim of Indigenous theatre is to write into the public record neglected or forgotten stories’. He also spoke about the aims of a new Australian play, Black Diggers, as ‘honouring and preserving’ these stories. For Enoch, Black Diggers (re)addresses a great silence in Australia’s history, that of the Aboriginal experience of war. Also in 2014, the memorial sculpture Yininmadyemi Thou Didst Let Fall, commissioned by the City of Sydney Council, aimed to place in memoriam the story of forgotten Aboriginal soldiers who served during international conflicts, notably the two world wars. Both Black Diggers and the Yininmadyemi memorial sculpture are counter-hegemonic artefacts and a powerful commentary of a time of pseudo-nationalist memorialization. Both challenge the validity of many of Australia’s socio-political and historical accounts of war, including the frontier wars that took place between Aboriginal people and European settlers. Both unsettle Australia’s fascination with a memorialized past constructed from a culture of silence and forgetfulness. Liza-Mare Syron is a descendant of the Birripi people of the mid-north coast of New South Wales in Australia. An actor, director, dramaturg, and founding member of Moogahlin Performing Arts, a Sydney-based Aboriginal company, she is currently the Indigenous Research Fellow at the Department of Media, Music, Communication, and Cultural Studies at Macquarie University, Sydney. She has published widely on actor training, indigenous theatre practice, inter-cultural performance, and theatre and community development.

Objectives: To determine the risk of a histological diagnosis of cervical cancer following a given Pap test result and for a given history of Pap test results in a screened population across the full spectrum of possible cytological results. Methods: All the Pap screening results held on the New South Wales Pap Test Register for 1997–2003 (five million tests for 1.87 million women) were analysed using Cox proportional hazards regression to estimate the odds of having a histologically determined cervical cancer for a given Pap test result and test result history. The hazard ratios of having cervical cancer in relation to Pap test result histories were estimated: (i) in regard only to the last Pap test result adjusting for age, frequency of Pap testing and proportion of high grade (≥cervical intraepithelial neoplasia 2 [CIN2]) abnormalities found in a woman's total recorded test result history; and (ii) with regard to the last Pap test result against the highest grade of cytological abnormality found prior to the last Pap test result. The hazard ratios are for a cancer diagnosis occurring before the next Pap test and were adjusted for age, quintile of socioeconomic status of residence, frequency of past Pap testing and proportion of high-grade abnormalities detected in each woman's prior Pap test history. The adjusted hazard ratios were then applied to the tabulated proportions of referent women with negative cytology in each broad age group, and for all women, to estimate the ′1 in n′ odds of being diagnosed histologically with cervical cancer for a given last Pap test result, and by a given last Pap test result for various prior Pap test result histories. Results: After adjusting for age, socioeconomic status, frequency of previous Pap testing and proportion of past high-grade screen-detected abnormalities, the adjusted hazard ratio of having a subsequent cervical cancer diagnosis for women with a negative Pap test result was 1 in 5546, compared with 1 in 833 for a low-grade epithelial abnormality (atypia, CIN1), 1 in 56 for a high-grade epithelial abnormality and 1 in seven for a cytological prediction of cervical cancer. These odds estimates were significantly modified by age and by the highest Pap test result prior to the most recent Pap test result: the higher the age and, less consistently, the higher the previous highest Pap test result for a given last Pap test result, the shorter the odds of having a subsequent histological diagnosis of cervical cancer. Conclusions: The results presented here will enable clinicians to inform their patients of their chances of being diagnosed with cervical cancer for a given Pap test result, and for some combinations of the last Pap test result and highest recorded prior Pap test result.

IntroductionThe rising rate of incarceration in Australia, driven by high reoffending, is a major public health problem. Problematic drug use is associated with increasing rates of reoffending and return to custody of individuals. Throughcare provides support to individuals during imprisonment through to post-release, improving both the transition to community and health outcomes post-incarceration. The aim of this study is to evaluate the Connections Programme (CP) that utilises a throughcare approach for release planning of people in prison with a history of problematic drug use. The study protocol is described.Methods and analysisPopulation-based retrospective cohort study. The study will use record linkage of the Connections dataset with 10 other New South Wales (NSW) population datasets on offending, health service utilisation, opioid substitution therapy, pregnancy, birth and mortality. The study includes all patients who were eligible to participate in the CP between January 2008 and December 2015 stratified by patients who were offered CP and eligible patients who were not offered the programme (non-CP (NCP)). Propensity-score matching will be used to appropriately adjust for the observable differences between CP and NCP. The differences between two groups will be examined using appropriate univariate and multivariate analyses. A generalised estimating equation approach, which can deal with repeat outcomes for individuals will be used to examine recidivism, mortality and other health outcomes, including perinatal and infant outcomes. Survival analysis techniques will be used to examine the effect of the CP by sex and Indigenous status on the ‘time-to’ health-related outcomes after adjusting for potential confounders.Ethics and disseminationEthical approval was received from the NSW Population and Health Services Research Ethics Committee, the Justice Health and Forensic Mental Health Network Human Research Ethics Committee, the Aboriginal Health and Medical Research Council Ethics Committee, the Corrective Services NSW Ethics Committee and the University of Technology Sydney Human Research Ethics Committee.

IN NOVEMBER 2002, in what stands as one of the most significant whistle blowing cases in the history of the Australian health care system, four nurses went public with concerns they had about the management of clinical incidents and patient safety at two hospitals in Sydney, New South Wales. The handling of this case and its aftermath raises important moral questions concerning the nature of whistleblowing in health care domains and the possible implications for the patient safety and quality of care movement in Australia. This paper presents an overview of the case, the moral risks associated with whistleblowing, and some lessons learned. The International Council of Nurses (2000) Code of Ethics stipulates that nurses have a stringent responsibility to 'take appropriate action to safeguard individuals when their care is endangered by a co-worker or any other person'. Other local and international nursing codes of ethics and standards of professional conduct likewise obligate nurses to take appropriate action to safeguard individuals when placed at risk by the incompetent, unethical or illegal acts of others ? including the system. Despite these coded moral prescriptions for responsible and accountable professional conduct, taking appropriate action when others are placed at risk (including making reports to appropriate authorities) is never an easy task nor is it free of risk for nurses. As has been amply demonstrated in the literature, taking a moral stance to protect patient safety and quality of care can be extremely hazardous to nurses (Johnstone 1994, 2002, 2004; Ahern & McDonald 2002). In situations where nurses report their concerns to an appropriate authority but nothing is done to either investigate or validate their claims, nurses are faced with the ethical dilemma and 'choice' of whether to: do nothing ('put up and shut up'); leave their current place of employment (and possibly even the profession); or take the matter further ('blow the whistle') by reporting their concerns to an external authority that they perceive as having the power to do something about their concerns. It is rare for nurses to 'blow the whistle' in the public domain. When they do, it is usually because they perceive that something is terribly wrong and, as a matter of conscience, they cannot just look on as morally passive bystanders. For those nurses who do take a stand, the costs to them personally and professionally are almost always devastating, with no guarantees that the situation on which they have taken a public stance will be improved. Nurses who blow the whistle often end up with their careers and lives in tatters (see case studies in Johnstone 1994 & 2004).

IntroductionThis article investigates how local studies collections in public libraries can help people explore the experiences of regional Australia. Some of this discovery can be done online, but as not all local studies material has been catalogued, is online or available in a digital format, some of this exploration will need to be onsite at public libraries throughout Australia. This exploration could be combined with other investigations into regional areas. What are local studies collections in public libraries? These collections are defined as beinginclusive of local history and so the local collection should support studies that look at the historical past, both distant and recent, or at current concerns in the community, such as local environmental issues, or plans for the future development of a locality. (Dewe 1–2)This broader look at the context of a place should provide information in a range of formats to help explore an area, and to find out about the history, geography and the environment as well as other local concerns and issues. Local studies collections should contain recent as well as older material. Each local studies collection will be different (McCausland; Bateman; Johnston; Gregg; Heap and Pymm) with some of these differences simply being because each area has a unique collection of stories which can be told about it. Other differences will be in how each public library interprets their remit to collect information and stories about a community, and which stories are included or excluded from the collection. There are budget constraints as well because each public library has to choose how to fund local studies as part of their overall library provision which means there are tensions and competing priorities in what is collected and how it is made available for research as well as information and entertainment. Some areas have more research activity so there is more being written, photographed, drawn, or otherwise recorded about an area, but no matter how small an area is, there is usually new local studies material being continually created.Local Studies CollectionsLocal studies collections are important as they provide key information about an area. For professional scholars, even in social history, the local becomes interesting only within a larger context, however. Local case studies may throw light on wider questions (Reid and Macafee 127).This highlights the value which local studies can contribute as part of research as these collections may provide case studies to explore, or different avenues to investigate. It also shows the importance of information in many local studies collections being brought together so the separate, local information can be connected to other local information. This bringing together can be as a result of research or through an aggregation system such as Trove (“Trove”).Peter Reid and Caroline Macafee have stated that becausethe potential is always there for local history to be pulled into issues of wider concern, it could be said to occupy a liminal space, a borderland between knowledge that is personal, and therefore academically trivial, and knowledge that is generalizable and therefore worthy of scientific attention. (127)This seems a harsh description, but it shows how these collections can be undervalued and that this undervaluing can risk them being overlooked by biographers, historians, and other researchers. Despite this thinking, local studies collections can offer unique and valuable insights into people and places; including for regional areas. The skilled library staff who manage these collections are also key resources in the history of regional areas, as they can help connect the local studies information to other local collections. As well as connecting people to the resources, the unwritten knowledge of staff is a separate and very important resource.How to Discover Local Studies CollectionsA good way to start exploring local studies collections is by searching Trove. Trove had, around the time of writing, “over 457,524,491 Australian and online resources” (online) and is an Australia-wide database, managed by the National Library of Australia. It enables you to search many library catalogues with one search tool which means that you can search once, in one place, rather than by individual library or museum catalogues. Trove brings together metadata including catalogue records, mostly from library catalogues, from organisations who choose to contribute access to their information. Some of the resources you can search for on Trove are in local studies collections in public libraries or held by other organisations which collect local information such as state and national libraries. Start your search by the name of the location which you are exploring. Be as specific as possible, as you can always broaden your search later. If the item has been digitised, or is already digital, you are often able to view or listen to this material online.As well as providing access to library catalogues, many local newspapers have been digitised and are searchable and viewable on Trove. Some newspapers have been digitised up to 1955, while some titles have fewer years available online, and microfilm will need to be used to find more recently produced information. Public libraries often hold the microfilm for their local newspapers. State libraries may hold them as well. This timeline of digital access is important to keep in mind as searching newspapers on Trove is very easy and searching on microfilm is not so appealing because of having to work through each newspaper page by page, microfilm roll by microfilm roll. You need to check the information about what issues of a newspaper have been digitised so you know when you need to start looking at microfilm copies rather than digitised ones. Older newspapers often include syndicated stories, so an event may have occurred in an area you are interested in but be reported in the newspaper from another area. You could also use the Trove API (application programming interface) to explore high volume digitised newspaper or catalogue data (Sherratt).This method of starting with Trove can also be a helpful way to find out which public library is in the area you are looking for, as the name of the organisation which holds the resources is listed online. You can click on a link to take you to their catalogue. While public libraries are often named for the town they are in, you may be looking for a place with a different name, so this method can be helpful. It can also show resources held in other libraries which may relate to the area of your research. Trove Mosaic by Mitchell Whitelaw (online), although an older interface, is a visual way to explore Trove and clearly highlights the different organisations contributing photographs.Libraries include local studies photographs in their social media and a very small number of them are collecting social media about their community (Forsyth et al.). Searching social media for terms such as #flashbackFriday or #throwbackThursday may also provide a way to discover local studies material online, although depending on your research topic, this method could be too haphazard an approach. There are still some local studies blogs to follow (MacRitchie) and searching for these can also provide information about local studies material in public libraries.Public Libraries and Local StudiesYou can also start at the public library. Depending on where in Australia you are searching there are different tools to help find your local public library. Rather than list them all, a useful starting point is to go to your favourite search engine and search for the name of town/suburb followed by public library. This should connect you with information about the local library through the library website, the regional library website (where two or more councils work together to provide a public library service), or via the council website. This is likely to provide sufficient information to be able to contact the library. However, before you contact the library, search the library catalogue. They may even have a separate local studies database for some or all of the local studies collection. This is why is it a good idea to start with Trove, before going to a local library search, as Trove should be aggregating collection information from a variety of sources bringing together the local public library as well as other organisations (sometimes some unexpected ones) which have material of relevance.Work from the State Library of New South Wales had demonstrated that not everything in local studies collection is catalogued (State Library of New South Wales) which makes it impossible to search for everything online. Quite a few (but not all) public libraries have a webpage where they describe their local studies collections and services. This can provide helpful information so that if you do not find something online you can telephone or email the library seeking further information. If the library is nearby you could simply visit it, but it is best to ring or email first if your time is limited, as it can be helpful to make an appointment to ensure that staff will be able to assist you with using the library collection. For searching the catalogues for local studies information, again, be as specific as possible, knowing you can always broaden your search terms. Helpfully, most (but not all) library catalogues have a sort by date option once material has been found, and some even have local studies specific search help. Often you can view or listen to digitised material online, but some libraries only make low resolution images available, which is rarely of good enough quality for research. When you have searched the catalogue or other online local studies database and not found anything, contact the library as they will be able to provide further information.Library staff will help you use their collections. Some public libraries charge a fee for more detailed research, others, quite reasonably, require you to do this more detailed research yourself.There are many variables, and it really depends on what and where you are researching. Perhaps you are looking for a written history of each area you plan to visit when exploring regional areas of Australia, or you might be planning to visit local studies collections to see how they lead you to areas and stories of local interest, or there is a particular research question you want to explore in several regional areas. How local studies books and other materials are written will depend on the time they were written, and the purpose for them. They can depict ideas and priorities which are outdated and/or offensive.Not Everything Is on TroveWhile Trove is a suggested starting place, given that every item in local studies collections is not catalogued, visiting the local public library can be an important step to take. Always check if the local studies area has different opening hours to the rest of the library. If part or all of the local studies collection is in a locked room, visiting the library at a very busy time is unwise as it may make it harder for the staff to assist you as they will have many other priorities and you may not be able to access the collection.Visiting the Library Visiting a public library and looking at how their local studies collection is arranged can help you see the collecting priorities. It also makes it very clear as to which public libraries have prioritised their local studies information. Occasionally the local studies area will be a partnership with both the library and the local family or local history society providing resources or the collection. This can result in different access conditions being applied to different collections.Visiting the collection means you can talk with the library staff about the history of the area as part of your experience of regional Australia. It is interesting to see how different local studies collections are arranged and how the local area is promoted through the collection and any displays or merchandise for sale. Often local publications will be for sale in the library so that you can purchase titles about the history of the area. Some councils commission histories of their areas, other times niche histories will be written by people in the community and the local studies collection can be a helpful way to discover these.Keep in mind that local government boundaries change (Leigh) and this may mean that resources you are looking for could be in a neighbouring area, rather than the location you are exploring. This is another reason to start with Trove.You May Not Be Able to See Everything Even If You Visit...For reasons of preservation you may not be able to see everything in the local studies collection even if you visit. Sometimes you need to watch out for special tours, which may not coincide with your visit to the area. There may be parts of the collection stored but not fully explored by staff, waiting their time in the queue to be catalogued and made available for research. Generally public library staff will be very helpful for you in your research, particularly if you have specific questions about the area.Know about CopyrightKnow the information about duration of copyright as some libraries say on their catalogues that everything which has been digitised is in copyright. This may be accidental as a result of some bulk cataloguing processes linked with digitisation. Stating something is in copyright is not the same as it being in copyright. The Australian Copyright Council has a helpful information sheet on the duration of copyright to help you understand what is in copyright and how long it is likely to continue to be in copyright.ChallengesThere will be collection gaps. The risk of bias is highlighted by the statement that libraries “are not, and have never been, socially or politically neutral institutions” (Gibson et al. 753). There has not been detailed research exploring these collection gaps, so the exact extent of exclusion or omission of information is not yet able to be quantified. There is arenewed professional imperative to position information centers as central locations for social justice work [which] has also turned our attention to the need to preserve materials that support a diverse and pluralistic society … [and] as a duty to steward unexplored histories. (Sheffield 573)Material may not be in the collection because it was not collected, or because it was not created. For example, in the past not everyone could afford a camera which means they may not have photographed or videoed their family, or public events. Not every grave had a headstone so someone may not have their grave recorded. Public libraries recognise these gaps, and in some areas library staff create or commission content to help with these omissions. For example, oral histories can be recorded to include stories which were not available in other ways, and photographs can be taken of current events to make sure a wider exploration of local stories are recorded in the local studies collection.Conclusion (and Opportunities)Grant White states, in relation to local studies that thesurvival of the artefact is only ever significant when it can be accessed by someone who can see meaning in it. The collection is in fact much more than the material sitting upon the shelves, it is access to it. Access which keeps it current in the community memory rather than as a separated, isolated adjunct. It is also the participation of the community in the creation of the collection, feeding it with its experience, reflections and memories. (98)This access is crucial, and with digitisation and digital collecting the access can increasingly be at a distance, without actually visiting a library. This increasing online access, especially through aggregated sites such as Trove, will hopefully enable research exploring the similarities and differences of regional areas, as connections can be made, and not only by people who can afford to travel to different places to do research. Digitisation, digital collecting, effective cataloguing and use of metadata can open up access to collections, just as digital preservation, preservation of other formats and conservation can help make sure that these materials are available into the future. Connecting to skilled staff who manage these collections is another way of exploring access as there will be information not recorded anywhere you can find, but which the staff may know because of their experience and knowledge of the collection as well as their knowledge of the community they work in.If you have been using public library local studies collections for research, it is helpful if you can share this research back with the public library, helping to build their collection for other people who are researching the region, even if they are exploring different topics. It may be a printed book you are providing, but more public libraries are able to accept donations of ebooks, or other online content. This can be a helpful way for you to contribute to the collections which have assisted in your research.ReferencesBateman, Shirley. “Innovation in Local Studies Collections and Programs: How Melbourne Library Service Is Fostering Community Pride.” Australasian Public Libraries and Information Services 25.1 (2012): 12–18.Dewe, Michael. Ed. Local Studies Collection Management. London: Ashgate, 2002.Forsyth, Ellen, Ngarie Macqueen, and Daniel Nitsikopoulos. Contemporary Collecting: Collecting Instagram for Local Studies. ALIA Information Online, 2019.Gibson, Amelia N., Renate L. Chancellor, Nicole A. Cooke, Sarah Park Dahlen, Shari A. Lee, and Yasmeen L. Shorish. “Libraries on the Frontlines: Neutrality and Social Justice.” Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal 36.8 (2017): 751–66.Gregg, Alison. “Our Heritage: The Role of Archives and Local Studies Collections.” Australasian Public Libraries and Information Services 15.3 (2002): 126–32.Heap, Amy, and Bob Pymm. “Wagga Wagga Women’s Wireless and the Web: Local Studies and New Technologies.” The Australian Library Journal 58.1 (2009): 5–16.Johnston, Clinton. “Capture and Release: Cataloguing Cultural Heritage at Marrickville Library and History Services.” The Australian Library Journal 62.3 (2013): 218–23.Leigh, Carol. “From Filing Cabinet to Cultural Centre: Creating a Community History Centre in Wanneroo Western Australia.” Australasian Public Libraries and Information Services 25.2 (2012): 83–88.MacRitchie, John. “The Manly Art of Local Studies Blogging: A New Approach to Old Stories.” Australasian Public Libraries and Information Services 25.2 (2012): 89–93.McCausland, Sigrid. “Archives for the People: Public Libraries and Archives in New South Wales.” The Australian Library Journal 64.4 (2015): 270.Reid, Peter H., and Caroline Macafee. “The Philosophy of Local Studies in the Interactive Age.” Journal of Librarianship and Information Science 39.3 (2007): 126–41.Sheffield, Rebecka T. “More than Acid-Free Folders: Extending the Concept of Preservation to Include the Stewardship of Unexplored Histories.” Library Trends 64.3 (2016): 572.Sherratt, Tim. “Asking Better Questions: History, Trove and the Risks That Count.” Copyfight. Ed. Phillipa McGuinness. Sydney: NewSouth Publishing, 2015. 112–24.State Library of New South Wales. NSW Public Libraries Local Studies Audit. 2014.“Trove.” Trove 7 Apr. 2019 <https://trove.nla.gov.au/>.White, Grant. “Message in a Bottle: Community Memory in the Local Studies Collection.” APLIS 13.3 (2000): 6.Whitelaw, Mitchell. “TroveMosaic: Exploring Trove Images.” TroveMosaic: Exploring Trove Images 7 Apr. 2019 <http://mtchl.net/TroveMosaic/>.

IntroductionThis article suggests extensions to the place of ‘national collections’ of Australia’s migration histories, and considers the role of regional libraries and museums in collecting, preserving, and making accessible the history of migration. The article describes a recent collaboration between the Bonegilla Migrant Experience site, the Albury LibraryMuseum and the regionally-based Charles Sturt University (CSU) to develop a virtual, three-dimensional tour of Bonegilla, a former migrant arrival centre. Through this, the role of regional collections as keeping places of migration memories and narratives outside of those institutions charged with preserving the nation’s memory is highlighted and explored.What Makes a Nation’s Memory?In 2018 the Australian Research Council (ARC) awarded a Linkage grant to a collaboration between two universities (RMIT and Deakin), and the National Library of Australia, State Library of South Australia, State Library of Victoria, and State Library of New South Wales titled “Representing Multicultural Australia in National and State Libraries” (LP170100222). This Linkage project aimed to “develop a new methodology for evaluating multicultural collections, and new policies and strategies to develop and provide access to these collections” (RMIT Centre for Urban Research).One planned output of the Linkage project was a conference, to be held in early 2019, titled “Collecting for a Society’s Memory: National and State Libraries in Culturally Diverse Societies.” The conference call for papers suggested themes that included an interrogation of the relationship between libraries and ‘the collecting sector’, but with a focus still on National and State Libraries (Boyd). As an aside, the correlation between libraries and memories seemed slightly incongruous here, as archives and museums in particular would also be key in this collecting (and preserving) society’s memory, and also the libraries that exist outside of the national and state capitals.It felt like the project and conference had a definite ‘national’ focus, with the ‘regional’ mentioned only briefly in a suggested theme.At the same time that I was reading this call for papers and about the Linkage, I was part of a CSU Learning and Teaching project to develop online learning materials for students in our Teacher Education programs (history in particular) based around the Bonegilla Migrant Arrival Centre in Wodonga, Victoria. This project uses three-dimensional film technology to bring students to the Centre site, where they can take an interactive, curriculum-based tour of the site. Alongside the interactive online tour, a series of curricula were developed to work with the Australian History Curriculum. I wondered why community-led collections like these in the regions fall to the side in discussions of a ‘national’ (aka institutional) memory, or as part of a representation of a multicultural Australia, such as in this Linkage.Before I start exploring this question I want to acknowledge the limitations of the ARC Linkage framework in terms of the project mentioned above, and that the work that is being done in the “Representing Multicultural Australia in National and State Libraries” project is of value to professional practice and community; in this article I am using the juxtaposition of the two projects as an impetus to interrogate the role of regional collaboration, and to argue for a notion of national memory as a regional collecting concern.Bonegilla: A Contested SiteFrom 1947 through to 1971 over 300,000 migrants to Australia passed through the Bonegilla Migrant Reception and Training Centre (“Bonegilla”) at a defining time in Australia’s immigration history, as post-World War II migration policies encompassed non-English speaking Europeans displaced by the war (Pennay "Remembering Bonegilla" 43). Bonegilla itself is a small settlement near the Hume Dam, 10 km from the New South Wales town of Albury and the Victorian town of Wodonga. Bonegilla was a former Army Camp repurposed to meet the settlement agendas of multiple Australian governments.New migrants spent weeks and months at Bonegilla, learning English, and securing work. The site was the largest (covering 130 hectares of land) and longest-lasting reception centre in post-war Australia, and has been confirmed bureaucratically as nationally significant, having been added to the National Heritage Register in 2007 (see Pennay “Remembering Bonegilla” for an in-depth discussion of this listing process). Bonegilla has played a part in defining and redefining Australia’s migrant and multicultural history through the years, with Bruce Pennay suggesting thatperhaps Bonegilla has warranted national notice as part of an officially initiated endeavour to develop a more inclusive narrative of nation, for the National Heritage List was almost contemporaneously expanded to include Myall Creek. Perhaps it is exemplary in raising questions about the roles of the nation and the community in reception and training that morph into modern day equivalents. (“Memories and Representations” 46)Given its national significance, both formally and colloquially, Bonegilla has provided rich material for critical thinking around, for example, Australian multicultural identity, migration commemorations and the construction of cultural memory. Alexandra Dellios argues that Bonegilla and its role in Australia’s memory is a contested site, and thatdespite criticisms from historians such as Persian and Ashton regarding Bonegilla’s adherence to a revisionist narrative of multicultural progress, visitor book comments, as well as exchanges and performances at reunions and festivals, demonstrate that visitors take what they will from available frameworks, and fill in the ‘gaps’ according to their own collective memories, needs and expectations. (1075)This recognition of Bonegilla as a significant, albeit “heritage noir” (Pennay, “Memories and Representations” 48), agent of Australia’s heritage and memory makes it a productive site to investigate the question of regional collections and collaborations in constructing a national memory.Recordkeeping: By Government and CommunityThe past decade has seen a growth in the prominence of community archives as places of memory for communities (for example Flinn; Flinn, Stevens, and Shepherd; Zavala et al.). This prominence has come through the recognition of community archives as both valid sites of study as well as repositories of memory. In turn, this body of knowledge has offered new ways to think about collection practices outside of the mainstream, where “communities can make collective decisions about what is of enduring value to them, shape collective memory of their own pasts, and control the means through which stories about their past are constructed” (Caswell, Cifor, and Ramirez 58). Jimmy Zavala, and colleagues, argue that these collections “challenge hierarchical structures of governance found in mainstream archival institutions” (212), and offer different perspectives to those kept on the official record. By recognising both the official record and the collections developed and developing outside of official repositories, there are opportunities to deepen understandings and interpretations of historical moments in time.There are at least three possible formal keeping places of memories for those who passed through, worked at, or lived alongside Bonegilla: the National Archives of Australia, the Albury LibraryMuseum in Albury, New South Wales, and the Bonegilla Migrant Experience site itself outside of Wodonga. There will of course be records in other national, state, local, and community repositories, along with newspaper articles, people’s homes, and oral lore that contribute to the narrative of Bonegilla memories, but the focus for this article are these three key sites as the main sources of primary source material about the Bonegilla experience.Official administrative and organisational records of activity during Bonegilla’s reception period are held at the National Archives of Australia in the national capital, Canberra; these records contribute to the memory of Bonegilla from a nation-state perspective, building an administrative record of the Centre’s history and of a significant period of migration in Australia’s past. Of note, Bonegilla was the only migrant centre that created its own records on site, and these records form part of the series known as NAA: A2567, NAA A2571 1949–56 and A2572 1957–71 (Hutchison 70). Records of local staff employed at the site will also be included in these administrative files. Very few of these records are publicly accessible online, although work is underway to provide enhanced online and analogue access to the popular arrival cards (NAA A2571 1949-56 and A2572 1957–71) onsite at Bonegilla (Pennay, personal communication) as they are in high demand by visitors to the site, who are often looking for traces of themselves or their families in the official record. The National Archives site Destination Australia is an example of an attempt by the holder of these administrative records to collect personal stories of this period in Australia’s history through an online photograph gallery and story register, but by 2019 less than 150 stories have been published to the site, which was launched in 2014 (National Archives of Australia).This national collection is complemented and enhanced by the Bonegilla Migration Collection at the Albury LibraryMuseum in southern New South Wales, which holds non-government records and memories of life at Bonegilla. This collection “contains over 20 sustained interviews; 357 personal history database entries; over 500 short memory pieces and 700 photographs” (Pennay “Memories and Representations” 45). It is a ‘live’ collection, growing through contributions to the Bonegilla Personal History Register by the migrants and others who experienced the Centre, and through an ongoing relationship with the current Bonegilla Migrant Experience site to act as a collection home for their materials.Alongside the collection in the LibraryMuseum, there is the collection of infrastructure at the Bonegilla Migrant Experience (BME) site itself. These buildings and other assets, and indeed the absence of buildings, plus the interpretative material developed by BME staff, give further depth and meaning to the lived experience of post-war migration to Australia. Whilst both of these collections are housed and managed by local government agencies, I suggest in this article that these collections can still be considered community archives, given the regional setting of the collections, and the community created records included in the collections.The choice to locate Bonegilla in a fairly isolated regional setting was a strategy of the governments of the time (Persian), and in turn has had an impact on how the site is accessed; by who, and how often (see Dellios for a discussion of the visitor numbers over the history of the Bonegilla Migrant Experience over its time as a commemorative and tourist site). The closest cities to Bonegilla, Albury and Wodonga, sit on the border of New South Wales and Victoria, separated by the Murray River and located 300 km from Melbourne and 550 km from Sydney. The ‘twin towns’ work collaboratively on many civic activities, and are an example of a 1970s-era regional development project that in the twenty-first century is still growing, despite the regional setting (Stein 345).This regional setting justifies a consideration of virtual, and online access to what some argue is a site of national memory loaded with place-based connections, with Jayne Persian arguing that “the most successful forays into commemoration of Bonegilla appear to be website-based and institution-led” (81). This sentiment is reflected in the motivation to create further online access points to Bonegilla, such as the one discussed in this article.Enhancing Teaching, Learning, and Public Access to CollectionsIn 2018 these concepts of significant heritage sites, community archives, national records, and an understanding of migration history came together in a regionally-based Teaching and Learning project funded through a CSU internal grant scheme. The scheme, designed to support scholarship and enhance learning and teaching at CSU, funded a small pilot project to pilot a virtual visit to a real-life destination: the Bonegilla Migrant Experience site. The project was designed to provide key teaching and learning material for students in CSU Education courses, and those training to teach history in particular, but also enhance virtual access to the site for the wider public.The project was developed as a partnership between CSU, Albury LibraryMuseum, and Bonegilla Migrant Experience, and formalised through a Memorandum of Understanding with shared intellectual property. The virtual visit includes a three-dimensional walkthrough created using Matterport software, intuitive navigation of the walkthrough, and four embedded videos linked with online investigation guides. The site is intended to help online visitors ‘do history’ by locating and evaluating sources related to a heritage site with many layers and voices, and whose narrative and history is contested and told through many lenses (Grover and Pennay).As you walk through the virtual site, you get a sense of the size and scope of the Migrant Arrival Centre. The current Bonegilla Migrant Experience site sits at Block 19, one of 24 blocks that formed part of the Centre in its peak time. The guiding path takes you through the Reception area and then to the ‘Beginning Place’, a purpose built interpretative structure that “introduces why people came to Australia searching for a new beginning” (Bonegilla site guide). Moving through, you pass markers on the walls and other surfaces that link through to further interpretative materials and investigation guides. These guides are designed to introduce K-10 students and their teachers to practices such as exploring online archives and thematic inquiry learning aligned to the Australian History Curriculum. Each guide is accompanied by teacher support material and further classroom activities.The guides prompt and guide visitors through an investigation of online archives, and other repositories, including sourcing files held by the National Archives of Australia, searching for newspaper accounts of controversial events through the National Library of Australia’s digital repository Trove, and access to personal testimonies of migrants and refugees through the Albury LibraryMuseum Bonegilla Migration Collection. Whilst designed to support teachers and students engaging with the Australian History Curriculum, these resources are available to the public. They provide visitors to the virtual site an opportunity to develop their own critical digital literacy skills and further their understanding of the official records along with the community created records such as those held by the Albury LibraryMuseum.The project partnership developed from existing relationships between cultural heritage professionals in the Albury Wodonga region along with new relationships developed for technology support from local companies. The project also reinforced the role of CSU, with its regional footprint, in being able to connect and activate regionally-based projects for community benefit along with teaching and learning outcomes.Regional CollaborationsLiz Bishoff argues for a “collaboration imperative” when it comes to the galleries, libraries, archives, and museums (GLAM) sector’s efficacy, and it is the collaborative nature of this project that I draw on in this article. Previous work has also suggested models of convergence, where multiple institutions in the GLAM sector become a single institution (Warren and Matthews 3). In fact the Albury LibraryMuseum is an example of this model. These converged models have been critiqued from resourcing, professionalisation and economic perspectives (see for example Jones; Hider et al.; Wellington), but in some cases for local government agencies especially, they are an effective way of delivering services to communities (Warren and Matthews 9). In the case of this virtual tour, the collaboration between local government and university agencies was temporal for the length of the project, where the pooling of skills, resources, and networks has enabled the development of the resource.In this project, the regional setting has allowed and taken advantage of an intimacy that I argue may not have been possible in a metropolitan or urban setting. The social intimacies of regional town living mean that jobs are often ‘for a long time (if not for life)’, lives intersect in more than a professional context, and that because there are few pathways or options for alternative work opportunities in the GLAM professions, there is a vested interest in progress and success in project-based work. The relationships that underpinned the Bonegilla virtual tour project reflect many of these social intimacies, which included former students, former colleagues, and family relationships.The project has modelled future strategies for collaboration, including open discussions about intellectual property created, the auspicing of financial arrangements and the shared professional skills and knowledge. There has been a significant enhancement of collaborative partnerships between stakeholders, along with further development of professional and personal networks.National Memories: Regional ConcernsThe focus of this article has been on records created about a significant period in Australia’s migration history, and the meaning that these records hold based on who created them, where they are held, and how they are accessed and interpreted. Using the case study of the development of a virtual tour of a significant site—Bonegilla—I have highlighted the value of regional, non-national collections in providing access to and understanding of national memories, and the importance of collaborative practice to working with these collections. These collections sit physically in the regional communities of Albury and Wodonga, along with at the National Archives of Australia in Canberra, where they are cared for by professional staff across the GLAM sector and accessed both physically and virtually by students, researchers, and those whose lives intersected with Bonegilla.From this, I argue that by understanding national and institutional recordkeeping spaces such as the National Archives of Australia as just one example of a place of ‘national memory’, we can make space for regional and community-based repositories as important and valuable sources of records about the lived experience of migration. Extending this further, I suggest a recognition of the role of the regional setting in enabling strong collaborations to make these records visible and accessible.Further research in this area could include exploring the possibility of giving meaning to the place of record creation, especially community records, and oral histories, and how collaborations are enabling this. In contrast to this question, I also suggest an exploration of the role of the Commonwealth staff who created the records during the period of Bonegilla’s existence, and their social and cultural history, to give more meaning and context to the setting of the currently held records.ReferencesBishoff, Liz. “The Collaboration Imperative.” Library Journal 129.1 (2004): 34–35.Boyd, Jodie. “Call for Papers: Collecting for a Society’s Memory: National and State Libraries in Culturally Diverse Societies.” 2018. 1 Apr. 2019 <https://networks.h-net.org/node/73374/announcements/2079324/collecting-society%E2%80%99s-memory-national-and-state-libraries>.Caswell, Michelle, Marika Cifor, and Mario H. Ramirez. “‘To Suddenly Discover Yourself Existing': Uncovering the Impact of Community Archives.” The American Archivist 79.1 (2016): 56–81.Dellios, Alexandra. “Marginal or Mainstream? Migrant Centres as Grassroots and Official Heritage.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 21.10 (2015): 1068–83.Flinn, Andrew. “Community Histories, Community Archives: Some Opportunities and Challenges.” Journal of the Society of Archivists 28.2 (2007): 151–76.Flinn, Andrew, Mary Stevens, and Elizabeth Shepherd. “Whose Memories, Whose Archives? Independent Community Archives, Autonomy and the Mainstream.” Archival Science 9.1–2 (2009): 71.Grover, Paul, and Bruce Pennay. “Learning & Teaching Grant Progress Report.” Albury Wodonga: Charles Sturt U, 2019.Hider, Philip, Mary Anne Kennan, Mary Carroll, and Jessie Lymn. “Exploring Potential Barriers to Lam Synergies in the Academy: Institutional Locations and Publishing Outlets.” The Expanding LIS Education Universe (2018): 104.Hutchison, Mary. “Accommodating Strangers: Commonwealth Government Records of Bonegilla and Other Migrant Accommodation Centres.” Public History Review 11 (2004): 63–79.Jones, Michael. “Innovation Study: Challenges and Opportunities for Australia’s Galleries, Libraries, Archives and Museums.” Archives & Manuscripts 43.2 (2015): 149–51.National Archives of Australia. “Snakes in the Laundry... and Other Horrors”. Canberra, 29 May 2014. <http://www.naa.gov.au/about-us/media/media-releases/2014/25.aspx>.Pennay, Bruce. “‘But No One Can Say He Was Hungry’: Memories and Representations of Bonegilla Reception and Training Centre.” History Australia 9.1 (2012): 43–63.———. “Remembering Bonegilla: The Construction of a Public Memory Place at Block 19.” Public History Review 16 (2009): 43–63.Persian, Jayne. “Bonegilla: A Failed Narrative.” History Australia 9.1 (2012): 64–83.RMIT Centre for Urban Research. “Representing Multicultural Australia in National and State Libraries”. 2018. 11 Feb. 2019 <http://cur.org.au/project/representing-multicultural-australia-national-state-libraries/>.Stein, Clara. “The Growth and Development of Albury-Wodonga 1972–2006: United and Divided.” Macquarie U, 2012.Warren, Emily, and Graham Matthews. “Public Libraries, Museums and Physical Convergence: Context, Issues, Opportunities: A Literature Review Part 1.” Journal of Librarianship and Information Science (2018): 1–14.Wellington, Shannon. “Building Glamour: Converging Practice between Gallery, Library, Archive and Museum Entities in New Zealand Memory Institutions.” Wellington: Victoria U, 2013.Zavala, Jimmy, Alda Allina Migoni, Michelle Caswell, Noah Geraci, and Marika Cifor. “‘A Process Where We’re All at the Table’: Community Archives Challenging Dominant Modes of Archival Practice.” Archives and Manuscripts 45.3 (2017): 202–15.

Special Care NoticeThis article discusses trauma and violence inflicted upon the Indigenous peoples of Tasmania through the processes of colonisation. Content within this article may be distressing to some readers. IntroductionThis article looks briefly at the collection, consultation, and digital sharing of stories essential to the histories of the First Nations peoples of Australia. Focusing on materials held in Sydney, New South Wales two case studies—the object known as the Proclamation Board and the George Augustus Robinson Papers—explore how materials can be shared with Aboriginal peoples of the region now known as Tasmania. Specifically, the authors of this article (a Palawa man and an Australian woman of European descent) ask how can the idea of the privileging of Indigenous voices, within Eurocentric cultural collections, be transformed from rhetoric to reality? Moreover, how can we navigate this complex work, that is made even more problematic by distance, through the utilisation of knowledge networks which are geographically isolated from the collections holding stories crucial to Indigenous communities? In seeking to answer these important questions, this article looks at how cultural, emotional, and intellectual ownership can be divested from the physical ownership of a collection in a way that repatriates—appropriately and sensitively—stories of Aboriginal Australia and of colonisation. Holding Stories, Not Always Our OwnCultural institutions, including libraries, have, in recent years, been drawn into discussions centred on the notion of digital disruption and “that transformative shift which has seen the ongoing realignment of business resources, relationships, knowledge, and value both facilitating the entry of previously impossible ideas and accelerating the competitive impact of those same impossible ideas” (Franks and Ensor n.p.). As Molly Brown has noted, librarians “are faced, on a daily basis, with rapidly changing technology and the ways in which our patrons access and use information. Thus, we need to look at disruptive technologies as opportunities” (n.p.). Some innovations, including the transition from card catalogues to online catalogues and the provision of a wide range of electronic resources, are now considered to be business as usual for most institutions. So, too, the digitisation of great swathes of materials to facilitate access to collections onsite and online, with digitising primary sources seen as an intermediary between the pillars of preserving these materials and facilitating access for those who cannot, for a variety of logistical and personal reasons, travel to a particular repository where a collection is held.The result has been the development of hybrid collections: that is, collections that can be accessed in both physical and digital formats. Yet, the digitisation processes conducted by memory institutions is often selective. Limited resources, even for large-scale digitisation projects usually only realise outcomes that focus on making visually rich, key, or canonical documents, or those documents that are considered high use and at risk, available online. Such materials are extracted from the larger full body of records while other lesser-known components are often omitted. Digitisation projects therefore tend to be devised for a broader audience where contextual questions are less central to the methodology in favour of presenting notable or famous documents online only. Documents can be profiled as an exhibition separate from their complete collection and, critically, their wider context. Libraries of course are not neutral spaces and this practice of (re)enforcing the canon through digitisation is a challenge that cultural institutions, in partnerships, need to address (Franks and Ensor n.p.). Indeed, our digital collections are as affected by power relationships and the ongoing impacts of colonisation as our physical collections. These power relationships can be seen through an organisation’s “processes that support acquisitions, as purchases and as the acceptance of artefacts offered as donations. Throughout such processes decisions are continually made (consciously and unconsciously) that affect what is presented and actively promoted as the official history” (Thorpe et al. 8). While it is important to acknowledge what we do collect, it is equally important to look, too, at what we do not collect and to consider how we continually privilege and exclude stories. Especially when these stories are not always our own, but are held, often as accidents of collecting. For example, an item comes in as part of a larger suite of materials while older, city-based institutions often pre-date regional repositories. An essential point here is that cultural institutions can often become comfortable in what they collect, building on existing holdings. This, in turn, can lead to comfortable digitisation. If we are to be truly disruptive, we need to embrace feeling uncomfortable in what we do, and we need to view digitisation as an intervention opportunity; a chance to challenge what we ‘know’ about our collections. This is especially relevant in any attempts to decolonise collections.Case Study One: The Proclamation BoardThe first case study looks at an example of re-digitisation. One of the seven Proclamation Boards known to survive in a public collection is held by the Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, having been purchased from Tasmanian collector and photographer John Watt Beattie (1859–1930) in May 1919 for £30 (Morris 86). Why, with so much material to digitise—working in a program of limited funds and time—would the Library return to an object that has already been privileged? Unanswered questions and advances in digitisation technologies, created a unique opportunity. For the First Peoples of Van Diemen’s Land (now known as Tasmania), colonisation by the British in 1803 was “an emotionally, intellectually, physically, and spiritually confronting series of encounters” (Franks n.p.). Violent incidents became routine and were followed by a full-scale conflict, often referred to as the Black War (Clements 1), or more recently as the Tasmanian War, fought from the 1820s until 1832. Image 1: Governor Arthur’s Proclamation to the Aborigines, ca. 1828–1830. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, Call No.: SAFE / R 247.Behind the British combatants were various support staff, including administrators and propagandists. One of the efforts by the belligerents, behind the front line, to win the war and bring about peace was the production of approximately 100 Proclamation Boards. These four-strip pictograms were the result of a scheme introduced by Lieutenant Governor George Arthur (1784–1854), on the advice of Surveyor General George Frankland (1800–38), to communicate that all are equal under the rule of law (Arthur 1). Frankland wrote to Arthur in early 1829 to suggest these Proclamation Boards could be produced and nailed to trees (Morris 84), as a Eurocentric adaptation of a traditional method of communication used by Indigenous peoples who left images on the trunks of trees. The overtly stated purpose of the Boards was, like the printed proclamations exhorting peace, to assert, all people—black and white—were equal. That “British Justice would protect” everyone (Morris 84). The first strip on each of these pictogram Boards presents Indigenous peoples and colonists living peacefully together. The second strip shows “a conciliatory handshake between the British governor and an Aboriginal ‘chief’, highly reminiscent of images found in North America on treaty medals and anti-slavery tokens” (Darian-Smith and Edmonds 4). The third and fourth strips depict the repercussions for committing murder (or, indeed, any significant crime), with an Indigenous man hanged for spearing a colonist and a European man hanged for shooting an Aboriginal man. Both men executed in the presence of the Lieutenant Governor. The Boards, oil on Huon pine, were painted by “convict artists incarcerated in the island penal colony” (Carroll 73).The Board at the State Library of New South Wales was digitised quite early on in the Library’s digitisation program, it has been routinely exhibited (including for the Library’s centenary in 2010) and is written about regularly. Yet, many questions about this small piece of timber remain unanswered. For example, some Boards were outlined with sketches and some were outlined with pouncing, “a technique [of the Italian Renaissance] of pricking the contours of a drawing with a pin. Charcoal was then dusted on to the drawing” (Carroll 75–76). Could such a sketch or example of pouncing be seen beneath the surface layers of paint on this particular Board? What might be revealed by examining the Board more closely and looking at this object in different ways?An important, but unexpected, discovery was that while most of the pigments in the painting correlate with those commonly available to artists in the early nineteenth century there is one outstanding anomaly. X-ray analysis revealed cadmium yellow present in several places across the painting, including the dresses of the little girls in strip one, uniform details in strip two, and the trousers worn by the settler men in strips three and four (Kahabka 2). This is an extraordinary discovery, as cadmium yellows were available “commercially as an artist pigment in England by 1846” and were shown by “Winsor & Newton at the 1851 Exhibition held at the Crystal Palace, London” (Fiedler and Bayard 68). The availability of this particular type of yellow in the early 1850s could set a new marker for the earliest possible date for the manufacture of this Board, long-assumed to be 1828–30. Further, the early manufacture of cadmium yellow saw the pigment in short supply and a very expensive option when compared with other pigments such as chrome yellow (the darker yellow, seen in the grid lines that separate the scenes in the painting). This presents a clearly uncomfortable truth in relation to an object so heavily researched and so significant to a well-regarded collection that aims to document much of Australia’s colonial history. Is it possible, for example, the Board has been subjected to overpainting at a later date? Or, was this premium paint used to produce a display Board that was sent, by the Tasmanian Government, to the 1866 Intercolonial Exhibition in Melbourne? In seeking to see the finer details of the painting through re-digitisation, the results were much richer than anticipated. The sketch outlines are clearly visible in the new high-resolution files. There are, too, details unable to be seen clearly with the naked eye, including this warrior’s headdress and ceremonial scarring on his stomach, scars that tell stories “of pain, endurance, identity, status, beauty, courage, sorrow or grief” (Australian Museum n.p.). The image of this man has been duplicated and distributed since the 1830s, an anonymous figure deployed to tell a settler-centric story of the Black, or Tasmanian, War. This man can now be seen, for the first time nine decades later, to wear his own story. We do not know his name, but he is no longer completely anonymous. This image is now, in some ways, a portrait. The State Library of New South Wales acknowledges this object is part of an important chapter in the Tasmanian story and, though two Boards are in collections in Tasmania (the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, Hobart and the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, Launceston), each Board is different. The Library holds an important piece of a large and complex puzzle and has a moral obligation to make this information available beyond its metropolitan location. Digitisation, in this case re-digitisation, is allowing for the disruption of this story in sparking new questions around provenance and for the relocating of a Palawa warrior to a more prominent, perhaps even equal role, within a colonial narrative. Image 2: Detail, Governor Arthur’s Proclamation to the Aborigines, ca. 1828–1830. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, Call No.: SAFE / R 247.Case Study Two: The George Augustus Robinson PapersThe second case study focuses on the work being led by the Indigenous Engagement Branch at the State Library of New South Wales on the George Augustus Robinson (1791–1866) Papers. In 1829, Robinson was granted a government post in Van Diemen’s Land to ‘conciliate’ with the Palawa peoples. More accurately, Robinson’s core task was dispossession and the systematic disconnection of the Palawa peoples from their Country, community, and culture. Robinson was a habitual diarist and notetaker documenting much of his own life as well as the lives of those around him, including First Nations peoples. His extensive suite of papers represents a familiar and peculiar kind of discomfort for Aboriginal Australians, one in which they are forced to learn about themselves through the eyes and words of their oppressors. For many First Nations peoples of Tasmania, Robinson remains a violent and terrible figure, but his observations of Palawa culture and language are as vital as they are problematic. Importantly, his papers include vibrant and utterly unique descriptions of people, place, flora and fauna, and language, as well as illustrations revealing insights into the routines of daily life (even as those routines were being systematically dismantled by colonial authorities). “Robinson’s records have informed much of the revitalisation of Tasmanian Aboriginal culture in the twentieth century and continue to provide the basis for investigations of identity and deep relationships to land by Aboriginal scholars” (Lehman n.p.). These observations and snippets of lived culture are of immense value to Palawa peoples today but the act of reading between Robinson’s assumptions and beyond his entrenched colonial views is difficult work.Image 3: George Augustus Robinson Papers, 1829–34. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, A 7023–A 7031.The canonical reference for Robinson’s archive is Friendly Mission: The Tasmanian Journals and Papers of George Augustus Robinson, 1829–1834, edited by N.J.B. Plomley. The volume of over 1,000 pages was first published in 1966. This large-scale project is recognised “as a monumental work of Tasmanian history” (Crane ix). Yet, this standard text (relied upon by Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers) has clearly not reproduced a significant percentage of Robinson’s Tasmanian manuscripts. Through his presumptuous truncations Plomley has not simply edited Robinson’s work but has, quite literally, written many Palawa stories out of this colonial narrative. It is this lack of agency in determining what should be left out that is most troubling, and reflects an all-too-familiar approach which libraries, including the State Library of New South Wales, are now urgently trying to rectify. Plomley’s preface and introduction does not indicate large tranches of information are missing. Indeed, Plomley specifies “that in extenso [in full] reproduction was necessary” (4) and omissions “have been kept to a minimum” (8). A 32-page supplement was published in 1971. A new edition, including the supplement, some corrections made by Plomley, and some extra material was released in 2008. But much continues to be unknown outside of academic circles, and far too few Palawa Elders and language revival workers have had access to Robinson’s original unfiltered observations. Indeed, Plomley’s text is linear and neat when compared to the often-chaotic writings of Robinson. Digitisation cannot address matters of the materiality of the archive, but such projects do offer opportunities for access to information in its original form, unedited, and unmediated.Extensive consultation with communities in Tasmania is underpinning the digitisation and re-description of a collection which has long been assumed—through partial digitisation, microfilming, and Plomley’s text—to be readily available and wholly understood. Central to this project is not just challenging the canonical status of Plomley’s work but directly challenging the idea non-Aboriginal experts can truly understand the cultural or linguistic context of the information recorded in Robinson’s journals. One of the more exciting outcomes, so far, has been working with Palawa peoples to explore the possibility of Palawa-led transcriptions and translation, and not breaking up the tasks of this work and distributing them to consultants or to non-Indigenous student groups. In this way, people are being meaningfully reunited with their own histories and, crucially, given first right to contextualise and understand these histories. Again, digitisation and disruption can be seen here as allies with the facilitation of accessibility to an archive in ways that re-distribute the traditional power relations around interpreting and telling stories held within colonial-rich collections.Image 4: Detail, George Augustus Robinson Papers, 1829–34. Image Credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, A 7023–A 7031.As has been so brilliantly illustrated by Bruce Pascoe’s recent work Dark Emu (2014), when Aboriginal peoples are given the opportunity to interpret their own culture from the colonial records without interference, they are able to see strength and sophistication rather than victimhood. For, to “understand how the Europeans’ assumptions selectively filtered the information brought to them by the early explorers is to see how we came to have the history of the country we accept today” (4). Far from decrying these early colonial records Aboriginal peoples understand their vital importance in connecting to a culture which was dismantled and destroyed, but importantly it is known that far too much is lost in translation when Aboriginal Australians are not the ones undertaking the translating. ConclusionFor Aboriginal Australians, culture and knowledge is no longer always anchored to Country. These histories, once so firmly connected to communities through their ancestral lands and languages, have been dispersed across the continent and around the world. Many important stories—of family history, language, and ways of life—are held in cultural institutions and understanding the role of responsibly disseminating these collections through digitisation is paramount. In transitioning from physical collections to hybrid collections of the physical and digital, the digitisation processes conducted by memory institutions can be—and due to the size of some collections is inevitably—selective. Limited resources, even for large-scale and well-resourced digitisation projects usually realise outcomes that focus on making visually rich, key, or canonical documents, or those documents considered high use or at risk, available online. Such materials are extracted from a full body of records. Digitisation projects, as noted, tend to be devised for a broader audience where contextual questions are less central to the methodology in favour of presenting notable documents online, separate from their complete collection and, critically, their context. Our institutions carry the weight of past collecting strategies and, today, the pressure of digitisation strategies as well. Contemporary librarians should not be gatekeepers, but rather key holders. In collaborating across sectors and with communities we open doors for education, research, and the repatriation of culture and knowledge. We must, always, remember to open these doors wide: the call of Aboriginal Australians of ‘nothing about us without us’ is not an invitation to collaboration but an imperative. Libraries—as well as galleries, archives, and museums—cannot tell these stories alone. Also, these two case studies highlight what we believe to be one of the biggest mistakes that not just libraries but all cultural institutions are vulnerable to making, the assumption that just because a collection is open access it is also accessible. Digitisation projects are more valuable when communicated, contextualised and—essentially—the result of community consultation. Such work can, for some, be uncomfortable while for others it offers opportunities to embrace disruption and, by extension, opportunities to decolonise collections. For First Nations peoples this work can be more powerful than any simple measurement tool can record. Through examining our past collecting, deliberate efforts to consult, and through digital sharing projects across metropolitan and regional Australia, we can make meaningful differences to the ways in which Aboriginal Australians can, again, own their histories.Acknowledgements The authors acknowledge the Palawa peoples: the traditional custodians of the lands known today as Tasmania. The authors acknowledge, too, the Gadigal people upon whose lands this article was researched and written. We are indebted to Dana Kahabka (Conservator), Joy Lai (Imaging Specialist), Richard Neville (Mitchell Librarian), and Marika Duczynski (Project Officer) at the State Library of New South Wales. Sincere thanks are also given to Jason Ensor of Western Sydney University.ReferencesArthur, George. “Proclamation.” The Hobart Town Courier 19 Apr. 1828: 1.———. Proclamation to the Aborigines. 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