Journal articles on the topic 'Suicide Victoria Gippsland Prevention'

The prevention of suicide and suicide-related behaviour are key policy priorities in Australia and internationally. The World Health Organization has recommended that member states develop self-harm surveillance systems as part of their suicide prevention efforts. This is also a priority under Australia’s Fifth National Mental Health and Suicide Prevention Plan. The aim of this paper is to describe the development of a state-based self-harm monitoring system in Victoria, Australia. In this system, data on all self-harm presentations are collected from eight hospital emergency departments in Victoria. A natural language processing classifier that uses machine learning to identify episodes of self-harm is currently being developed. This uses the free-text triage case notes, together with certain structured data fields, contained within the metadata of the incoming records. Post-processing is undertaken to identify primary mechanism of injury, substances consumed (including alcohol, illicit drugs and pharmaceutical preparations) and presence of psychiatric disorders. This system will ultimately leverage routinely collected data in combination with advanced artificial intelligence methods to support robust community-wide monitoring of self-harm. Once fully operational, this system will provide accurate and timely information on all presentations to participating emergency departments for self-harm, thereby providing a useful indicator for Australia’s suicide prevention efforts.

Abstract. Background: People who have mental illness are at increased risk of suicide. Therefore, identifying "typical" trajectories to suicide in this population has the potential to improve the effectiveness of suicide prevention strategies. Aim: The aim of this study was to explore the pathways to suicide among a sample of Victorians with a diagnosed mental illness. Method: Victorian Suicide Register (VSR) data were used to generate life charts and identify typical life trajectories to suicide among 50 Victorians. Results: Two distinct pathways to suicide were identified: (1) where diagnosis of mental illness appeared to follow life events/stressors; and (2) where diagnosis appeared to precede exposure to life events/stressors. Some events acted as distal factors related to suicide, other events were more common as proximal factors, and still others appeared to act as both distal and proximal factors. Limitations: The data source might be biased because of the potential for incomplete information, or alternatively, the importance of some factors in a person's life may have been overstated. Conclusion: Strategies to reduce suicide need to consider the chronology of exposure to stressors in people's lives and clearly need to be different depending on whether proximal or distal risk factors are the target of a given strategy or intervention.

Victims of interpersonal violence are known to be at increased risk of suicidal ideation and attempts; however, few data exist on the impact that violence has on the risk of death from suicide. This study examined 2153 suicides (1636 males and 517 females) occurring between 2009 and 2012. Information was sourced from the Coroners Court of Victoria’s Suicide Register, a detailed database containing information on all Victorian suicides. Forty-two percent of women who died from suicide had a history of exposure to interpersonal violence, with 23% having been a victim of physical violence, 18% suffering psychological violence, and 16% experiencing sexual abuse. A large number of men who died from suicide had also been exposed to interpersonal violence, many of whom had perpetrated violence within the 6 weeks prior to their death. Targeted prevention, particularly removing barriers for men to seek help early after perpetrating violence is likely to have benefits in preventing suicide in both men and women.

Abstract. The training needs of staff working in mainstream (i.e., noncrisis) health settings with client groups that have moderate levels of suicide risk have not been extensively addressed. An initiative to train rehabilitation and disability staff working in the field of traumatic brain injury (TBI) is described. A program was adapted from a generic state health department training program, and disseminated by means of established training networks within the brain injury field. Program efficacy was evaluated as the training was provided across the state of Victoria in a series of 1-day workshops. Participants (n = 86) completed two evaluation measures designed for this purpose (objective knowledge test, self-rating of knowledge and skills) on three occasions (pre- and postworkshop, 6-month follow-up). Compared to a control group of rehabilitation and disability workers who did not receive the training (n = 27), the workshop participants made significant gains in objective knowledge and reported skills, and maintained these gains at the 6-month follow-up. The Suicide Interview Response Inventory-2 ( Neimeyer & Pfeiffer, 1994 ) was administered to a subgroup of participants as a validating measure, and correlated significantly with scores from the objective knowledge test. This process may provide a template for developing more fine-grained suicide prevention strategies among other health-related at-risk groups.

Abstract. Background: Mental illness is an established risk factor for suicide. To develop effective prevention interventions and strategies, the demographic characteristics and stressors (other than, or in addition to, mental illness) that can influence a person's decision to die by suicide need to be identified. Aim: To examine cases of suicide by the presence or absence of a diagnosed mental illness (mental illness status) to identify differences in factors associated with suicide in the groups. Method: Logistic regression analyses were used to investigate mental illness status and exposure to stressors among 2,839 persons who died by suicide in Victoria, Australia (2009–2013), using the Victorian Suicide Register. Results: Females, metropolitan residents, persons treated for physical illness/injury, those exposed to stressors related to isolation, family, work, education, and substance use and those who had made a previous suicide attempt had increased odds of having a diagnosed mental illness. Employed persons had decreased odds of having a diagnosed mental illness. Limitations: The retrospectivity of data collection as well as the validity and reliability of some of the data may be questionable owing to the potential for recall bias. Conclusion: The point of intervention for suicide prevention cannot always be a mental health professional; some people who die by suicide either do not have a mental illness or have not sought help.

Rural Australians experience a range of health inequities—including higher rates of suicide—when compared to the general population. This retrospective cohort study compares demographic characteristics and suicide death circumstances of farming- and non-farming-related suicides in rural Victoria with the aim of: (a) exploring the contributing factors to farming-related suicide in Australia’s largest agricultural producing state; and (b) examining whether farming-related suicides differ from suicide in rural communities. Farming-related suicide deaths were more likely to: (a) be employed at the time of death (52.6% vs. 37.7%, OR = 1.84, 95% CIs 1.28–2.64); and, (b) have died through use of a firearm (30.1% vs. 8.7%, OR = 4.51, 95% CIs 2.97–6.92). However, farming-related suicides were less likely to (a) have a diagnosed mental illness (36.1% vs. 46.1%, OR=0.66, 95% CIs 0.46–0.96) and, (b) have received mental health support more than six weeks prior to death (39.8% vs. 50.0%, OR = 0.66, 95% CIs 0.46–0.95). A range of suicide prevention strategies need adopting across all segments of the rural population irrespective of farming status. However, data from farming-related suicides highlight the need for targeted firearm-related suicide prevention measures and appropriate, tailored and accessible support services to support health, well-being and safety for members of farming communities.

Objective: To investigate the extent of knowledge of Australian general practitioners (GPs) in terms of critical information about adolescent suicide. Method: GPs knowledge about adolescent suicide was assessed using the 39-item Adolescent Suicide Behaviour Questionnaire (ASBQ), distributed to all GPs listed on the Medical Practitioners Board register of the Australian state of Victoria. Forty-three percent of GPs ( n = 1694) completed and returned the survey. Results: GPs scored, on average, 71 percent of the questionnaire items correct. The mean level of incorrect and uncertain responses was 14 percent and 15 percent, respectively. However, there were wide differences in the number of correct scores between individual GPs, with some respondents scoring as few as four items correct and others as many as 38 items correct. Analysis of knowledge rates within ABSQ content domains showed that GPs were generally well informed about adolescent suicide in relation to precipitating factors, and less well informed about the remaining content domains. Conclusions: Australian GPs are, in general, moderately well informed, and are in a unique position to identify those at risk and to provide appropriate intervention (or referral). However, there is considerable variability in the accuracy of beliefs about adolescent suicide, with some GPs demonstrating excellent knowledge levels but others holding little accurate information. The extent of this variability in knowledge is a cause for concern. Findings highlight the need for ongoing education of GPs as an essential component of prevention strategies for youth suicide.

Aims The aims of this study were to examine the prevalence of hospital contact in the year prior to suicide in Victoria, Australia, and to compare characteristics among those who did and did not have contact in the year prior to suicide. Methods The study was a data linkage cohort study of 4348 Victorians who died by suicide over the period 2011–2017. Data from the Victorian Suicide Register (VSR) was linked with hospital separations and Emergency Department (ED) presentations datasets by the Centre for Victorian Data Linkages (CVDL). The main outcomes were: (1) hospital contact for any reason, (2) hospital contact for mental-health-related reasons, and (3) hospital contact for intentional self-harm. Unadjusted and adjusted odds ratios were calculated as the measures of association. Results In the year prior to suicide, half of the decedents (50.0%) had hospital contact for any reason (n = 2172), 28.6% had mental-health-related hospital contact (n = 1244) and 9.9% had hospital contact for intentional self-harm (n = 432). In the year prior to suicide, when compared with males aged 25–49 years (the reference group):males aged 75+ years and females of all ages were significantly more likely to have hospital contact for any reasonfemales aged 10–24 years and 25–49 years were significantly more likely to have mental-health-related hospital contactfemales aged 10–24 years and 25–49 years had 3.5 times and 2.4 times the odds of having hospital contact for intentional self-harm. Conclusions The comparatively high proportion of female decedents with mental-health related hospital contact in the year prior to suicide suggests improving the quality of care for those seeking help is an essential prevention initiative; this could be explored through programs such as the assertive outreach trials currently being implemented in Victoria and elsewhere in Australia. However, the sizeable proportion of males who do not have contact in the year prior to suicide was a consistent finding and represents a challenge for suicide prevention. Programs to identify males at risk in the community and engage them in the health care system are essential. In addition, promising universal and selective interventions to reduce suicide in the cohort who do not have hospital contact, include restricting access to lethal means and other public health interventions are also needed.

IN 1997, while I was the Premier of Victoria, I was challenged by my daughter to do something to stop young country men dying on our roads. Further investigation of the two deaths that caused my daughter to cry out her challenge found that, while both young men?s deaths were recorded as road fatalities, both men were depressed and had used their motor vehicles to take their own lives. Hence began a journey that led me to consider better suicide prevention programs ? until I realised suicide prevention programs were too late in the process. Talking about mental illness was rejected by most of the community, but the word depression had a much wider acceptance. My advocacy for a national body to destigmatise depression took shape in July 2000 when I became the Inaugural Chairman of The National Depression Initiative, which became beyondblue.

Objective: To examine patient- and treatment-based differences between psychiatric patients who do and do not die by suicide. Method: By linking databases of deaths and psychiatric service use in Victoria, we compared 597 cases who suicided over 5 years with individually matched controls. Results: Cases and controls could not be distinguished on the majority of patient- or treatment-based characteristics. The exceptions were that cases were more likely to be male, less likely to be outside the labour force, more likely to have recent contact with inpatient and community services, and more likely to have a registration as their last contact. Conclusions: Patients who suicide ‘look’ similar to those who do not, suggesting prevention approaches should ensure that all psychiatric patients receive optimal care, including appropriate detection, diagnosis, assessment and treatment of mental health problems, and careful, individualised assessment of suicide risk.

Background: Several childhood stressors related to immigration have been documented, and it is important for clinicians to understand and address the various factors that may lead to or act as maintaining factors of mental disorders in children and adolescents. Aims: To describe the cultural profile of transcultural patients presenting to a Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service (CAMHS) in regional Victoria and identify the most common disorders and psychosocial stressors they presented with. Method: Descriptive analysis was applied to 101 case records of patients with a transcultural background who attended the CAMHS of Latrobe Regional Hospital in Gippsland Victoria from 2013 to 2017. The Adverse Childhood Experience questionnaire was retrospectively applied to capture psychosocial stressors such as ‘bullying’, ‘racism’ and ‘family conflict’, sexual abuse, physical violence, parents with mental illness and parental substance use. Results: Almost 60% of patients were male and over 46% Aboriginal. Those from a non-Aboriginal background belonged to 19 different cultural entities, the most common of which was a mixed Asian and European heritage. The most common diagnoses were disruptive mood dysregulation disorder (38.6%), attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (32.7%) and developmental trauma disorder (26.7%). The most common psychosocial stressors were conflict and death in the family (44.6%), domestic violence (41.6%) and emotional abuse (34.7%). ‘Parent in jail’ and ‘domestic violence’ were associated with having an Aboriginal background ( p < .005). ‘Cultural differences with parent’ was associated with a non-Aboriginal background ( p < .005). Conclusion: This study provides a snapshot of challenges faced by children from different cultural backgrounds while adjusting in a rural area in Australia. A broad-based formulation and cultural awareness by clinicians can enable a better understanding of the complexities, guide management plans and inform public health policies for primary prevention and early intervention.

Objective The majority of suicide decedents have had contact with health services close to their death. Some of these contacts include admissions to hospitals for physical and mental health conditions, injury and intentional self-harm. This study aims to establish and quantify the risks of suicide following hospital admission for a range of mental and physical illnesses. Methods A retrospective analysis was carried out on existing morbidity and mortality data in Victoria. Data was extracted from the Victorian Admitted Episodes Dataset and the Victorian Suicide Register. Unplanned hospital admissions among adult patients (> = 15 years of age), discharged between 01 January 2011 and 31 December 2016 (2,430,154 admissions), were selected. Standardised Mortality Ratios were calculated for conditions with at least five linked suicides within one year of discharge from hospital. Results Forty-three conditions defined at the three-digit level of the International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems 10th Revision, were associated with at least five subsequent suicides (within one year of hospital discharge); 14 physical illnesses, 5 symptoms, signs and abnormal clinical and laboratory findings, 12 mental health conditions, and 12 types of injury and poisonings. The highest Standardised Mortality Ratios were for poisonings (range; 27.8 to 140.0) and intentional self-harm (78.8), followed by mental health conditions (range; 15.5 to 72.9), symptoms, signs and abnormal clinical and laboratory findings (range; 1.4 to 43.2) and physical illnesses (range; 0.7 to 4.9). Conclusions Hospital admissions related to mental health conditions and injury and poisonings including self-harm were associated with a greater risk of suicide than physical conditions. Mental health conditions such as depressive episodes, personality disorders and psychotic episodes, injuries caused by intentional-self-harm and poisonings by certain types of drugs, carbon monoxide and hormones such as insulin can be prioritised for targeting suicide prevention initiatives for persons discharged from hospitals.

Nationally, Aboriginal people experience high levels of psychological distress, primarily due to trauma from colonisation. In Victoria, Aboriginal Community Controlled Health Organisations (ACCHOs) provide many services to support mental health. The aim of the present study was to improve understanding about Victorian Aboriginal people and mental health service patterns. We located four mental health administrative datasets to analyse descriptively, including Practice Health Atlas, Alcohol and Other Drug Treatment Service (AODTS), Kids Helpline and Close The Gap Pharmaceutical Scheme data. A large proportion of the local Aboriginal population (70%) were regular ACCHO clients; of these, 21% had a mental health diagnosis and, of these, 23% had a Medicare Mental Health Care Plan (MHCP). There were higher rates of Medicare MHCP completion rates where general practitioners (GPs) had mental health training and the local Area Mental Health Service had a Koori Mental Health Liaison Officer. There was an over-representation of AODTS episodes, and referrals for these episodes were more likely to come through community, corrections and justice services than for non-Aboriginal people. Aboriginal episodes were less likely to have been referred by a GP or police and less likely to have been referrals to community-based or home-based treatment. There was an over-representation of Victorian Aboriginal calls to Kids Helpline, and these were frequently for suicide and self-harm reasons. We recommend primary care mental health programs include quality audits, GP training, non-pharmaceutical options and partnerships. Access to appropriate AODTS is needed, particularly given links to high incarcerations rates. To ensure access to mental health services, improved understanding of mental health service participation and outcomes, including suicide prevention services for young people, is needed.

Abstract Purpose Rail level crossing removals to improve transport performance across metropolitan Melbourne (state of Victoria) resulted in new rail fencing and grade-separation of tracks from the surrounding environment at several sites. These design changes restricted pedestrian access to the rail tracks, which is a countermeasure known to prevent railway suicide in other settings. We examined whether any such suicide prevention effect followed the removals. Methods We used a multiple-arm pre-post design to test whether a decrease in monthly frequency of railway suicides occurred at level crossing removal sites (intervention sites), compared to randomly matched sites where level crossings had not yet been removed (control sites). We used data available in the Victorian Suicide Register covering the period 1st January 2008 to 30th June 2021. Results The mean monthly number of railway suicides decreased by 68% within a 500 m radius of intervention sites (RR: 0.32; CI 95% 0.11–0.74) and by 61% within a 1000 m radius of intervention sites (RR: 0.39; CI 95% 0.21–0.68). There was no evidence that the mean monthly number of railway suicides changed at the control sites, either within a 500 m radius (RR: 0.88; CI 95% 0.47–1.56) or a 1000 m radius (RR: 0.82; CI 95% 0.52–1.26). Conclusion The reduction in railway suicides at locations where level crossings were removed, demonstrates the suicide prevention benefits that can be derived from a major infrastructure project even if not initially intended. Planning for major infrastructure projects should include consideration of these benefits, with designs incorporating features to maximise suicide prevention impact.

ObjectiveThe majority of suicide decedents have had contact with health services in the months before their death. Contacts for mental health services present potential suicide prevention opportunities. This study aims to compare contact-based characteristics among suicide decedents and living controls in the year subsequent to clinical mental health contact with the public health system in Victoria, Australia.MethodsA population-based nested case-control study of those who had mental health-related hospital and community contacts with the public health system was conducted. Cases (suicide decedents) were age and gender-matched to living controls (suicide non-decedents). These records were linked to records of suicides that occurred in the 12 months following the health service contact, between January 1, 2011, and December 31, 2016. Victorian residents aged 10 years and above were selected at the time of contact (483,933 clients). In the study population, conditional logistic regression models were used to assess the relationship between contact-based characteristics and suicide. Socio-demographics and mental health-related hospital and community contact data was retrieved from the Victorian Admitted Episodes Dataset, the Victorian Emergency Minimum Dataset and the Public Clinical Mental Health database and suicide data from the Victorian Suicide Register.ResultsDuring a six-year period, 1,091 suicide decedents had at least one mental health contact with the public health system in the 12 months preceding the suicide. Overall, controls used more mental health services than cases; however, cases used more mental health services near the event. The relationship between the type of service and suicide differed by service type: hospital admissions and emergency department presentations had a significant positive association with suicide with an OR of 2.09 (95% CI 1.82–2.40) and OR of 1.13 (95% CI 1.05–1.22), and the effect size increased as the event approached, whereas community contacts had a significant negative association with an OR of 0.93 (95% CI 0.92–0.94), this negative association diminished in magnitude as the event approached (OR∼1).ConclusionSuicide decedents had less contact with mental health services than non-decedents; however, evidence suggests suicide decedents reach out to mental health services proximal to suicide. An increase in mental health service contact by an individual could be an indication of suicide risk and therefore an opportunity for intervention. Further, community level contact should be further explored as a possible prevention mechanism considering the majority of suicide decedents do not access the public clinical mental health services.

Regionally-based Australian men have a higher risk of suicide than those in urban centers, with similar trends observed internationally. Adopting a place-based approach to understanding men’s suicide and harm prevention provides contextual insights to guide localised opportunities for the development of tailored gender-specific interventions. Men in rural Australia are typically portrayed as embodying idealized masculinity–dominant and tough, upholding strength and stoicism in the face of hardship. Such values can increase suicide risk in men by reducing help-seeking. The Macedon Ranges Shire is an inner regional municipality with a population of approximately 50,000 people spanning across 10 regional towns and surrounding farming areas in Victoria, Australia. Understanding the influence of masculinities on men’s wellbeing and help seeking behaviours in a regional context is vital in order to inform effective local suicide prevention efforts. The present research involved in-depth qualitative interviews with 19 community stakeholders (M = 49.89 years, SD = 11.82) predominantly working in healthcare and community services including emergency services and education. Using thematic analysis, interview transcripts were coded and themes inductively derived. Stakeholders identified three key areas for understanding suicide risk and wellbeing for local men; 1) localizing masculinities, 2) belonging in community, and 3) engaging men. Findings illustrate that addressing men’s wellbeing in regional areas requires a multifaceted whole-of-community approach. While diverse, local expressions of masculinities were seen as contributors to men’s challenges understanding their emotional worlds and reticence for help-seeking. Of vital need is to provide diverse opportunities for men to connect with others in the region, and offer inclusive spaces where men feel accepted, welcomed and able to meaningfully contribute to the community. Not only will this assist by bolstering men’s sense of self, identity, and mental wellbeing, it may also provide valuable informal inroads to normalizing healthy communication around mental health and seeking mental health care. These findings offer important suggestions for the promotion of healthier masculinities in regionally-based Australian men, which may help to improve wellbeing of these men and their entire communities.

Abstract Background Males in Australia and many other countries account for three-quarters of all deaths by suicide. School-based programs to support young men’s wellbeing have become increasingly common in recent years and show much promise to tackle the issue of male suicide by fostering protective factors and mitigating harmful factors. However, only a few of these programs have been evaluated. This trial seeks to address the lack of knowledge about the potential for school-based gender-transformative programs to have a positive impact on boys. Breaking the Man Code workshops, delivered by Tomorrow Man in Australia, challenge and transform harmful masculinities with young men with a view to ultimately reducing their suicide risk. The trial aims to examine whether adolescent boys who participate in the Breaking the Man Code workshop demonstrate an increase in their likelihood of seeking help for personal or emotional problems compared to boys waiting to take part in the workshop. Methods A stratified cluster randomized controlled superiority trial with two parallel groups will be conducted. Schools will be randomly allocated 1:1, stratified by location of the schools (rural or urban), state (Victoria, NSW, or WA), and mode of workshop delivery (face-to-face or online), to the intervention group and waitlist control group. Discussion The Breaking the Man Code workshops show great promise as a school-based prevention intervention. The trial will fill a gap in knowledge that is critically needed to inform future interventions with boys and men. Some methodological challenges have been identified related to the COVID-19 pandemic in Australia, such as delays in ethics approvals and the need for Tomorrow Man to introduce an online delivery option for the workshop. The trial protocol has been designed to mitigate these challenges. The findings from the trial will be used to improve the workshops and will assist others who are designing and implementing suicide prevention interventions for boys and men. Trial registration Australian New Zealand Clinical Trials Registry (ACTRN12620001134910). Registered on 30 October 2020

Abstract Background teen Mental Health First Aid (tMHFA) is a universal mental health literacy, stigma reduction, help-seeking, and suicide prevention program designed for adolescents in Years 10–12 of secondary school (16–18 years). tMHFA is delivered by trained instructors, in a regular classroom setting, to increase the knowledge, attitudes and behaviours that adolescents’ require to better support peers with mental health problems or mental health crises. Methods To explore the efficacy of tMHFA, a cluster crossover randomised controlled trial was conducted with Year 10 students in four schools in Victoria, Australia, using physical first aid training as the control intervention. Of the 1942 eligible students, 1,624 completed baseline and 894 completed follow-up surveys. Online surveys, administered one week before training and again 12-months later, included vignettes depicting peers John (depression and suicide risk) and Jeanie (social anxiety/phobia), measures of mental health first aid (quality of first aid intentions, confidence, first aid behaviours provided, and first aid behaviours received), mental health literacy (beliefs about adult help, help-seeking intentions), and stigma (social distance, weak-not-sick, dangerous/unpredictable, and would not tell anyone). Results The primary outcome—quality of first aid intentions towards the John vignette—showed statistically significant group x time interactions, with tMHFA students reporting more helpful and less unhelpful first aid intentions, than PFA students did over time. Confidence in providing first aid also showed significant interactions. First aid behaviours—both those provided to a peer with a mental health problem and those received from a peer—showed null results. Ratings of both beliefs about adult help and help-seeking intentions were found to be significantly improved among tMHFA students at follow-up. A group x time interaction was found on one stigma scale (would not tell anyone). Conclusions This trial showed that, one year after training, tMHFA improves first aid intentions towards peers with depression and suicide risk, confidence in helping peers with mental health problems, willingness to tell someone and seek help from an adult or health professional if experiencing a mental health problem. Trial registration This research was registered with Australia New Zealand Clinical Trials Registry: ACTRN12614000061639.

Polak, Monique. Pyro. Victoria: Orca Book Publishers, 2012. Ebook. Franklin Westcott has always been fascinated by fire. As pressures mount in his life, Franklin struggles internally to keep things together. His father is running to be re-elected as Mayor, and is focused on catching the pyromaniac that is threatening the community. Franklin's mother reveals she is in love with someone else, and moves out of their home. At his father's request, Franklin attends Sunday school, something he hasn't done for years. Fatefully, he becomes involved in the lighting crew for the talent show the Sunday school is presenting. There he meets Tracy, one of the girls performing in the show, who is also struggling with her own inner turmoil. Together, Franklin and Tracy face the obstacles life has presented them. As their relationship grows, Franklin begins to open up to Tracy and, in her, finds the support he needs to face his inner demons. The simple sentences and compelling storyline make this an accessible and intriguing read for struggling and reluctant readers. The straightforward plot development is quick paced, engaging the reader from start to finish. The unexpected revelations and complexities keep the reader questioning the outcome for Franklin to the very end. It deals with subject matter which is realistic and relevant to middle school students, broaching a topic which is often in the shadows of more prevalent issues, such as bullying and teenage suicide. Polak researched "firestarters" over several months, utilizing the expertise of Dr. Kenneth R. Fineman, a psychologist specializing in the topic. Polak also interviewed numerous firefighters and high school students to gain further insights to the techniques and characteristics of such youth. The result is a story which reveals the consequences of such actions for all those involved. Pyro brings awareness to the issue and promotes fire prevention. Recommended: 3 out of 4 stars Reviewer: Kimberly Scheideman Kimberly Scheideman is a student in the TLDL program at the University of Alberta, and an Instructional Coach/Teacher with ECSRD No. 2 in Spruce Grove, Alberta.

Abstract Background Thermal injuries are one of the commonest causes of unnatural deaths in females in developing countries. However, there is a lack of adequate research into the social and psychological aspects that lead to such deaths. The suicidal death due to immolation by fire is a scourge on Indian society that is not being adequately addressed in all its aspects. There is an attempt in this study to bring awareness of the population under risk and to motivate prevention measures. A retrospective cross-sectional study was conducted at the Victoria Hospital Mortuary for a period of 12 months between 2017 and 2018. Medicolegal and psychological autopsies were performed on 120 female burn victims over 15 years of age. The information gathered via medical records, police investigations, interviews with family, and postmortem findings was analyzed and compiled to obtain the following results. Results Most of the victims, i.e., 52% of the women, were illiterate. More than half of the victims, i.e., 53% of the women in this study, were found to be in the upper-lower socio-economic. Majority of the female victims (63.3%) were married for more than 7 years. Suicide was the commonest manner of death (52%). There was no alleged history of domestic abuse in most cases (73.3%). Only 2 cases, i.e., 1.7% of cases, were booked under Dowry Prohibition Act. Only 28.3% of cases were investigated by Magistrate’s Inquest. History of mental illnesses was reported only in 14.2% of victims. Alcohol was detected in only 2 of the victims (1.7%). Conclusions It is evident that in most cases of deaths in women due to thermal injuries, the entire narrative is not thoroughly investigated and any prior history of domestic abuse, dowry demands/harassment, and even mental illnesses gets under-reported or undocumented. Despite there being a plethora of information regarding the statistics as to how women die due to thermal injuries, very minimal data exists regarding the measures adopted to prevent it. There is a hope that this study inspires the concerned stakeholders to take stock and introduce measures to prevent such potential deaths among the vulnerable female population.

Introduction I think the Privacy Act is a huge edifice to protect the minority of things that could go wrong. I’ve got a good example for you, I’m just trying to think … yeah the worst one I’ve ever seen was the Balga Youth Program where we took these students on a reward excursion all the way to Fremantle and suddenly this very alienated kid started to jump under a bus, a moving bus so the kid had to be restrained. The cops from Fremantle arrived because all the very good people in Fremantle were alarmed at these grown-ups manhandling a kid and what had happened is that DCD [Department of Community Development] had dropped him into the program but hadn’t told us that this kid had suicide tendencies. No, it’s just chronically bad. And there were caseworkers involved and … there is some information that we have to have that doesn’t get handed down. Rather than a blanket rule that everything’s confidential coming from them to us, and that was a real live situation, and you imagine how we’re trying to handle it, we had taxis going from Balga to Fremantle to get staff involved and we only had to know what to watch out for and we probably could have … well what you would have done is not gone on the excursion I suppose (School Principal, quoted in Balnaves and Luca 49). These comments are from a school principal in Perth, Western Australia in a school that is concerned with “at-risk” students, and in a context where the Commonwealth Privacy Act 1988 has imposed limitations on their work. Under this Act it is illegal to pass health, personal or sensitive information concerning an individual on to other people. In the story cited above the Department of Community Development personnel were apparently protecting the student’s “negative right”, that is, “freedom from” interference by others. On the other hand, the principal’s assertion that such information should be shared is potentially a “positive right” because it could cause something to be done in that person’s or society’s interests. Balnaves and Luca noted that positive and negative rights have complex philosophical underpinnings, and they inform much of how we operate in everyday life and of the dilemmas that arise (49). For example, a ban on euthanasia or the “assisted suicide” of a terminally ill person can be a “positive right” because it is considered to be in the best interests of society in general. However, physicians who tacitly approve a patient’s right to end their lives with a lethal dose by legally prescribed dose of medication could be perceived as protecting the patient’s “negative right” as a “freedom from” interference by others. While acknowledging the merits of collaboration between people who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk”, this paper examines some of the barriers to collaboration. Based on both primary and secondary sources, and particularly on oral testimonies, the paper highlights the tension between privacy as a negative right and collaborative helping as a positive right. It also points to other difficulties and dilemmas within and between the institutions engaged in this joint undertaking. The authors acknowledge Michel Foucault’s contention that discourse is power. The discourse on privacy and the sharing of information in modern societies suggests that privacy is a negative right that gives freedom from bureaucratic interference and protects the individual. However, arguably, collaboration between agencies that are working to support individuals “at-risk” requires a measured relaxation of the requirements of this negative right. Children and young people “at-risk” are a case in point. Towards Collaboration From a series of interviews conducted in 2004, the school authorities at Balga Senior High School and Midvale Primary School, people working for the Western Australian departments of Community Development, Justice, and Education and Training in Western Australia, and academics at the Edith Cowan and Curtin universities, who are working to improve the wellbeing of students “at-risk” as part of an Australian Research Council (ARC) project called Smart Communities, have identified students “at-risk” as individuals who have behavioural problems and little motivation, who are alienated and possibly violent or angry, who under-perform in the classroom and have begun to truant. They noted also that students “at-risk” often suffer from poor health, lack of food and medication, are victims of unwanted pregnancies, and are engaged in antisocial and illegal behaviour such as stealing cars and substance abuse. These students are also often subject to domestic violence (parents on drugs or alcohol), family separation, and homelessness. Some are depressed or suicidal. Sometimes cultural factors contribute to students being regarded as “at-risk”. For example, a social worker in the Smart Communities project stated: Cultural factors sometimes come into that as well … like with some Muslim families … they can flog their daughter or their son, usually the daughter … so cultural factors can create a risk. Research elsewhere has revealed that those children between the ages of 11-17 who have been subjected to bullying at school or physical or sexual abuse at home and who have threatened and/or harmed another person or suicidal are “high-risk” youths (Farmer 4). In an attempt to bring about a positive change in these alienated or “at-risk” adolescents, Balga Senior High School has developed several programs such as the Youth Parents Program, Swan Nyunger Sports Education program, Intensive English Centre, and lower secondary mainstream program. The Midvale Primary School has provided services such as counsellors, Aboriginal child protection workers, and Aboriginal police liaison officers for these “at-risk” students. On the other hand, the Department of Community Development (DCD) has provided services to parents and caregivers for children up to 18 years. Academics from Edith Cowan and Curtin universities are engaged in gathering the life stories of these “at-risk” students. One aspect of this research entails the students writing their life stories in a secured web portal that the universities have developed. The researchers believe that by engaging the students in these self-exploration activities, they (the students) would develop a more hopeful outlook on life. Though all agencies and educational institutions involved in this collaborative project are working for the well-being of the children “at-risk”, the Privacy Act forbids the authorities from sharing information about them. A school psychologist expressed concern over the Privacy Act: When the Juvenile Justice Department want to reintroduce a student into a school, we can’t find out anything about this student so we can’t do any preplanning. They want to give the student a fresh start, so there’s always that tension … eventually everyone overcomes [this] because you realise that the student has to come to the school and has to be engaged. Of course, the manner and consequences of a student’s engagement in school cannot be predicted. In the scenario described above students may have been given a fair chance to reform themselves, which is their positive right but if they turn out to be at “high risk” it would appear that the Juvenile Department protected the negative right of the students by supporting “freedom from” interference by others. Likewise, a school health nurse in the project considered confidentiality or the Privacy Act an important factor in the security of the student “at-risk”: I was trying to think about this kid who’s one of the children who has been sexually abused, who’s a client of DCD, and I guess if police got involved there and wanted to know details and DCD didn’t want to give that information out then I’d guess I’d say to the police “Well no, you’ll have to talk to the parents about getting further information.” I guess that way, recognising these students are minor and that they are very vulnerable, their information … where it’s going, where is it leading? Who wants to know? Where will it be stored? What will be the outcomes in the future for this kid? As a 14 year old, if they’re reckless and get into things, you know, do they get a black record against them by the time they’re 19? What will that information be used for if it’s disclosed? So I guess I become an advocate for the student in that way? Thus the nurse considers a sexually abused child should not be identified. It is a positive right in the interest of the person. Once again, though, if the student turns out to be at “high risk” or suicidal, then it would appear that the nurse was protecting the youth’s negative right—“freedom from” interference by others. Since collaboration is a positive right and aims at the students’ welfare, the workable solution to prevent the students from suicide would be to develop inter-agency trust and to share vital information about “high-risk” students. Dilemmas of Collaboration Some recent cases of the deaths of young non-Caucasian girls in Western countries, either because of the implications of the Privacy Act or due to a lack of efficient and effective communication and coordination amongst agencies, have raised debates on effective child protection. For example, the British Laming report (2003) found that Victoria Climbié, a young African girl, was sent by her parents to her aunt in Britain in order to obtain a good education and was murdered by her aunt and aunt’s boyfriend. However, the risk that she could be harmed was widely known. The girl’s problems were known to 6 local authorities, 3 housing authorities, 4 social services, 2 child protection teams, and the police, the local church, and the hospital, but not to the education authorities. According to the Laming Report, her death could have been prevented if there had been inter-agency sharing of information and appropriate evaluation (Balnaves and Luca 49). The agencies had supported the negative rights of the young girl’s “freedom from” interference by others, but at the cost of her life. Perhaps Victoria’s racial background may have contributed to the concealment of information and added to her disadvantaged position. Similarly, in Western Australia, the Gordon Inquiry into the death of Susan Taylor, a 15 year old girl Aboriginal girl at the Swan Nyungah Community, found that in her short life this girl had encountered sexual violation, violence, and the ravages of alcohol and substance abuse. The Gordon Inquiry reported: Although up to thirteen different agencies were involved in providing services to Susan Taylor and her family, the D[epartment] of C[ommunity] D[evelopment] stated they were unaware of “all the services being provided by each agency” and there was a lack of clarity as to a “lead coordinating agency” (Gordon et al. quoted in Scott 45). In this case too, multiple factors—domestic, racial, and the Privacy Act—may have led to Susan Taylor’s tragic end. In the United Kingdom, Harry Ferguson noted that when a child is reported to be “at-risk” from domestic incidents, they can suffer further harm because of their family’s concealment (204). Ferguson’s study showed that in 11 per cent of the 319 case sample, children were known to be re-harmed within a year of initial referral. Sometimes, the parents apply a veil of secrecy around themselves and their children by resisting or avoiding services. In such cases the collaborative efforts of the agencies and education may be thwarted. Lack of cultural education among teachers, youth workers, and agencies could also put the “at-risk” cultural minorities into a high risk category. For example, an “at-risk” Muslim student may not be willing to share personal experiences with the school or agencies because of religious sensitivities. This happened in the UK when Khadji Rouf was abused by her father, a Bangladeshi. Rouf’s mother, a white woman, and her female cousin from Bangladesh, both supported Rouf when she finally disclosed that she had been sexually abused for over eight years. After group therapy, Rouf stated that she was able to accept her identity and to call herself proudly “mixed race”, whereas she rejected the Asian part of herself because it represented her father. Other Asian girls and young women in this study reported that they could not disclose their abuse to white teachers or social workers because of the feeling that they would be “letting down their race or their Muslim culture” (Rouf 113). The marginalisation of many Muslim Australians both in the job market and in society is long standing. For example, in 1996 and again in 2001 the Muslim unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total (Australian Bureau of Statistics). But since the 9/11 tragedy and Bali bombings visible Muslims, such as women wearing hijabs (headscarves), have sometimes been verbally and physically abused and called ‘terrorists’ by some members of the wider community (Dreher 13). The Howard government’s new anti-terrorism legislation and the surveillance hotline ‘Be alert not alarmed’ has further marginalised some Muslims. Some politicians have also linked Muslim asylum seekers with terrorists (Kabir 303), which inevitably has led Muslim “at-risk” refugee students to withdraw from school support such as counselling. Under these circumstances, Muslim “at-risk” students and their parents may prefer to maintain a low profile rather than engage with agencies. In this case, arguably, federal government politics have exacerbated the barriers to collaboration. It appears that unfamiliarity with Muslim culture is not confined to mainstream Australians. For example, an Aboriginal liaison police officer engaged in the Smart Communities project in Western Australia had this to say about Muslim youths “at-risk”: Different laws and stuff from different countries and they’re coming in and sort of thinking that they can bring their own laws and religions and stuff … and when I say religions there’s laws within their religions as well that they don’t seem to understand that with Australia and our laws. Such generalised misperceptions of Muslim youths “at-risk” would further alienate them, thus causing a major hindrance to collaboration. The “at-risk” factors associated with Aboriginal youths have historical connections. Research findings have revealed that indigenous youths aged between 10-16 years constitute a vast majority in all Australian States’ juvenile detention centres. This over-representation is widely recognised as associated with the nature of European colonisation, and is inter-related with poverty, marginalisation and racial discrimination (Watson et al. 404). Like the Muslims, their unemployment rate was three times higher than the national total in 2001 (ABS). However, in 1998 it was estimated that suicide rates among Indigenous peoples were at least 40 per cent higher than national average (National Advisory Council for Youth Suicide Prevention, quoted in Elliot-Farrelly 2). Although the wider community’s unemployment rate is much lower than the Aboriginals and the Muslims, the “at-risk” factors of mainstream Australian youths are often associated with dysfunctional families, high conflict, low-cohesive families, high levels of harsh parental discipline, high levels of victimisation by peers, and high behavioural inhibition (Watson et al. 404). The Macquarie Fields riots in 2005 revealed the existence of “White” underclass and “at-risk” people in Sydney. Macquarie Fields’ unemployment rate was more than twice the national average. Children growing up in this suburb are at greater risk of being involved in crime (The Age). Thus small pockets of mainstream underclass youngsters also require collaborative attention. In Western Australia people working on the Smart Communities project identified that lack of resources can be a hindrance to collaboration for all sectors. As one social worker commented: “government agencies are hierarchical systems and lack resources”. They went on to say that in their department they can not give “at-risk” youngsters financial assistance in times of crisis: We had a petty cash box which has got about 40 bucks in it and sometimes in an emergency we might give a customer a couple of dollars but that’s all we can do, we can’t give them any larger amount. We have bus/metro rail passes, that’s the only thing that we’ve actually got. A youth worker in Smart Communities commented that a lot of uncertainty is involved with young people “at-risk”. They said that there are only a few paid workers in their field who are supported and assisted by “a pool of volunteers”. Because the latter give their time voluntarily they are under no obligation to be constant in their attendance, so the number of available helpers can easily fluctuate. Another youth worker identified a particularly important barrier to collaboration: because of workers’ relatively low remuneration and high levels of work stress, the turnover rates are high. The consequence of this is as follows: The other barrier from my point is that you’re talking to somebody about a student “at-risk”, and within 14 months or 18 months a new person comes in [to that position] then you’ve got to start again. This way you miss a lot of information [which could be beneficial for the youth]. Conclusion The Privacy Act creates a dilemma in that it can be either beneficial or counter-productive for a student’s security. To be blunt, a youth who has suicided might have had their privacy protected, but not their life. Lack of funding can also be a constraint on collaboration by undermining stability and autonomy in the workforce, and blocking inter-agency initiatives. Lack of awareness about cultural differences can also affect unity of action. The deepening inequality between the “haves” and “have-nots” in the Australian society, and the Howard government’s harshness on national security issues, can also pose barriers to collaboration on youth issues. Despite these exigencies and dilemmas, it would seem that collaboration is “the only game” when it comes to helping students “at-risk”. To enhance this collaboration, there needs to be a sensible modification of legal restrictions to information sharing, an increase in government funding and support for inter-agency cooperation and informal information sharing, and an increased awareness about the cultural needs of minority groups and knowledge of the mainstream underclass. Acknowledgments The research is part of a major Australian Research Council (ARC) funded project, Smart Communities. The authors very gratefully acknowledge the contribution of the interviewees, and thank *Donald E. Scott for conducting the interviews. References Australian Bureau of Statistics. 1996 and 2001. Balnaves, Mark, and Joe Luca. “The Impact of Digital Persona on the Future of Learning: A Case Study on Digital Repositories and the Sharing of Information about Children At-Risk in Western Australia”, paper presented at Ascilite, Brisbane (2005): 49-56. 10 April 2006. http://www.ascilite.org.au/conferences/brisbane05/blogs/proceedings/ 06_Balnaves.pdf>. Dreher, Tanya. ‘Targeted’: Experiences of Racism in NSW after September 11, 2001. Sydney: University of Technology, 2005. Elliot-Farrelly, Terri. “Australian Aboriginal Suicide: The Need for an Aboriginal Suicidology”? Australian e-Journal for the Advancement of Mental Health, 3.3 (2004): 1-8. 15 April 2006 http://www.auseinet.com/journal/vol3iss3/elliottfarrelly.pdf>. Farmer, James. A. High-Risk Teenagers: Real Cases and Interception Strategies with Resistant Adolescents. Springfield, Ill.: C.C. Thomas, 1990. Ferguson, Harry. Protecting Children in Time: Child Abuse, Child Protection and the Consequences of Modernity. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Ed. Colin Gordon, trans. Colin Gordon et al. New York: Pantheon, 1980. Kabir, Nahid. Muslims in Australia: Immigration, Race Relations and Cultural History. London: Kegan Paul, 2005. Rouf, Khadji. “Myself in Echoes. My Voice in Song.” Ed. A. Bannister, et al. Listening to Children. London: Longman, 1990. Scott E. Donald. “Exploring Communication Patterns within and across a School and Associated Agencies to Increase the Effectiveness of Service to At-Risk Individuals.” MS Thesis, Curtin University of Technology, August 2005. The Age. “Investing in People Means Investing in the Future.” The Age 5 March, 2005. 15 April 2006 http://www.theage.com.au>. Watson, Malcolm, et al. “Pathways to Aggression in Children and Adolescents.” Harvard Educational Review, 74.4 (Winter 2004): 404-428. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid, and Mark Balnaves. "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>. APA Style Kabir, N., and M. Balnaves. (May 2006) "Students “at Risk”: Dilemmas of Collaboration," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/04-kabirbalnaves.php>.

The Black Summer of 2019/2020 saw the forests of southeast Australia go up in flames. The fire season started early, in September 2019, and by March 2020 fires had burned over 12.6 million hectares (Werner and Lyons). The scale and severity of the fires was quickly confirmed by scientists to be “unprecedented globally” (Boer et al.) and attributable to climate change (Nolan et al.).The fires were also a media spectacle, generating months of apocalyptic front-page images and harrowing broadcast footage. Media coverage was particularly preoccupied by the cause of the fires. Media framing of disasters often seeks to attribute blame (Anderson et al.; Ewart and McLean) and, over the course of the fire period, blame for the fires was attributed to climate change in much media coverage. However, as the disaster unfolded, denialist discourses in some media outlets sought to veil this revelation by providing alternative explanations for the fires. Misinformation originating from social media also contributed to this obscuration.In this article, we investigate the extent to which media coverage of the 2019/2020 bushfires functioned both to precipitate a climate change epiphany and also to support refutation of the connection between catastrophic fires and the climate crisis.Environmental Communication and RevelationIn its biblical sense, revelation is both an ending and an opening: it is the apocalyptic end-time and also the “revealing” of this time through stories and images. Environmental communication has always been revelatory, in these dual senses of the word – it is a mode of communication that is tightly bound to crisis; that has long grappled with obfuscation and misinformation; and that disrupts power structures and notions of the status quo as it seeks to reveal what is hidden. Climate change in particular is associated in the popular imagination with apocalypse, and is also a reality that is constantly being “revealed”. Indeed, the narrative of climate change has been “animated by the revelations of science” (McNeish 1045) and presented to the public through “key moments of disclosure and revelation”, or “signal moments”, such as scientist James Hansen’s 1988 US Senate testimony on global warming (Hamblyn 224).Journalism is “at the frontline of environmental communication” (Parham 96) and environmental news, too, is often revelatory in nature – it exposes the problems inherent in the human relationship with the natural world, and it reveals the scientific evidence behind contentious issues such as climate change. Like other environmental communicators, environmental journalists seek to “break through the perceptual paralysis” (Nisbet 44) surrounding climate change, with the dual aim of better informing the public and instigating policy change. Yet leading environmental commentators continually call for “better media coverage” of the planetary crisis (Suzuki), as climate change is repeatedly bumped off the news agenda by stories and events deemed more newsworthy.News coverage of climate-related disasters is often revelatory both in tone and in cultural function. The disasters themselves and the news narratives which communicate them become processes that make visible what is hidden. Because environmental news is “event driven” (Hansen 95), disasters receive far more news coverage than ongoing problems and trends such as climate change itself, or more quietly devastating issues such as species extinction or climate migration. Disasters are also highly visual in nature. Trumbo (269) describes climate change as an issue that is urgent, global in scale, and yet “practically invisible”; in this sense, climate-related disasters become a means of visualising and realising what is otherwise a complex, difficult, abstract, and un-seeable concept.Unsurprisingly, natural disasters are often presented to the public through a film of apocalyptic rhetoric and imagery. Yet natural disasters can be also “revelatory” moments: instances of awakening in which suppressed truths come spectacularly and devastatingly to the surface. Matthewman (9–10) argues that “disasters afford us insights into social reality that ordinarily pass unnoticed. As such, they can be read as modes of disclosure, forms of communication”. Disasters, he continues, can reveal both “our new normal” and “our general existential condition”, bringing “the underbelly of progress into sharp relief”. Similarly, Lukes (1) states that disasters “lift veils”, revealing “what is hidden from view in normal times”. Yet for Lukes, “the revelation tells us nothing new, nothing that we did not already know”, and is instead a forced confronting of that which is known yet difficult to engage with. Lukes’ concern is the “revealing” of poverty and inequality in New Orleans following the impact of Hurricane Katrina, yet climate-related disasters can also make visible what McNeish terms “the dark side effects of industrial civilisation” (1047). The Australian bushfires of 2019/2020 can be read in these terms, primarily because they unveiled the connection between climate change and extreme events. Scorching millions of hectares, with a devastating impact on human and non-human communities, the fires revealed climate change as a physical reality, and—for Australians—as a local issue as well as a global one. As media coverage of the fires unfolded and smoke settled on half the country, the impact of climate change on individual lives, communities, landscapes, native animal and plant species, and well-established cultural practices (such as the summer camping holiday) could be fully and dramatically realised. Even for those Australians not immediately impacted, the effects were lived and felt: in our lungs, and on our skin, a physical revelation that the impacts of climate change are not limited to geographically distant people or as-yet-unborn future generations. For many of us, the summer of fire was a realisation that climate change can no longer be held at arm’s length.“Revelation” also involves a temporal collapse whereby the future is dragged into the present. A revelatory streak of this nature has always existed at the heart of environmental communication and can be traced back at least as far as the environmentalist Rachel Carson, whose 1962 book Silent Spring revealed a bleak, apocalyptic future devoid of wildlife and birdsong. In other words, environmental communication can inspire action for change by exposing the ways in which the comforts and securities of the present are built upon a refusal to engage with the future. This temporal rupture where the future meets the present is particularly characteristic of climate change narratives. It is not surprising, then, that media coverage of the 2019/2020 bushfires addressed not just the immediate loss and devastation but also dread of the future, and the understanding that summer will increasingly hold such threats. Bushfires, Climate Change and the MediaThe link between bushfire risk and climate change generated a flurry of coverage in the Australian media well before the fires started in the spring of 2019. In April that year, a coalition of 23 former fire and emergency services leaders warned that Australia was “unprepared for an escalating climate threat” (Cox). They requested a meeting with the new government, to be elected in May, and better funding for firefighting to face the coming bushfire season. When that meeting was granted, at the end of Australia’s hottest and driest year on record (Doyle) in November 2019, bushfires had already been burning for two months. As the fires burned, the emergency leaders expressed frustration that their warnings had been ignored, claiming they had been “gagged” because “you are not allowed to talk about climate change”. They cited climate change as the key reason why the fire season was lengthening and fires were harder to fight. "If it's not time now to speak about climate and what's driving these events”, they asked, “– when?" (McCubbing).The mediatised uncovering of a bushfire/climate change connection was not strictly a revelation. Recent fires in California, Russia, the Amazon, Greece, and Sweden have all been reported in the media as having been exacerbated by climate change. Australia, however, has long regarded itself as a “fire continent”: a place adapted to fire, whose landscapes invite fire and can recover from it. Bushfires had therefore been considered part of the Australian “normal”. But in the Australian spring of 2019, with fires having started earlier than ever and charring rainforests that did not usually burn, the fire chiefs’ warning of a climate change-induced catastrophic bushfire season seemed prescient. As the fires spread and merged, taking homes, lives, landscapes, and driving people towards the water, revelatory images emerged in the media. Pictures of fire refugees fleeing under dystopian crimson skies, masked against the smoke, were accompanied by headlines like “Apocalypse Now” (Fife-Yeomans) and “Escaping Hell” (The Independent). Reports used words like “terror”, “nightmare” (Smee), “mayhem”, and “Armageddon” (Davidson).In the Australian media, the fire/climate change connection quickly became politicised. The Deputy Prime Minister Michael McCormack interviewed by the ABC, responding to a comment by Greens leader Adam Bandt, said connecting bushfire and climate while the fires raged was “disgraceful” and “disgusting”. People needed help, he said, not “the ravings of some pure enlightened and woke capital city greenies” (Goloubeva and Haydar). Gladys Berejiklian the NSW Premier also described it as “inappropriate” (Baker) and “disappointing” (Fox and Higgins) to talk about climate change at this time. However Carol Sparks, Mayor of bushfire-ravaged Glen Innes in rural NSW, contradicted this stance, telling the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) “Michael McCormack needs to read the science”. Climate change, she said, was “not a political thing” but “scientific fact” (Goloubeva and Haydar).As the fires merged and intensified, so did the media firestorm. Key Australian media became a sparring ground for issue definition, with media predictably split down ideological lines. Public broadcasters the ABC and SBS (Special Broadcasting Service), along with The Age, The Sydney Morning Herald and The Guardian Australia, predominantly framed the catastrophe as wrought by climate change. The Guardian, in an in-depth investigation of climate science and bushfire risk, stated that “despite the political smokescreen” the connection between the fires and global warming was “unequivocal” (Redfearn). The ABC characterised the fires as “a glimpse of the horrors of climate change’s crescendoing impact” (Rose). News outlets owned by Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp Australia, however, actively sought to play down the fires’ seriousness. On 2 January, as front pages of newspapers across the world revealed horrifying fiery images, Murdoch’s Australian ran an upbeat shot of New Year’s Day picnic races as its lead, relegating discussion of the fires to page 4 (Meade). More than simply obscuring the fires’ significance, News Corp media actively sought to convince readers that the fires were not out of the ordinary. For example, as the fires’ magnitude was becoming clear on the last day of 2019, The Australian ran a piece comparing the fires with previous conflagrations, claiming such conditions were “not unprecedented” and the fires were “nothing new” (Johnstone). News Corp’s Sky News also used this frame: “climate alarmists”, “catastrophise”, and “don’t want to look at history”, it stated in a segment comparing the event to past major bushfires (Kenny).As the fires continued into January and February 2020, the refutation of the climate change frame solidified around several themes. Conservative media continued to insist the fires were “normal” for Australia and attributed their severity to a lack of hazard reduction burning, which they blamed on “Greens policies” (Brown and Caisley). They also promoted the argument, espoused by Energy Minister Angus Taylor, that with only “1.3% of global emissions” Australia “could not have meaningful impact” on global warming through emissions reductions, and that top-down climate mitigation pressure from the UN was “doomed to fail” (Lloyd). Foreign media saw the fires in quite different terms. From the outside looking in, the Australian fires were clearly revealed as fuelled by global heating and exacerbated by the Australian government’s climate denialism. Australia was framed as a “notorious climate offender” (Shield) that was—as The New York Times put it—“committing climate suicide” (Flanagan) with its lack of coherent climate policy and its predilection for mining coal. Ouest-France ran a headline reading “High on carbon, rich Australia denies global warming” in which it called Scott Morrison’s position on climate change “incomprehensible” (Guibert). The LA Times called the Australian fires “a climate change warning to its leaders—and ours”, noting how “fossil fuel friendly Morrison” had “gleefully wielded a fist-sized chunk of coal on the floor of parliament in 2017” (Karlik). In the UK, the Independent online ran a front page spread of the fires’ vast smoke plume, with the headline “This is what a climate crisis looks like” (Independent Online), while Australian MP Craig Kelly was called “disgraceful” by an interviewer on Good Morning Britain for denying the fires’ link to climate change (Good Morning Britain).Both in Australia and internationally, deliberate misinformation spread by social media additionally shaped media discourse on the fires. The false revelation that the fires had predominantly been started by arson spread on Twitter under the hashtag #ArsonEmergency. While research has been quick to show that this hashtag was artificially promoted by bots (Weber et al.), this and misinformation like it was also shared and amplified by real Twitter users, and quickly spread into mainstream media in Australia—including Murdoch’s Australian (Ross and Reid)—and internationally. Such misinformation was used to shore up denialist discourses about the fires, and to obscure revelation of the fire/climate change connection. Blame Framing, Public Opinion and the Extent of the Climate Change RevelationAs studies of media coverage of environmental disasters show us, media seek to apportion blame. This blame framing is “accountability work”, undertaken to explain how and why a disaster occurred, with the aim of “scrutinizing the actions of crisis actors, and holding responsible authorities to account” (Anderson et al. 930). In moments of disaster and in their aftermath, “framing contests” (Benford and Snow) can emerge in which some actors, regarding the crisis as an opportunity for change, highlight the systemic issues that have led to the crisis. Other actors, experiencing the crisis as a threat to the status quo, try to attribute the blame to others, and deny the need for policy change. As the Black Summer unfolded, just such a contest took place in Australian media discourse. While Murdoch’s dominant News Corp media sought to protect the status quo, promote conservative politicians’ views, and divert attention from the climate crisis, other Australian and overseas media outlets revealed the fires’ link to climate change and intransigent emissions policy. However, cracks did begin to show in the News Corp stance on climate change during the fires: an internal whistleblower publicly resigned over the media company’s fires coverage, calling it a “misinformation campaign”, and James Murdoch also spoke out about being “disappointed with the ongoing denial of the role of climate change” in reporting the fires (ABC/Reuters).Although media reporting on the environment has long been at the forefront of shaping social understanding of environmental issues, and news maintains a central role in both revealing environmental threats and shaping environmental politics (Lester), during Australia’s Black Summer people were also learning about the fires from lived experience. Polls show that the fires affected 57% of Australians. Even those distant from the catastrophe were, for some time, breathing the most toxic air in the world. This personal experience of disaster revealed a bushfire season that was far outside the normal, and public opinion reflected this. A YouGov Australia Institute poll in January 2020 found that 79% of Australians were concerned about climate change—an increase of 5% from July 2019—and 67% believed climate change was making the bushfires worse (Australia Institute). However, a January 2020 Ipsos poll also found that polarisation along political lines on whether climate change was indeed occurring had increased since 2018, and was at its highest levels since 2014 (Crowe). This may reflect the kind of polarised media landscape that was evident during the fires. A thorough dissection in public discourse of Australia’s unprecedented fire season has been largely eclipsed by the vast coverage of the coronavirus pandemic that so quickly followed it. In May 2020, however, the fires were back in the media, when the Bushfires Royal Commission found that the Black Summer “played out exactly as scientists predicted it would” and that more seasons like it were now “locked in” because of carbon emissions (Hitch). It now remains to be seen whether the revelatory extent of the climate change blame frame that played out in media discourse on the fires will be sufficient to garner meaningful action and policy change—or whether denialist discourses will again obscure climate change revelation and seek to maintain the status quo. References Anderson, Deb, et al. "Fanning the Blame: Media Accountability, Climate and Crisis on the Australian ‘Fire Continent’." 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The Leichhardt Highway is a six hundred-kilometre stretch of sealed inland road that joins the Australian Queensland border town of Goondiwindi with the Capricorn Highway, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Named after the young Prussian naturalist Ludwig Leichhardt, part of this roadway follows the route his party took as they crossed northern Australia from Morton Bay (Brisbane) to Port Essington (near Darwin). Ignoring the usual colonial practice of honouring the powerful and aristocratic, Leichhardt named the noteworthy features along this route after his supporters and fellow expeditioners. Many of these names are still in use and a series of public monuments have also been erected in the intervening century and a half to commemorate this journey. Unlike Leichhardt, who survived his epic trip, some contemporary travellers who navigate the remote roadway named in his honour do not arrive at their final destinations. Memorials to these violently interrupted lives line the highway, many enigmatically located in places where there is no obvious explanation for the lethal violence that occurred there. This examination profiles the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. All humans know that death awaits them (Morell). Yet, despite this, and the unprecedented torrent of images of death and dying saturating news, television, and social media (Duwe; Sumiala; Bisceglio), Gorer’s mid-century ideas about the denial of death and Becker’s 1973 Pulitzer prize-winning description of the purpose of human civilization as a defence against this knowledge remains current in the contemporary trope that individuals (at least in the West) deny their mortality. Contributing to this enigmatic situation is how many deny the realities of aging and bodily decay—the promise of the “life extension” industries (Hall)—and are shielded from death by hospitals, palliative care providers, and the multimillion dollar funeral industry (Kiernan). Drawing on Piatti-Farnell’s concept of popular culture artefacts as “haunted/haunting” texts, the below describes how memorials to the dead can powerfully reconnect those who experience them with death’s reality, by providing an “encrypted passageway through which the dead re-join the living in a responsive cycle of exchange and experience” (Piatti-Farnell). While certainly very different to the “sublime” iconic Gothic structure, the Gothic ruin that Summers argued could be seen as “a sacred relic, a memorial, a symbol of infinite sadness, of tenderest sensibility and regret” (407), these memorials do function in both this way as melancholy/regret-inducing relics as well as in Piatti-Farnell’s sense of bringing the dead into everyday consciousness. Such memorialising activity also evokes one of Spooner’s features of the Gothic, by acknowledging “the legacies of the past and its burdens on the present” (8).Ludwig Leichhardt and His HighwayWhen Leichhardt returned to Sydney in 1846 from his 18-month journey across northern Australia, he was greeted with surprise and then acclaim. Having mounted his expedition without any backing from influential figures in the colony, his party was presumed lost only weeks after its departure. Yet, once Leichhardt and almost all his expedition returned, he was hailed “Prince of Explorers” (Erdos). When awarding him a significant purse raised by public subscription, then Speaker of the Legislative Council voiced what he believed would be the explorer’s lasting memorial —the public memory of his achievement: “the undying glory of having your name enrolled amongst those of the great men whose genius and enterprise have impelled them to seek for fame in the prosecution of geographical science” (ctd. Leichhardt 539). Despite this acclaim, Leichhardt was a controversial figure in his day; his future prestige not enhanced by his Prussian/Germanic background or his disappearance two years later attempting to cross the continent. What troubled the colonial political class, however, was his transgressive act of naming features along his route after commoners rather than the colony’s aristocrats. Today, the Leichhardt Highway closely follows Leichhardt’s 1844-45 route for some 130 kilometres from Miles, north through Wandoan to Taroom. In the first weeks of his journey, Leichhardt named 16 features in this area: 6 of the more major of these after the men in his party—including the Aboriginal man ‘Charley’ and boy John Murphy—4 more after the tradesmen and other non-aristocratic sponsors of his venture, and the remainder either in memory of the journey’s quotidian events or natural features there found. What we now accept as traditional memorialising practice could in this case be termed as Gothic, in that it upset the rational, normal order of its day, and by honouring humble shopkeepers, blacksmiths and Indigenous individuals, revealed the “disturbance and ambivalence” (Botting 4) that underlay colonial class relations (Macintyre). On 1 December 1844, Leichhardt also memorialised his own past, referencing the Gothic in naming a watercourse The Creek of the Ruined Castles due to the “high sandstone rocks, fissured and broken like pillars and walls and the high gates of the ruined castles of Germany” (57). Leichhardt also disturbed and disfigured the nature he so admired, famously carving his initials deep into trees along his route—a number of which still exist, including the so-called Leichhardt Tree, a large coolibah in Taroom’s main street. Leichhardt also wrote his own memorial, keeping detailed records of his experiences—both good and more regretful—in the form of field books, notebooks and letters, with his major volume about this expedition published in London in 1847. Leichhardt’s journey has since been memorialised in various ways along the route. The Leichhardt Tree has been further defaced with numerous plaques nailed into its ancient bark, and the town’s federal government-funded Bicentennial project raised a formal memorial—a large sandstone slab laid with three bronze plaques—in the newly-named Ludwig Leichhardt Park. Leichhardt’s name also adorns many sites both along, and outside, the routes of his expeditions. While these fittingly include natural features such as the Leichhardt River in north-west Queensland (named in 1856 by Augustus Gregory who crossed it by searching for traces of the explorer’s ill-fated 1848 expedition), there are also many businesses across Queensland and the Northern Territory less appropriately carrying his name. More somber monuments to Leichhardt’s legacy also resulted from this journey. The first of these was the white settlement that followed his declaration that the countryside he moved through was well endowed with fertile soils. With squatters and settlers moving in and land taken up before Leichhardt had even arrived back in Sydney, the local Yeeman people were displaced, mistreated and completely eradicated within a decade (Elder). Mid-twentieth century, Patrick White’s literary reincarnation, Voss of the eponymous novel, and paintings by Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker have enshrined in popular memory not only the difficult (and often described as Gothic) nature of the landscape through which Leichhardt travelled (Adams; Mollinson, and Bonham), but also the distinctive and contrary blend of intelligence, spiritual mysticism, recklessness, and stoicism Leichhardt brought to his task. Roadside Memorials Today, the Leichhardt Highway is also lined with a series of roadside shrines to those who have died much more recently. While, like centotaphs, tombstones, and cemeteries, these memorialise the dead, they differ in usually marking the exact location that death occurred. In 43 BC, Cicero articulated the idea of the dead living in memory, “The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living” (93), yet Nelson is one of very few contemporary writers to link roadside memorials to elements of Gothic sensibility. Such constructions can, however, be described as Gothic, in that they make the roadway unfamiliar by inscribing onto it the memory of corporeal trauma and, in the process, re-creating their locations as vivid sites of pain and suffering. These are also enigmatic sites. Traffic levels are generally low along the flat or gently undulating terrain and many of these memorials are located in locations where there is no obvious explanation for the violence that occurred there. They are loci of contradictions, in that they are both more private than other memorials, in being designed, and often made and erected, by family and friends of the deceased, and yet more public, visible to all who pass by (Campbell). Cemeteries are set apart from their surroundings; the roadside memorial is, in contrast, usually in open view along a thoroughfare. In further contrast to cemeteries, which contain many relatively standardised gravesites, individual roadside memorials encapsulate and express not only the vivid grief of family and friends but also—when they include vehicle wreckage or personal artefacts from the fatal incident—provide concrete evidence of the trauma that occurred. While the majority of individuals interned in cemeteries are long dead, roadside memorials mark relatively contemporary deaths, some so recent that there may still be tyre marks, debris and bloodstains marking the scene. In 2008, when I was regularly travelling this roadway, I documented, and researched, the six then extant memorial sites that marked the locations of ten fatalities from 1999 to 2006. (These were all still in place in mid-2014.) The fatal incidents are very diverse. While half involved trucks and/or road trains, at least three were single vehicle incidents, and the deceased ranged from 13 to 84 years of age. Excell argues that scholarship on roadside memorials should focus on “addressing the diversity of the material culture” (‘Contemporary Deathscapes’) and, in these terms, the Leichhardt Highway memorials vary from simple crosses to complex installations. All include crosses (mostly, but not exclusively, white), and almost all are inscribed with the name and birth/death dates of the deceased. Most include flowers or other plants (sometimes fresh but more often plastic), but sometimes also a range of relics from the crash and/or personal artefacts. These are, thus, unsettling sights, not least in the striking contrast they provide with the highway and surrounding road reserve. The specific location is a key component of their ability to re-sensitise viewers to the dangers of the route they are travelling. The first memorial travelling northwards, for instance, is situated at the very point at which the highway begins, some 18 kilometres from Goondiwindi. Two small white crosses decorated with plastic flowers are set poignantly close together. The inscriptions can also function as a means of mobilising connection with these dead strangers—a way of building Secomb’s “haunted community”, whereby community in the post-colonial age can only be built once past “murderous death” (131) is acknowledged. This memorial is inscribed with “Cec Hann 06 / A Good Bloke / A Good hoarseman [sic]” and “Pat Hann / A Good Woman” to tragically commemorate the deaths of an 84-year-old man and his 79-year-old wife from South Australia who died in the early afternoon of 5 June 2006 when their Ford Falcon, towing a caravan, pulled onto the highway and was hit by a prime mover pulling two trailers (Queensland Police, ‘Double Fatality’; Jones, and McColl). Further north along the highway are two memorials marking the most inexplicable of road deaths: the single vehicle fatality (Connolly, Cullen, and McTigue). Darren Ammenhauser, aged 29, is remembered with a single white cross with flowers and plaque attached to a post, inscribed hopefully, “Darren Ammenhauser 1971-2000 At Rest.” Further again, at Billa Billa Creek, a beautifully crafted metal cross attached to a fence is inscribed with the text, “Kenneth J. Forrester / RIP Jack / 21.10.25 – 27.4.05” marking the death of the 79-year-old driver whose vehicle veered off the highway to collide with a culvert on the creek. It was reported that the vehicle rolled over several times before coming to rest on its wheels and that Forrester was dead when the police arrived (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Traffic Incident’). More complex memorials recollect both single and multiple deaths. One, set on both sides of the road, maps the physical trajectory of the fatal smash. This memorial comprises white crosses on both sides of road, attached to a tree on one side, and a number of ancillary sites including damaged tyres with crosses placed inside them on both sides of the road. Simple inscriptions relay the inability of such words to express real grief: “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed” and “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed / Forever in our hearts.” The oldest and most complex memorial on the route, commemorating the death of four individuals on 18 June 1999, is also situated on both sides of the road, marking the collision of two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. One memorial to a 62-year-old man comprises a cross with flowers, personal and automotive relics, and a plaque set inside a wooden fence and simply inscribed “John Henry Keenan / 23-11-1936–18-06-1999”. The second memorial contains three white crosses set side-by-side, together with flowers and relics, and reveals that members of three generations of the same family died at this location: “Raymond Campbell ‘Butch’ / 26-3-67–18-6-99” (32 years of age), “Lorraine Margaret Campbell ‘Lloydie’ / 29-11-46–18-6-99” (53 years), and “Raymond Jon Campbell RJ / 28-1-86–18-6-99” (13 years). The final memorial on this stretch of highway is dedicated to Jason John Zupp of Toowoomba who died two weeks before Christmas 2005. This consists of a white cross, decorated with flowers and inscribed: “Jason John Zupp / Loved & missed by all”—a phrase echoed in his newspaper obituary. The police media statement noted that, “at 11.24pm a prime mover carrying four empty trailers [stacked two high] has rolled on the Leichhardt Highway 17km north of Taroom” (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Truck Accident’). The roadside memorial was placed alongside a ditch on a straight stretch of road where the body was found. The coroner’s report adds the following chilling information: “Mr Zupp was thrown out of the cabin and his body was found near the cabin. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had applied the brakes or in any way tried to prevent the crash … Jason was not wearing his seatbelt” (Cornack 5, 6). Cornack also remarked the truck was over length, the brakes had not been properly adjusted, and the trip that Zupp had undertaken could not been lawfully completed according to fatigue management regulations then in place (8). Although poignant and highly visible due to these memorials, these deaths form a small part of Australia’s road toll, and underscore our ambivalent relationship with the automobile, where road death is accepted as a necessary side-effect of the freedom of movement the technology offers (Ladd). These memorials thus animate highways as Gothic landscapes due to the “multifaceted” (Haider 56) nature of the fear, terror and horror their acknowledgement can bring. Since 1981, there have been, for instance, between some 1,600 and 3,300 road deaths each year in Australia and, while there is evidence of a long term downward trend, the number of deaths per annum has not changed markedly since 1991 (DITRDLG 1, 2), and has risen in some years since then. The U.S.A. marked its millionth road death in 1951 (Ladd) along the way to over 3,000,000 during the 20th century (Advocates). These deaths are far reaching, with U.K. research suggesting that each death there leaves an average of 6 people significantly affected, and that there are some 10 to 20 per cent of mourners who experience more complicated grief and longer term negative affects during this difficult time (‘Pathways Through Grief’). As the placing of roadside memorials has become a common occurrence the world over (Klaassens, Groote, and Vanclay; Grider; Cohen), these are now considered, in MacConville’s opinion, not only “an appropriate, but also an expected response to tragedy”. Hockey and Draper have explored the therapeutic value of the maintenance of “‘continuing bonds’ between the living and the dead” (3). This is, however, only one explanation for the reasons that individuals erect roadside memorials with research suggesting roadside memorials perform two main purposes in their linking of the past with the present—as not only sites of grieving and remembrance, but also of warning (Hartig, and Dunn; Everett; Excell, Roadside Memorials; MacConville). Clark adds that by “localis[ing] and personalis[ing] the road dead,” roadside memorials raise the profile of road trauma by connecting the emotionless statistics of road death directly to individual tragedy. They, thus, transform the highway into not only into a site of past horror, but one in which pain and terror could still happen, and happen at any moment. Despite their increasing commonality and their recognition as cultural artefacts, these memorials thus occupy “an uncomfortable place” both in terms of public policy and for some individuals (Lowe). While in some states of the U.S.A. and in Ireland the erection of such memorials is facilitated by local authorities as components of road safety campaigns, in the U.K. there appears to be “a growing official opposition to the erection of memorials” (MacConville). Criticism has focused on the dangers (of distraction and obstruction) these structures pose to passing traffic and pedestrians, while others protest their erection on aesthetic grounds and even claim memorials can lower property values (Everett). While many ascertain a sense of hope and purpose in the physical act of creating such shrines (see, for instance, Grider; Davies), they form an uncanny presence along the highway and can provide dangerous psychological territory for the viewer (Brien). Alongside the townships, tourist sites, motels, and petrol stations vying to attract customers, they stain the roadway with the unmistakable sign that a violent death has happened—bringing death, and the dead, to the fore as a component of these journeys, and destabilising prominent cultural narratives of technological progress and safety (Richter, Barach, Ben-Michael, and Berman).Conclusion This investigation has followed Goddu who proposes that a Gothic text “registers its culture’s contradictions” (3) and, in profiling these memorials as “intimately connected to the culture that produces them” (Goddu 3) has proposed memorials as Gothic artefacts that can both disturb and reveal. Roadside memorials are, indeed, so loaded with emotional content that their close contemplation can be traumatising (Brien), yet they are inescapable while navigating the roadway. Part of their power resides in their ability to re-animate those persons killed in these violent in the minds of those viewing these memorials. In this way, these individuals are reincarnated as ghostly presences along the highway, forming channels via which the traveller can not only make human contact with the dead, but also come to recognise and ponder their own sense of mortality. While roadside memorials are thus like civic war memorials in bringing untimely death to the forefront of public view, roadside memorials provide a much more raw expression of the chaotic, anarchic and traumatic moment that separates the world of the living from that of the dead. While traditional memorials—such as those dedicated by, and to, Leichhardt—moreover, pay homage to the vitality of the lives of those they commemorate, roadside memorials not only acknowledge the alarming circumstances of unexpected death but also stand testament to the power of the paradox of the incontrovertibility of sudden death versus our lack of ability to postpone it. In this way, further research into these and other examples of Gothic memorialising practice has much to offer various areas of cultural study in Australia.ReferencesAdams, Brian. Sidney Nolan: Such Is Life. Hawthorn, Vic.: Hutchinson, 1987. Advocates for Highway and Auto Safety. “Motor Vehicle Traffic Fatalities & Fatality Rate: 1899-2003.” 2004. Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1973. Bisceglio, Paul. “How Social Media Is Changing the Way We Approach Death.” The Atlantic 20 Aug. 2013. Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. 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