Journal articles on the topic 'User Intelligibile goal'

Pakistan’s linguistic diversity and communication challenges are documented evidence of the country’s policy makers and practitioners for a decade’s plan of cultural harmony, regional stability, and linguistic autonomy. Besides, regional language users, national identity persuaders, and national integration into the global objectives of access to information for growth and good is made possible through the medium of communication. Its practice was seen in educational decisions in the past and its struggle for a nationwide networking is being witnessed in the period of COVID-19. The study is the result of almost 15 years old motivation to highlight the issues relevant for a phonological description of Goan Karachiites (GKs) speech of English. However, the framework is updated to absorb recent trends of global integration and communication challenges for a result-oriented academic deliberation. Its QUAL QUAN methods application is derived from phonological underpinnings to witness the divergence of English pronunciation of the GKs from Received Pronunciation (RP). The GKs English was reportedly non-RP, but intelligible on systemic phonological grounds.

<p>A realistic goal of pronunciation teaching in the second language context is to acquire comfortably intelligible rather than native-like pronunciation. To establish a set of teaching and learning priorities necessary for English teachers and students whose first language is Chinese, the purposes of this study are three fold: (1) Identify the pronunciation aspects that are crucial for intelligible pronunciation in actual second language (L2) Hong Kong (HK) and foreign language mainland (ML) China classrooms from in-service teachers’ points of view; (2) Investigate how teachers help their students successfully understand English classroom input through teachers’ self-reflection on which aspects of their own pronunciation they modify and adapt to make classroom discourse intelligible to students; and (3) explore the most frequently taught pronunciation aspects and the most frequently used pronunciation teaching strategies used by teachers to teach pronunciation in English classrooms. Forty-seven questionnaires were collected and analysed from in-service teachers in primary schools. Four teachers were invited to attend follow-up interviews. In order to further investigate the application of adaptation strategies and pronunciation teaching strategies in real classroom settings, eight classroom videos were collected. The data were triangulated allowing for cross checking.<strong> </strong>The findings will not only help frontline teachers become self-aware of their own pronunciation, rectify students’ recurrent difficulties in using phonological features, and improve mutual intelligibility in English language classrooms but also help explore the ways to integrate phonology courses and pronunciation teaching in second/foreign language teaching and teacher education.</p>

Everybody understands gene therapy. It's where healthy genes are used to supplement the lossoffunction of mutated genes, providing simple cures for complex genetic diseases. Because it clearly works (otherwise why is it called ‘gene therapy’?) there is a roller coaster of public perception, varying between enthusiastic optimism in times of dramatic progress and scathing criticism when things go badly. A priority for those of us working in the field is to regulate expectation by providing access to more balanced and intelligible information, and that is one goal of the recently formed Brit ish Society for Gene Therapy (www.bsgt.org).

The sociolinguistic development of English has placed a greater emphasis on intelligibility as the ultimate goal of pronunciation instruction. However, various studies have indicated that English pronunciation of Indonesian English learners was not satisfactory due to difficulties in learning English pronunciation and lack of emphasis given to the teaching of English pronunciation in English classrooms in Indonesia. In this paper we propose the development of Phonetic Alphabets for Bahasa Indonesia (PABI). This practical instrument allows English teachers and students in Indonesia to transcribe the pronunciations of English words into phonetic transcription with locally-appropriate readability and accessibility without compromising the pronunciation intelligibility. The development of PABI started with contrastive analysis of common phonemes in the two languages, i.e., English and Bahasa Indonesia (BI). Next, we identified the English phonemes missing in Bahasa Indonesia which English learners in Indonesia have to conceptualise. We then located those English sound ‘pairs’ which seem identical to Indonesians and are thus used interchangeably in BI. A corpus of 30,000 commonly used English words was transcribed in PABI using a computer software IPA to L1PA developed by Rahman and Bhattacharya (2020). Proposals to modify the IPA to suit the BI sound system entailed the adjustments in the consonant phonemes, vowel phonemes, and cluster sounds. These adjustments are expected to improve the readability and accessibility of the conventional IPA in facilitating the teaching and learning of intelligible English pronunciation in Indonesia. Practical uses of the PABI guidelines are drawn to improve its utility. Implications for the development of context sensitive and locally-appropriate pronunciation teaching and learning are drawn based on the findings.

Background/Context A fundamental tension has long existed between school reform proposals and actual teaching practice. Despite a large literature on teacher change, the discontinuity between innovation and practice continues and many attempts to reform teaching fail to be enacted in most classrooms. Purpose/Objective/Research Question/Focus of Study The purpose of this paper is to present a bridging methodology for connecting pedagogical innovations to the practical demands of teaching. The methodology is framed within practicality theory, which is an ecologically grounded analysis of the design issues and constraints that practitioners face in the everyday work of teaching. To conduct lessons, teachers must construct procedures (instrumentality) that fit circumstances (congruence) within available time and resources (cost). Underlying these practicality dimensions is a set of reasoning processes that can be understood from the perspective of three strands of research on bounded rationality—goal systems, heuristics, and evolutionary planning. Intervention/Program/Practice The analysis of teacher practical reasoning provides a design foundation for a bridging methodology consisting of (a) construction of a heuristic goal system (HGS) representation of the hierarchy of goals and heuristic means that underlie a teacher's planning decisions with respect to lesson segments used to carry out instruction; and (b) a teaching impact analysis (TIA) that connects an innovation's lesson structure to a teacher's heuristic goal system and shows how a teacher can adapt his/her current practice to achieve increased expected value (i.e., an improvement). Research Design This study was designed as an analytical essay that theorizes teaching practice, teacher reasoning, and a bridging methodology for connecting teaching practice with specific educational innovations. Cases of an experienced biology teacher and of 11 student teachers are presented that demonstrate the nature of this bridging methodology and variations in its use in particular circumstances. Conclusions/Recommendations The bridging framework provides a practical tool for identifying the action-guiding model of a teacher, the connection of this model to the precise components of an innovation, and the recombination or adaptations a teacher can make to achieve personal goals through an innovation. Although further studies are needed, this framework promises to furnish a powerful tool for making innovations practical. We cannot characterise behaviour independently of intentions, and we cannot characterise intentions independently of the settings which make those intentions intelligible both to agents themselves and to others (MacIntyre, 1981, p. 192).

What follows is a detailed study of Averroes's Decisive Treatise based on a new English translation of the text. It seeks to reveal the steps of the exposition, the quality of the reasoning used therein, and the general goal. The study adheres closely to the framework established by Averroes at the outset: namely, that this is an inquiry conducted from the perspective of what is permitted by the divine law of Islam. And it takes seriously the proposition that one can seek for an intelligent and intelligible connection between that law and the results reached through philosophical investigation. Thus, Averroes's ultimate conclusion – that the divine law of Islam and philosophy or wisdom are in basic agreement – is seen to make sense insofar as both seek to provide for the well-being of all members of the community. It makes sense, that is, as an understanding of what governance entails.

ABSTRACTSince the middle of the 20th century, zoological gardens have endeavoured to assist in the restoration of global, regional and national biodiversity. To help realise these conservation goals zoo professionals rely on formal and informal education schemes to enhance zoo visitors' awareness of environmental conservation issues. A questionnaire was administered at eight Australian zoos to elicit information regarding visitors' environmental knowledge and attitudes. Data from several open-ended questionnaire items were consistent with data from closed questions which intimated that zoo respondents appreciated zoos' conservation activities. However, a gap existed between visitors' endorsement of conservation and their level of conservation activism. This suggests that educational and interpretive materials used in zoos should include comprehensive and clearly intelligible information about a range of environmental values and means of involvement in action for conservation.

In this article we pursue two goals. The first is a further articulation of the dimensionality of the Dutch trait domain. The second is a detailed mapping of the factorial trait structure, one which includes intelligible and proper niches for various nuances of the trait language and for different interpretations of the main factors of personality language. In realizing these goals, we discuss the reliance on theory in structuring and modelling the domain in question, the type of model to be used, and the comprehensiveness versus the economy of domain representation. The advantages and disadvantages of the simple structure model and the circumplex model are commented upon, and a new framework that integrates these two models is presented. The present results provide confirmation of the existence of five major dimensions that cover the trait domain: (I) Extraversion or Surgency, (II) Agreeableness, (III) Conscientiousness, (IV) Emotional Stability, and (V) Intellect or Openness to Experience. The newly developed representational model, revealing a refined structure of personality characteristics, not only clarifies some of the problems faced in interpreting the Big Five factors, but also forms a starting point for applications.

This paper discusses the use of Rasmussen's abstraction hierarchy (AH) in performing an analysis of the work domain of a Pasteurization plant. Our goal is to examine the strengths and weakness of ecological interface design (EID) for systems in which critical variables are unreliable, faulty, or not measurable. In this paper we report our use of AHs to analyze the functioning of a pasteurization plant and the impact of unreliable or faulty sensors on the intelligibility of information available to the human operator. Although there is considerable current interest in EID, building thorough AHs for complex systems is a large task and there are currently very few detailed published examples to help human factors professionals wishing to take this approach. In this paper we present details of how we built the Pasteurization plant AH and show we are using the AH in our research. We argue that because AHs can indicate information that should be displayed for a process to be intelligible, techniques like EID that use AHs are in a position to bring about a profoundly user-centered approach to system design—an approach in which the ultimate information needs of human controllers will drive the engineering agenda of sensor and instrumentation design in a feedforward manner.

Background: Speech recognition abilities of adults and children using cochlear implants (CIs) are significantly degraded in the presence of background noise, making this an important area of study and assessment by CI manufacturers, researchers, and audiologists. However, at this time there are a limited number of fixed-intensity sentence recognition tests available that also have multiple, equally intelligible lists in noise. One measure of speech recognition, the AzBio Sentence Test, provides 10-talker babble on the commercially available compact disc; however, there is no published evidence to support equivalency of the 15-sentence lists in noise for listeners with normal hearing (NH) or CIs. Furthermore, there is limited or no published data on the reliability, validity, and normative data for this test in noise for listeners with CIs or NH. Purpose: The primary goals of this study were to examine the equivalency of the AzBio Sentence Test lists at two signal-to-noise ratios (SNRs) in participants with NH and at one SNR for participants with CIs. Analyses were also conducted to establish the reliability, validity, and preliminary normative data for the AzBio Sentence Test for listeners with NH and CIs. Research Design: A cross-sectional, repeated measures design was used to assess speech recognition in noise for participants with NH or CIs. Study Sample: The sample included 14 adults with NH and 12 adults or adolescents with Cochlear Freedom CI sound processors. Participants were recruited from the University of North Texas clinic population or from local CI centers. Data Collection and Analysis: Speech recognition was assessed using the 15 lists of the AzBio Sentence Test and the 10-talker babble. With the intensity of the sentences fixed at 73 dB SPL, listeners with NH were tested at 0 and −3 dB SNRs, and participants with CIs were tested at a +10 dB SNR. Repeated measures analysis of variance (ANOVA) was used to analyze the data. Results: The primary analyses revealed significant differences in performance across the 15 lists on the AzBio Sentence Test for listeners with NH and CIs. However, a follow-up analysis revealed no significant differences in performance across 10 of the 15 lists. Using the 10, equally-intelligible lists, a comparison of speech recognition performance across the two groups suggested similar performance between NH participants at a −3 dB SNR and the CI users at a +10 SNR. Several additional analyses were conducted to support the reliability and validity of the 10 equally intelligible AzBio sentence lists in noise, and preliminary normative data were provided. Conclusions: Ten lists of the commercial version of the AzBio Sentence Test may be used as a reliable and valid measure of speech recognition in noise in listeners with NH or CIs. The equivalent lists may be used for a variety of purposes including audiological evaluations, determination of CI candidacy, hearing aid and CI programming considerations, research, and recommendations for hearing assistive technology. In addition, the preliminary normative data provided in this study establishes a starting point for the creation of comprehensive normative data for the AzBio Sentence Test.

Purpose The goal of this study was to examine the role of carrier cues in sound source segregation and the possibility to enhance the intelligibility of 2 sentences presented simultaneously. Dual-carrier (DC) processing (Apoux, Youngdahl, Yoho, & Healy, 2015) was used to introduce synthetic carrier cues in vocoded speech. Method Listeners with normal hearing heard sentences processed either with a DC or with a traditional single-carrier (SC) vocoder. One group was asked to repeat both sentences in a sentence pair (Experiment 1). The other group was asked to repeat only 1 sentence of the pair and was provided additional segregation cues involving onset asynchrony (Experiment 2). Results Both experiments showed that not only is the “target” sentence more intelligible in DC compared with SC, but the “background” sentence intelligibility is equally enhanced. The participants did not benefit from the additional segregation cues. Conclusions The data showed a clear benefit of using a distinct carrier to convey each sentence (i.e., DC processing). Accordingly, the poor speech intelligibility in noise typically observed with SC-vocoded speech may be partly attributed to the envelope of independent sound sources sharing the same carrier. Moreover, this work suggests that noise reduction may not be the only viable option to improve speech intelligibility in noise for users of cochlear implants. Alternative approaches aimed at enhancing sound source segregation such as DC processing may help to improve speech intelligibility while preserving and enhancing the background.

Meta-ethics is an important and fundamental part of ethical philosophy. Normative ethics discusses the ethical criterion and definition of happiness and obligation; but Meta-ethics deals with its background. In other words, it puts ethical propositions into philosophical questions in terms of meaning, cognition, and truth. In the intellectual system of transcendent wisdom, metaphysical issues and sheer philosophy are studied in order to help human beings to develop and transcend. In fact, human ethics and transcendence along with theology are two main goals of transcendent wisdom. In this regard, it is important to understand Mulla Sadra's views on meta-ethics as well as to discover and deduce it among Mulla Sadra's philosophical views. While defining meta-ethics, explaining its domains and asking main questions about each of these domains, the method of comparative study is used in this paper in order to provide the most appropriate and consistent possible answers to questions in the realm of meta-ethics - based on Mulla Sadra's views on the originality of existence Substantial motion and Union of Intelligent and Intelligible and so on.

AbstractScience education can be alienating for students, as it is apart from the mundane world with which they are familiar. Science education research has approached the gap between everyday understandings and science learning largely as a challenge arising while learning about science concepts and the kinds of instructional approaches that may support this. However, the forms of everyday ways of relating to the world fundamentally expand beyond conceptual understandings. In this study, we use data from an outdoor science learning setting to examine a range of non-conceptual but culturally possible and intelligible ways in which students actually connect science learning processes to their everyday world and its characteristic commonsense understandings. Our study shows how students’ (a) spontaneous embodied explorations, (b) humor in all of its bodily and grotesque forms, and (c) narrative representation and interpretation of the world are used to contextualize science learning, namely its environment and content, within their familiar world. We show how students draw on these fundamental cultural forms of understanding the world even without particular instructional support while, at the same time, completing their science tasks according to the goals set by their teachers. Our findings suggest that the ways in which students connect their everyday world with science learning do not have to be explicitly related to the particular conceptual learning goals but can parallel conceptual learning while contextualizing it in affectively meaningful ways.

Problem. The problem of distributing competing flows of road users in time is prevalent worldwide, and there is no fully justified and intelligible solution, even if only traffic flows can be considered. At the busiest street intersections, the primary means of traffic management is traffic signal control. If the traffic lights are close to each other, then it is a good practice to coordinate the operation of such traffic lights to organise the most unhampered movement of vehicles in one or several directions; that is the progression. Goal. The goal is estimation of the time required to ensure the uniform motion of vehicle platoon progression on the coordinated artery of the city arterial. Methodology. The developed approach is based on the use of analytical research methods and allows to formalize the interaction of the platoon progression with additional vehicles. Results. The results of the estimation of the minimum time required to ensure the uniform motion of the platoon progression allow us to state that for actual speeds and vehicle accelerations when starting from the stop-line of the intersection, the requirement for the uniform motion of the platoon progression is too strict, especially if we take into account that advance time will increase significantly as the number of additional vehicles in the queue increases. Originality. Analytical models created using formulas of the kinematics of rectilinear uniform accelerated motion of a point make it possible to estimate the minimum advance time of the start of the traffic light signal due to the deliberate speed of traffic and the average acceleration of one additional vehicle when starting from the stop-line of the intersection. Practical value. The developed models reflect the minimum value of the advance time, which ensures uniform motion of the platoon progression, provided that there is one additional vehicle at the stop-line of the intersection.

In this paper I examine the uses of the concept of minority by contemporary Muslim public intellectuals engaged simultaneously in discussions about the status of Muslims in the West and the place of non-Muslims in the Islamic world. I show how the concept of minority – rendered in Arabic through the neologism aqalliyya – is both problematic and indispensable to the discussions taking place in the transnational spaces of Islamic normative debate. Drawing on Saba Mahmood’s work, I argue that the minority question is both a strategy of modern secular governance and a tool used by a set of actors pursuing different projects. I suggest that the Islamic traditions that are often seen as foundational to the inequalities that shape the life of non-Muslims in the Middle East are in fact more ambiguous in their effects than they may appear at first sight. Although Islamic legal discourse has been predicated on a hierarchy that places non-Muslims in a subaltern status, it also embodies universalist norms that serve to counter some of these inequalities – even if the goals it articulates and the language it deploys are not always immediately intelligible within a modern context.

In a recent issue of this journal René van Woudenberg meditated “on the question what ‘aspects’ and ‘functions’, within the bounds of CP (= Calvinistic Philosophy HGG), are supposed to be.”2 This meditation demands a reaction. The purpose of this paper is to “shed ”¦ at least some light on the question which ”¦ of the two is the more intelligible and useful notion”. Its aim is “not to discuss any theory about modal aspects ”¦ but to establish what the phenomena are that such theories are about.”(1) I believe that the paper does not succeed in its goal. My response is divided in two parts. First I will discuss some of the arguments that Van Woudenberg uses in his analysis of the possible ways to understand both ‘aspects’ and ‘functions’. In this part I will try to show that the arguments used do not achieve what the paper aims at. In a second part I will discuss some deeper issues that are at stake. Here I will argue that it is not possible to understand the idea of ‘aspects’ or ‘functions’ apart from the philosophical paradigm of which it is a part. In fact, I will try to show that Van Woudenberg’s analysis depends upon a theoretical conception that is basically different from that of reformational philosophy as conceived by Dooyeweerd and Vollenhoven. Ultimately, what might be at stake is the question how Christians should pursue philosophy. Is it possible to translate the basic concepts of reformational philosophy into those of mainstream analytical philosophy without the former loosing their critical intent?

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to investigate how different notions about the conservation of built heritage develop in a situation of structural change that demands either the demolition or relocation of a large number of historic buildings. Design/methodology/approach The analysis is based on a case study of the on-going urban transformation of the Swedish mining town Kiruna. The investigation was based on the text analysis of urban planning documents and media reporting, which was used to distinguish stakeholders’ positions towards conservation based on authenticity aspects. Findings The conservation goals of the urban planning process are unclear and the stakeholders have conceptually different views regarding which parts of the town’s built heritage are of significance, which negatively affects the ability to make well informed, transparent and intelligible management decisions. Stakeholder views on the management of built heritage span from the relocation of a few, single historic buildings to maintaining the integrity of the town as a heritage site by moving a significant number of buildings. Research limitations/implications The Kiruna case, being exceptional because conservation in situ is impossible, has the potential to highlight the relation between single historic buildings and the integrity of an urban heritage site, as well as implications for conservation on the urban scale. Originality/value This investigation contributes to knowledge of built heritage in situations of structural change, which is of concern for planning and conservation practice. Currently, many urban areas are under pressure of transformations or destruction.

Abstract The need for transparency of predictive systems based on Machine Learning algorithms arises as a consequence of their ever-increasing proliferation in the industry. Whenever black-box algorithmic predictions influence human affairs, the inner workings of these algorithms should be scrutinised and their decisions explained to the relevant stakeholders, including the system engineers, the system’s operators and the individuals whose case is being decided. While a variety of interpretability and explainability methods is available, none of them is a panacea that can satisfy all diverse expectations and competing objectives that might be required by the parties involved. We address this challenge in this paper by discussing the promises of Interactive Machine Learning for improved transparency of black-box systems using the example of contrastive explanations—a state-of-the-art approach to Interpretable Machine Learning. Specifically, we show how to personalise counterfactual explanations by interactively adjusting their conditional statements and extract additional explanations by asking follow-up “What if?” questions. Our experience in building, deploying and presenting this type of system allowed us to list desired properties as well as potential limitations, which can be used to guide the development of interactive explainers. While customising the medium of interaction, i.e., the user interface comprising of various communication channels, may give an impression of personalisation, we argue that adjusting the explanation itself and its content is more important. To this end, properties such as breadth, scope, context, purpose and target of the explanation have to be considered, in addition to explicitly informing the explainee about its limitations and caveats. Furthermore, we discuss the challenges of mirroring the explainee’s mental model, which is the main building block of intelligible human–machine interactions. We also deliberate on the risks of allowing the explainee to freely manipulate the explanations and thereby extracting information about the underlying predictive model, which might be leveraged by malicious actors to steal or game the model. Finally, building an end-to-end interactive explainability system is a challenging engineering task; unless the main goal is its deployment, we recommend “Wizard of Oz” studies as a proxy for testing and evaluating standalone interactive explainability algorithms.

The article engages with and extends emergent debates regarding the envelopment of affective life in practices of security through research into the design of shared situational awareness protocols used in emergency response. Crafted to address what are commonly called ‘multi-agency’ incidents, shared situational awareness protocols aim to generate real time, dynamic understandings of emergency situations that can be held consensually among different authorities in order to facilitate coordinated modes of intervention. I draw on recent conceptualisations in cultural geography of the notion of habit in two ways to explore how such protocols enrol, regulate and mobilise the affective capacities of responder bodies to orchestrate emergency response. Habit first opens up to consideration the complex temporality that protocols may inscribe into the embodied performance of emergency response. Read in relation to habit, protocols appear as security techniques that simultaneously formulate response into a sequence of actions in anticipation of emergencies whilst enabling responders to adapt to emergencies as volatile situations unfolding in an indeterminate, real-time present. Second, habit orients exploration towards the modes of affect-based sense-making practices that protocols seek to integrate into this performance. On one hand, protocols have been designed with the goal of affording responder bodies the capacity to enact what Brian Massumi refers to as affective attunement as a means to render emergencies intelligible. On the other, protocol design seeks to inculcate responder bodies with the capacity to execute what I call ‘empathic sense-making’ whereby authorities are able to coordinate with one another by operating with a perception of the emergency that traverses the confines of their immediate spatial and temporal embodied encounter with it. Synthesising protocol design with habit ultimately reveals much about how emergency planners consider bodily capacity an active agent that both guides the structure of intervention and enrols particular modes of cognition into emergency response and security.

To comprehend a Software system, Software modularization strategies are used. The goal of modularization is to break down a software system into meaningful and intelligible sub-systems from its source-code (modules). Because software classification modularization is an NP-hard task, evolutionary methods produce better modularization quality rather than avaricious algorithms. All available transformative techniques for software modularization only take into account structural aspects reliant on programming language syntax. Because most computer languages lack a mechanism for extracting structural characteristics, they cannot be modularized. A novel heuristic is proposed in this work. with several objectives that accomplishes both in order to lead optimization algorithms towards a proper decomposition of software systems automatically, structural (e.g.; calling dependence and in-heritance dependency) and non- structural (e.g.; semantics in code comments and identifier names) aspects are used. It is analyzed using 3 optimization plans, viz; global-based-search, combining global and local search, and Estimation of Distribution (EoD) to upgrade it. According to outcomes on Mozilla Firefox, suggested optimization algorithm based on EoD and the newly developed MOF function exceed those so it use structural-based objective functions in finding more understandable modules, as well as guiding the optimization procedure. In the lack of a unique concept, structure, the original design can be identified by using the source code of the disturbed software. Effective software maintenance depends on the concept of software system. One of most powerful techniques in software clustering is the ability to divide enormous Software systems into workable subsystems with modules of identical characteristics, thereby reducing the complexity of the system. A metaheuristic optimization imperialist competitive system has emerged algorithm, genetic algorithm, and their combination is examined for software clustering in this paper. When it comes to value, of clustering, the number of epochs required for convergence, and the standard unconventionality found at the end of repeated application of these algorithms, it appears that recursive application is the most effective for achieving the best performance.

Arthur Honegger composed his first sound film scores in 1933–34. For Les misérables, Raymond Bernard, who was under contract at Pathé-Natan to direct big-budget theatrical films that would compete with Paramount's French-language productions, expected Honegger to provide intermittent orchestral underscoring for already filmed sequences that privileged dialogue over music. For Rapt, the musically trained Dimitri Kirsanoff used independent financing to collaborate from the start with Honegger and Arthur Hoérée on what the director called “a hybrid form … in which music, image, and dialogue work together.” The innovative electroacoustic and sound editing techniques in the soundtrack for Rapt have, I argue, overshadowed the strikingly reciprocal relationship between the soundtrack's more conventional instrumental underscoring and the images on screen. Honegger theorized in 1931 that, in sound film, music's “autonomy” would free it from the burden of mimesis. Instead, the images on screen would teach listeners about music's abstract “reality.” In practice, however, in Rapt, mimetic music and musicalized sound effects bridge the gap between aesthetic goals of hybridity and practical demands for intelligible dialogue. My analysis of the abduction, washhouse, storm, and dream sequences in Rapt demonstrates that a successful hybrid of sound and image ultimately has the potential not just to use images to pin down music's elusive “reality,” but also to use music's mimetic possibilities to influence our reading of ambiguous imagery. It also shows that music does not need to be in itself groundbreaking in order to contribute to groundbreaking innovations in sound film.

The article examines the application of the principle of visibility in pedagogy, on the example of teaching the section "microeconomics" of the course "Economic theory". Artistic tools and techniques allow you to analyze economic aspects, processes, phenomena, and contexts in the course taught through artistic literary works and films, paintings, theater productions, etc. Using the principle of clarity in this case allows students to facilitate the process of perception and assimilation of theoretical material, makes it possible to emotionally influence the student; enriched sensory perception of students, develops their imagination, learning becomes more intelligible, interesting, encouraged active learning process, improves efficiency of mastering of educational material, expanded memory capabilities, increased access to study material and enhanced the strength of its absorption, it should also take into account the educational value and aesthetic value of the material used. Artistic means should correspond to the level of development of students, the course being studied, and reflect the economic reality. When using works of art in teaching, the following should be taken into account: it is necessary to refer to those works that are known to the majority of the audience, the lecturer should know the work referred to well, the passage used should be quite brief, but deep in content and artistic in form, highlight important aspects that are worth paying attention to when watching a movie, reading a book, or analyzing a picture. When teaching the course "Economic theory", the section "microeconomics", using the principle of clarity of didactics, it is recommended to use selected on the relevant topics, questions and subqueries artistic literary masterpieces of domestic and foreign authors, paintings of Soviet, Russian, world cinema, works of art painting both domestic and foreign: in the topic "Fundamentals of market economy", questions "economic needs and economic resources", " economic systems»; the topic "Theory of the firm", the question "the essence, goals, conditions of functioning of the firm"; the topic "Perfect and imperfect competition", the question "the Main characteristics of monopoly"; the topic " factor Markets and income distribution. Social policy", questions "inequality of income distribution in a market economy", "social policy".

The article examines the application of the principle of visibility in pedagogy, on the example of teaching the section "microeconomics" of the course "Economic theory". Artistic tools and techniques allow you to analyze economic aspects, processes, phenomena, and contexts in the course taught through artistic literary works and films, paintings, theater productions, etc. Using the principle of clarity in this case allows students to facilitate the process of perception and assimilation of theoretical material, makes it possible to emotionally influence the student; enriched sensory perception of students, develops their imagination, learning becomes more intelligible, interesting, encouraged active learning process, improves efficiency of mastering of educational material, expanded memory capabilities, increased access to study material and enhanced the strength of its absorption, it should also take into account the educational value and aesthetic value of the material used. Artistic means should correspond to the level of development of students, the course being studied, and reflect the economic reality. When using works of art in teaching, the following should be taken into account: it is necessary to refer to those works that are known to the majority of the audience, the lecturer should know the work referred to well, the passage used should be quite brief, but deep in content and artistic in form, highlight important aspects that are worth paying attention to when watching a movie, reading a book, or analyzing a picture. When teaching the course "Economic theory", the section "microeconomics", using the principle of clarity of didactics, it is recommended to use selected on the relevant topics, questions and subqueries artistic literary masterpieces of domestic and foreign authors, paintings of Soviet, Russian, world cinema, works of art painting both domestic and foreign: in the topic "Fundamentals of market economy", questions "economic needs and economic resources", " economic systems»; the topic "Theory of the firm", the question "the essence, goals, conditions of functioning of the firm"; the topic "Perfect and imperfect competition", the question "the Main characteristics of monopoly"; the topic " factor Markets and income distribution. Social policy", questions "inequality of income distribution in a market economy", "social policy".

Abstract. There have been repeated calls for a Darwinian approach to hydrologic science or for a synthesis of Darwinian and Newtonian approaches, to deepen understanding the hydrologic system in the larger landscape context, and so develop a better basis for predictions now and in an uncertain future. But what exactly makes a Darwinian approach to hydrology "Darwinian"? While there have now been a number of discussions of Darwinian approaches, many referencing Harte (2002), the term is potentially a source of confusion while its connections to Darwin remain allusive rather than explicit. Here we discuss the methods that Charles Darwin pioneered to understand a variety of complex systems in terms of their historical processes of change. We suggest that the Darwinian approach to hydrology follows his lead by focusing attention on the patterns of variation in populations, seeking hypotheses that explain these patterns in terms of the mechanisms and conditions that determine their historical development, using deduction and modeling to derive consequent hypotheses that follow from a proposed explanation, and critically testing these hypotheses against new observations. It is not sufficient to catalogue the patterns or predict them statistically. Nor is it sufficient for the explanations to amount to a "just-so" story not subject to critical analysis. Darwin's theories linked present-day variation to mechanisms that operated over history, and could be independently test and falsified by comparing new observations to the predictions of corollary hypotheses they generated. With a Darwinian framework in mind it is easy to see that a great deal of hydrologic research has already been done that contributes to a Darwinian hydrology – whether deliberately or not. The various heuristic methods that Darwin used to develop explanatory theories – extrapolating mechanisms, space for time substitution, and looking for signatures of history – have direct application in hydrologic science. Some are already in use, while others are not and could be used to develop new insights. Darwin sought explanatory theories that intelligibly connected disparate facts, that were testable and falsifiable, and that had fertile implications for further research. While a synthesis of the Darwinian and Newtonian approaches remains a goal, the Darwinian approach to hydrologic science has significant value of its own The Darwinian hydrology that has been conducted already has not been coordinated or linked into a general body of theory and knowledge, but the time is ccoming when this will be possible.

Background Lifestyle diseases, because of adverse health behavior, are the foremost cause of death worldwide. An eCoach system may encourage individuals to lead a healthy lifestyle with early health risk prediction, personalized recommendation generation, and goal evaluation. Such an eCoach system needs to collect and transform distributed heterogenous health and wellness data into meaningful information to train an artificially intelligent health risk prediction model. However, it may produce a data compatibility dilemma. Our proposed eHealth ontology can increase interoperability between different heterogeneous networks, provide situation awareness, help in data integration, and discover inferred knowledge. This “proof-of-concept” study will help sensor, questionnaire, and interview data to be more organized for health risk prediction and personalized recommendation generation targeting obesity as a study case. Objective The aim of this study is to develop an OWL-based ontology (UiA eHealth Ontology/UiAeHo) model to annotate personal, physiological, behavioral, and contextual data from heterogeneous sources (sensor, questionnaire, and interview), followed by structuring and standardizing of diverse descriptions to generate meaningful, practical, personalized, and contextual lifestyle recommendations based on the defined rules. Methods We have developed a simulator to collect dummy personal, physiological, behavioral, and contextual data related to artificial participants involved in health monitoring. We have integrated the concepts of “Semantic Sensor Network Ontology” and “Systematized Nomenclature of Medicine—Clinical Terms” to develop our proposed eHealth ontology. The ontology has been created using Protégé (version 5.x). We have used the Java-based “Jena Framework” (version 3.16) for building a semantic web application that includes resource description framework (RDF) application programming interface (API), OWL API, native tuple store (tuple database), and the SPARQL (Simple Protocol and RDF Query Language) query engine. The logical and structural consistency of the proposed ontology has been evaluated with the “HermiT 1.4.3.x” ontology reasoner available in Protégé 5.x. Results The proposed ontology has been implemented for the study case “obesity.” However, it can be extended further to other lifestyle diseases. “UiA eHealth Ontology” has been constructed using logical axioms, declaration axioms, classes, object properties, and data properties. The ontology can be visualized with “Owl Viz,” and the formal representation has been used to infer a participant’s health status using the “HermiT” reasoner. We have also developed a module for ontology verification that behaves like a rule-based decision support system to predict the probability for health risk, based on the evaluation of the results obtained from SPARQL queries. Furthermore, we discussed the potential lifestyle recommendation generation plan against adverse behavioral risks. Conclusions This study has led to the creation of a meaningful, context-specific ontology to model massive, unintuitive, raw, unstructured observations for health and wellness data (eg, sensors, interviews, questionnaires) and to annotate them with semantic metadata to create a compact, intelligible abstraction for health risk predictions for individualized recommendation generation.

Abstract. There have been repeated calls for a Darwinian approach to hydrologic science, or for a synthesis of Darwinian and Newtonian approaches, to deepen understanding of the hydrologic system in the larger landscape context, and so develop a better basis for predictions now and in an uncertain future. But what exactly makes a Darwinian approach to hydrology "Darwinian"? While there have now been a number of discussions of Darwinian approaches, many referencing Harte (2002), the term is potentially a source of confusion because its connections to Darwin remain allusive rather than explicit. Here we suggest that the Darwinian approach to hydrology follows the example of Charles Darwin by focusing attention on the patterns of variation in populations and seeking hypotheses that explain these patterns in terms of the mechanisms and conditions that determine their historical development. These hypotheses do not simply catalog patterns or predict them statistically – they connect the present structure with processes operating in the past. Nor are they explanations presented without independent evidence or critical analysis – Darwin's hypotheses about the mechanisms underlying present-day variation could be independently tested and validated. With a Darwinian framework in mind, it is easy to see that a great deal of hydrologic research has already been done that contributes to a Darwinian hydrology – whether deliberately or not. We discuss some practical and philosophical issues with this approach to hydrologic science: how are explanatory hypotheses generated? What constitutes a good hypothesis? How are hypotheses tested? "Historical" sciences – including paleohydrology – have long grappled with these questions, as must a Darwinian hydrologic science. We can draw on Darwin's own example for some answers, though there are ongoing debates about the philosophical nature of his methods and reasoning. Darwin used a range of methods of historical reasoning to develop explanatory hypotheses: extrapolating mechanisms, space for time substitution, and looking for signatures of history. Some of these are already in use, while others are not and could be used to develop new insights. He sought explanatory hypotheses that intelligibly unified disparate facts, were testable against evidence, and had fertile implications for further research. He provided evidence to support his hypotheses by deducing corollary conditions ("if explanation A is true, then B will also be true") and comparing these to observations. While a synthesis of the Darwinian and Newtonian approaches remains a goal, the Darwinian approach to hydrologic science has significant value of its own. The Darwinian hydrology that has been conducted already has not been coordinated or linked into a general body of theory and knowledge, but the time is coming when this will be possible.

The purpose of the work is an analysis of the current state of the universities of the North Caucasus Federal District from the point of view of creating competitive regional development centers, bearing in mind the Spatial Development Strategy of Russia.The research methodology is based on empirical research methods (observation, comparison, data collection and study), current and prospective analysis and synthesis of theoretical and practical material, multivariate systems analysis, sociology, statistical analysis, etc.Results. In the course of the study, features of the development of the NCFD universities were revealed, various aspects of their activities were analyzed. Detailed mapping of the development of the NCFD universities has been made on a wide range of parameters and indicators. The authors note the lack of intelligible parameters used in the formation of the target admission levels in the universities of the North Caucasus Federal District, the weak connection of these figures with the real economy. The absence of status universities in the North Caucasus Federal District, in particular a flagship university, contributes to the outflow of talented students to central Russian and foreign universities.Application area. The results of this work can be applied in the activities of the Ministry of Science and Higher Education of the Russian Federation in developing the new university model – “HEIs, providing personnel for basic branches of regional economy” and in planning the target admission levels of universities, setting goals for universities in the region in terms of synchronization their development programs with administrations for the implementation of national projects, programs for the socioeconomic development of the North Caucasus Federal District.Findings. The peculiarities of the socio-political and economic development of the NCFD indicate the difficulties in planning the training of highly skilled specialists for the region. Despite the fact that the “full range” of educational institutions in the North Caucasus Federal District is economically disadvantageous in the short term, the opportunity for young people to receive higher education in their region can be viewed as one of the few really effective channels of self-realization and socialization for a significant part of North Caucasian youth. Insufficient funding, weak involvement of universities in solving the problems of sustainable development of the region do not contribute to the creation and development of universities which can be the real drivers of sustainable and innovative development of the North Caucasus Federal District and competitive scientific and educational centers.

The assessment of water quality has turned to be an ultimate goal for most water resource and environmental stakeholders, with ever-increasing global consideration. Against this backdrop, various tools and water quality guidelines have been adopted worldwide to govern water quality deterioration and institute the sustainable use of water resources. Water quality impairment is mainly associated with a sudden increase in population and related proceedings, which include urbanization, industrialization and agricultural production, among others. Such socio-economic activities accelerate water contamination and cause pollution stress to the aquatic environment. Scientifically based water quality index (WQI) models are then essentially important to measure the degree of contamination and advise whether specific water resources require restoration and to what extent. Such comprehensive evaluations reflect the integrated impact of adverse parameter concentrations and assist in the prioritization of remedial actions. WQI is a simple, yet intelligible and systematically structured, indexing scale beneficial for communicating water quality data to non-technical individuals, policymakers and, more importantly, water scientists. The index number is normally presented as a relative scale ranging from zero (worst quality) to one hundred (best quality). WQIs simplify and streamline what would otherwise be impractical assignments, thus justifying the efforts of developing water quality indices (WQIs). Generally, WQIs are not designed for broad applications; they are customarily developed for specific watersheds and/or regions, unless different basins share similar attributes and test a comparable range of water quality parameters. Their design and formation are governed by their intended use together with the degree of accuracy required, and such technicalities ultimately define the application boundaries of WQIs. This is perhaps the most demanding scientific need—that is, to establish a universal water quality index (UWQI) that can function in most, if not all, the catchments in South Africa. In cognizance of such a need, this study attempts to provide an index that is not limited to certain application boundaries, with a contribution that is significant not only to the authors, but also to the nation at large. The proposed WQI is based on the weighted arithmetic sum method, with parameters, weight coefficients and sub-index rating curves established through expert opinion in the form of the participation-based Rand Corporation’s Delphi Technique and extracts from the literature. UWQI functions with thirteen explanatory variables, which are NH3, Ca, Cl, Chl-a, EC, F, CaCO3, Mg, Mn, NO3, pH, SO4 and turbidity (NTU). Based on the model validation analysis, UWQI is considered robust and technically stable, with negligible variation from the ideal values. Moreover, the prediction pattern corresponds to the ideal graph with comparable index scores and identical classification grades, which signifies the readiness of the model to appraise water quality status across South African watersheds. The research article intends to substantiate the methods used and document the results achieved.

An extremely interesting read can be had by any reader who buys Professor Donald Stoker’s most recent book Why America Loses Wars – Limited War and US Strategy from the Korean War to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), which analyzes the wars and conflicts fought by the United States of America since the Korean War. After the provocative title of the book, the reader begins to read with some suspicion, as it does not fit into the image of the United States as the world's leading power, one which can persuade almost all the countries of the world to deal with it either in political or economic or military cooperation. This is why it is shocking to face how differently the leaders of American and Western countries think about war; in many cases they do not even know exactly what it means, and what the consequences of its outbreak and the fighting can be. In several conflicts it can be seen that in the world’s leading power, the political decision-makers thought in a completely different way in a given situation, often leading to conflicting decisions. This is not primarily due to political affiliation, but to the fact that the various actors involved in conflicts – politicians and soldiers – do not have a common vision of the goals and the results to be achieved or the strategies to be used. In many cases, it has led to unnecessary losses and wars that have gone on far longer than they needed to – see Iraq and Afghanistan. Policymakers are often unaware of the old wisdom of Carl von Clausewitz – often quoted by Stoker – formulated in his book On War, “War as Politics by other Means”. This assumes that politicians start a conflict with clear objectives, knowing exactly what results they want to achieve. In addition, they are aware that the success of a war, however short-term or limited, may be influenced by factors such as the geographical environment, economic background, logistical capabilities, social support, historical and cultural background, and so on. However, some of these factors may change during the conflict, so the objectives and strategies need to be reviewed from time to time and, if necessary, redesigned according to the realities of the time. Jordan Ellenberg took a similar view of these old truths in his book, How Not to Be Wrong: The Power of Mathematical Thinking; he said “Countries don’t win wars just being braver than the other side, or freer, or slightly preferred by God. The winners are usually the guys who get 5% fewer of their planes shot down, or use 5% less fuel, or get 5% more nutrition into their infantry at 95% of the cost. That’s not the stuff war movies are made of, but it’s the stuff wars are made of. And there’s math every step of the way” . Even so, these things are constantly forgotten by most political decision-makers who lead their countries into endless wars, the consequences of which are suffered by the soldiers fighting the battles and the civilian population in the areas affected. Therefore, Stoker can rightly hold these decision-makers accountable for their lack of the proper application of strategic thinking. This is particularly important in view of the fact that the period of “limited war” which has characterized the last two decades is coming to an end, and the US may face increasingly equal opponents like China or Russia. The conflict against them is expected to be conventional, for which the American political and military leadership, accustomed to anti-insurgency operations and rapid success, is unlikely to be properly prepared. From this point of view, the book could even act as an alarm bell, so that leaders can begin preparations for the later period, although the author did not suggest how what he had articulated could be put into practice. One of the major strengths of the book is that it clarifies commonly used political and military concepts such as unilateralism, multilateralism, types of political objective, strategy, tactics, objectives, operations, pre-emptive and preventive war, gray zone war, limited war, little war, nested war, victory and peace. The other serious strength of the book is that it almost fanatically emphasizes the need for more active, effective dialogue and cooperation between the political and military sides, as a result of which interpretation problems between different groups and actors can be significantly reduced and cooperation can be improved. It was particularly interesting to me that the author presented several political and military events – not only from American but also from international environments – and the decision-making processes leading to them and their background, which many historians and military historians are not fully aware of. In addition to describing historical events, the author lists a large number of military and political strategists, such as Sun Tzu, Carl von Clausewitz, or Bernard Brodie (better known in the United States), and others, and he also outlines their thoughts – even if he disagrees with some of them – which in some way still have an impact on warfare to this day. However, in addition to the many positives, I missed the fact that although the author presented almost every American conflict in recent decades, he only talked about the US “getting into endless wars”, and not how on several occasions the war – as in Grenada, Panama, or the Balkans – also achieved its goal. Here, perhaps, it would have been worthwhile to take a closer look at what these successes were due to and to draw conclusions from them. However, this does not detract from the value of the book. I especially liked that Stoker stayed true to his university teaching past and built his book in a way that even those who are less familiar with the subject could profit from. This is aided by clear explanations and extensive discussions of the various concepts. This helps readers from different backgrounds get a unified picture of how political decision-making takes place, what a war is, how to fight it and, most importantly, how to finish it, what the different actors think about it, and the differences in the way of thinking of politicians and soldiers involved in war. On the other hand, it could also be extremely useful to political and strategic decision-makers, who often make decisions that have a very serious impact with minimal knowledge and a lack of adequate background information. As a veteran of 31 years as a professional soldier, one who began his career as a sergeant in the troops and finished as a colonel on the General Staff, I fully agree with the author's book, which should be read not only by American but all other countries' political and military leaders, as a kind of basic strategic course material to know how to make informed decisions on military issues, how to communicate successfully and intelligibly between political decision-making and the military communities implementing them, and what the consequences of the decisions they make may be.

Kò séní m’èdè Àyàn Bí ení mú kò ̣ ̣ǹgó ̣ è ̣ lówọ́ No one understands the language of Àyàn Better than the drummer who holds the gong in his hand Yorùbá maxim From the Yorùbá oral historical, mythological, and ontological, abstract lines of reasoning, Àyàn is believed to be the first Yorùbá drum maker and drummer, who, after his death, was deified as the god of Drumming (Òrìsà ̣ Àyàn, or simply Àyàn). Hence, when an experienced Yorùbá drummer plays his drum masterfully, the elders with the drum speech discernable ears (òmò ̣ ràn) that hear the drumming, even from afar commend, “may Àyàn, ̣ the god of drumming prosper/ protect you!” (Àyàn ó gbè ó!). As among other Yorùbá deities (òrìsạ̀) that live in the spiritual realm in certain but uncommon natural environments (forests, trees, rivers, streams, and mountains, among others), Òrìsà Àyàn is thought to reside in wood (Vil ̣ - lepastour 2015, 3). For this reason, Òrìsà Àyàn is emblematized by the wood ̣ with which the body of the drum (ìlù) is carved. Similarly, this deity is eulogized as “the spirit who speaks out from inside his wooded abode” (Òrìsà ̣ gbé’nú igi fohùn), in reference to the log of wood with which the drums (ìlù) are carved. It is said that Òrìsà Àyàn particularly prefers that ìlù be carved ̣ with Cordia millenii (igi òmò ̣ ), a belief that gave birth to the Yorùbá saying, ̣ “out of the entire wood species of the forests is the preferred Cordia millenii, with which gbèdụ drum is carved” (Igi gbogbo ní ńbe ̣ ní’gbó, k’átó fi’gi òmò ̣ ̣ gbé ̣ gbèdụ). Because of his position as the patron deity of drumming, which 2 Oláwọlé Fámúlẹ̀ by extension is used to accompanying sacred rites in honor of virtually all the Yorùbá òrìsạ̀, Òrìsà Àyàn is thought to be their mouthpiece, as they all speak ̣ through the drums that he emblematizes. Another emblem of Òrìsà Àyàn that ̣ is even worshipped is a shallow hemispherical drum with a single fixed head, which is worn on the chest with a strap around the neck and beaten with leather straps held in each hand (gúdúgúdú ) (Bascom 1952, 4). The gúdúgúdú symbol of Òrìsà Àyàn also goes by the praise name (oríkì) “gúdúgúdú with its distinctive uneven and undulated back shape” (Gúdúgúdú, ab’è yìn jákan- ̣ jàkan). The component parts that formed this uneven and surged-back shape [of gúdúgúdú] include kúseré and apìràn. Kúseré is a circular metal object affixed onto the drum’s wooded base, and apìràn is an array of wooden pegs that hold the kúseré securely onto the base of the instrument. At the exoteric and practical level, Àyàn also refers to any Yorùbá traditional and professional drummer, who plays the drum (ìlù), often with the use of a gong (kòṇ̀ gó).̣ The Yorùbá professional drummers share the name àyàn with Òrìsà Àyàn since they are the human agents who play the drums (ìlù), ̣ emblem of Òrìsà Àyàn, and through which the deity speaks. The ̣ Yorùbá incantation “the day that the drummer drums with his gong/drumstick is the very moment that the Àyàn god of drumming speaks out that which is in his mouth” (Òòjó ̣ tí kòṇ̀ gó ̣ Àyàn bá f’ojú ba ìlù ni Òrìsà Àyàn ̣ ńpo ̣ t’enu rè ̣ ̣ sí’lè) ̣ best illustrates the interconnection of the drummers (àyàn) with god of drumming, Òrìsà Àyàn. As succinctly corroborated by Amanda Villepastour, “the ̣ drummer in action becomes Àyàn.” Another Yorùbá term for a drummer (àyàn) is onílù. 1 With their drumming (or drum music) that mimic the human speech, the Àyàn or Onílù verbalize words/speeches (òrọ̀ ) that is or are intelligible to the ears of their ̣ patrons, often the dance performers (oníjó). For that reason, ìlù, to the Yorùbá, is an instrument that acts as a speech surrogate (i.e., substitute). That the Yorùbá refer to ìlù as “the talking drum” underscores this assertion. In fact, they strongly believed that if handled by a skillful drummer (àyàn/onílù), ìlù, just like humans, can speak words or communicate effectively to those who understand the language of the drum. The Yorùbá phrase “a lifeless goat that speaks just like a human” (òkú-ewúré tíí fo ̣ ’hùn bí ènìyàn ̣ ), a euphemism for the goatskin fixed single- or double-headed hourglass drums that mimic human speech when drummed, is a testimony to ìlù as a true “talking drum.” Another Yorùbá saying that illustrates that ìlù is an instrument of language substitution is “that the gángan drum could speak in a human nasal tone of 1 Onílù is formed from two Yorùbá words oní and ìlù (literally, “owner of the drum” or “one who plays the drum”), a euphemism for the drummer. Thus, anybody that plays drum is an onílù. But those Yorùbá traditional professional onílù, like the dùndún and bàtá drummers, are specifically referred to as àyàn. Èdè Àyàn: The Language of Àyàn in Yorùbá Art and Ritual of Egúngún 3 voice is not without the help of the drummer’s own tip of the fingernails” (àti rán’mú gángan kò s’ẹ̀ yìn èékáná ̣ ). In Yorùbá traditional festivals, ritual performances, and religious practices in general, the role of àyàn whose drumming or drum music imitate and code the natural language (Yorùbá), cannot be overemphasized. The Yorùbá aphorism “without drum music, there is no way to celebrate” (láì sí’lù, taní jé ̣ s’eré òkúrùgbe!̣) is a testimony to the indispensable role of ìlù in the context of traditional Yorùbá visual and performance arts. A clear example is the Yorùbá art and ritual of Egúngún, the theme of this study. Paradoxically, many Yorùbá art scholars often make very little or no effort to explore the relevance of ìlù in their studies on Yorùbá visual culture, such as Egúngún. This has continued to make it become virtually impossible for a deeper understanding of Yorùbá art in particular and African art as a whole. Ironically, the same scholars prefer to invest their energy, searching outside of the art’s cultural origin to fulfil their primary goal of “appreciating” the African art, rather than searching within African culture, language and values, the very driving forces that gave rise to this art, and thus a catalyst to understanding it.2 It is on that note that I believe the question that scholars of African art should begin to ask themselves is: when will African art scholarship––unlike Western art studies that often demand intellectual rigor and professional thoroughness––rise above its present art “appreciating” status vis-à-vis African art? In my opinion, as this present study is aimed at confirming, the understanding of African art critically requires that scholars be fluent or at least confident in the reading, writing, and speaking of the language of the people whose art they study. Also heightening the problem of the lack of “understanding” of Yorùbá art is the very unique nature of it (as with other African art), in which an isolated work of art in context is a rarity. Thus, the present study examines the very indispensable roles of Àyàn drummers in the performance context of the annual Egúngún festival (odún Egúngún) in a Yorùbá community in Òkèigbó in Nigeria’s Ondo State. As a native speaker with access to Yorùbá philosophy, values and history, and who is fully aware of the fundamental importance of language in African art studies, I aim in this study to examine the mutual relationship existing between the Àyàn and Egúngún from the vantage point of the Yorùbá language, the medium through which the said Yorùbá philosophy, values and history are stored and expressed. It delves into the very root of Egúngún within the Yorùbá cultural context, where traditions and history are preserved and recorded not in the western-type of writing, but rather in the Yorùbá language, ritual performance and ceremonies. It is hoped that this study will facilitate a deeper understanding of Egúngún along with the 2 Personal communication with Professor Rowland Abíodún on April 2, 2017. 4 Oláwọlé Fámúlẹ̀ àyàn within the art and ritual performance context of the Odún Egúngún. The study illustrates the interconnection of the àyàn and Egúngún by first providing an overview of Yorùbá drums and their ritual contexts. This is followed by a close study of the Yorùbá ontological concept of Egúngún, one of the most valued patrons of Àyàn (the drummers), as an important form of Yorùbá religious beliefs and practices. Using the Egbé ̣ ̣ Òjẹ̀ ̣ (Cult of Egúngún) of the ancient Yorùbá town of Òkèigbó as a case study, the study concludes with an in-depth analysis of the role of Àyàn (Drummers) in Yorùbá art and ritual of Egúngún.

The pursuit of science is a wonderful journey of discovery along which there are a myriad of avenues to be explored. There have always been so many objects of fascination, so many questions to ask along the way, so many possibilities to understand new principles, that making the decision about which problem to address and then having the self-discipline to explore it in depth challenge all who practice the art. How then are we, as cell biologists, to cope with the mountain of information that is accumulating as we enter the twenty-first century? We now have the potential to decipher the primary sequences of every single cellular protein for several model organisms. Just how are we to put this information into an intelligible framework for understanding cell physiology? The turn of a century is a time at which we can permit ourselves the luxury of looking backwards as well as forwards. Where were we a century ago, what were the challenges that faced us then and how do these questions relate to our future goals? As a cell biologist standing on the threshold of the twentieth century, one must have had a similar feeling of elation and expectation to that which we have at the present time. The Theory of Cells had been established by Schleiden and Schwan in 1838–1839, and in the following fifty years it had led to unifying ideas about the nature of plants and animals, an understanding of embryonic development, and the mysteries of the fertilisation of the egg and genetic continuity in terms of ‘cellular immortality’. These were truly halcyon days. By the end of the nineteenth century many of the central principles of cell biology were firmly established. Virchow had maintained in 1855 that every cell is the offspring of a pre-existing parent cell, but the realisation that the cell nucleus is essential for this continuity had to wait another 30 years. By this time, Miecher had already made in 1871 his famous discovery of nuclein, a phosphorus-rich substance extracted from preparations of nuclei from sperm and pus cells, and over the next twenty years a spectrum of sophisticated dyes became available that facilitated the visualisation of not only nuclein but also asters, spindle fibres, and microsomal components of cytoplasm in fixed preparations of cells. The centrosome, discovered independently by Flemming in 1875 and Van Beneden in 1876, and named by Boveri in 1888, was already considered to be an autonomous organelle with a central role in cell division. The behaviour of chromosomes, centrosomes, astral fibres and spindle fibres throughout mitosis and meiosis had been described in exquisite detail. Galeotti had even concluded by 1893 that the unequal distribution of chromatin in cancer cells correlates with an inequality of the centrosomes and the development of abnormal spindles - a conclusion reinforced by others over a century later (Pihan et al., 1998; Lingle et al., 1998). It had taken 200 years following Leuwenhoek's first observation of sperm to Hertwig's demonstration in 1875 that fertilisation of the egg is accomplished by its union with one spermatozoon. This demonstration was rapidly followed by Van Beneden's discovery - eventually to unify genetics and cell biology - that the nuclei of germ cells each contain one half the number of chromosomes characteristic of body cells. By 1902, both Sutton and Boveri had realised that the behaviour of chromosomes in meiosis precisely parallels the behaviour of Mendel's genetic particles described some 35 years earlier. In many ways we have witnessed during the past 50 years, and particularly in the last quarter century, a series of exciting breakthroughs in establishing an understanding of genetic function and continuity that are comparable to those of the previous century in demonstrating cellular function and continuity. The determination of the structure of DNA in 1953 and the elucidation of the genetic code throughout the 1960s led to the rapid realisation of the code's universality. The parallel development of sophisticated techniques for studying the genetics of the model bacterium Escherichia coli and its plasmids and viruses paved the way for a new era in biology. We were soon to construct recombinant DNA molecules in vitro, propagate them and eventually express them in E. coli, taking full advantage of the universality of the code. The principles of cloning DNA molecules had been clearly enunciated by Berg and Hogness in the early 1970s, and I myself had the great fortune as a young post-doc to share in this excitement and participate in putting some of these principles into their early practice. By the end of that decade, genes had been cloned from a multitude of eukaryotes and, moreover, technologies had been developed by Maxam and Gilbert and by Sanger that enabled these cloned genes to be sequenced. The accelerating accumulation of knowledge enabled by these simple technical breakthroughs has been astounding, leading to the determination of the complete genome sequences of budding yeast, the nematode Caenorhabditis elegans and the fruit fly, Drosophila melanogaster, and the prospect of the complete human sequence within a few years. To date we have managed this accumulating wealth reasonably well. Cloned genes have allowed cell biologists access to the encoded proteins, and as a consequence we have a working knowledge of many cellular processes. The sub-cellular meanderings of molecules have been charted with increasing accuracy, and gene products have been positioned in regulatory pathways. The concerted application of genetic and molecular approaches has given new insights into cell biology. This is particularly evident from work on the yeasts, which have come into their own as model systems with our realisation of the extent to which cell biological processes have been conserved. Nevertheless, the resulting regulatory pathways that emerge from our current ways of looking at the cell are rather unidimensional, gene products being placed into linear pathways as a result of either molecular or genetic analyses. Our current views are often blind to the fact that the cell is a multidimensional structure whose components are arranged in space, have multiple contacts that change with time and can respond simultaneously to a multitude of signals. Glimpses of such complexity are emerging from studies in which microarrays of all the identified open reading frames (ORFs) from the complete budding yeast genome have been screened for changes in patterns of gene expression throughout the cell cycle or upon sporulation. Cell-cycle-dependent periodicity was found for 416 of the 6220 monitored ORFs, and over 25% of these genes were found to be clustered at particular chromosomal sites, which suggesting there are global chromosomal responses in transcriptional control (Cho et al., 1998). The study of sporulation is perhaps the first example of the application of this type of technology to a developmental process. It revealed that, of the 6220 genes, about 500 undergo repression and 500 induction in seven temporally distinct patterns during the sporulation process, identifying potential functions for many previously uncharacterised genes (Chu et al., 1998). These studies already reveal layers of complexity in the regulation of the levels of transcripts as cells prepare for and pass through the different stages of meiosis. How much more complex are these patterns likely to be when viewed in terms of proteins, and their interactions, locations and functions within the cell? It seems clear, however, that a wonderful molecular description of the events of meiosis that can match the cytological understanding revealed by the work of Van Beneden and Boveri one hundred years ago is within our grasp. The cataloguing of all cellular proteins is now feasible through a combination of 2D-gel analysis and mass spectrometry, from which molecular mass data can be correlated with the fragment sizes of peptides predicted from whole genome sequence data (the emerging field of proteomics). It is not an easy task, but it seems just a matter of time before we have all this information at our fingertips. Yet how can we know the functions of all these proteins and have a full 3D picture of how they interact within a cell and the dynamics with which they do so? Yeast may be the first eukaryote for which some of these problems can be approached. Its genome is six-times smaller than that of C. elegans and 200 times smaller than the human genome, and has the further advantage that the genes can be easily disrupted through homologous recombination. Thus the prospect of systematic gene deletion to study the function of the 3700 novel ORFs identified in the whole genome sequence is feasible for this organism (Winzeler et al., 1999). One group in particular has devised a multifaceted approach for doing this: the affected gene is simultaneously tagged with an in-frame transcriptional reporter and further modified to epitope tag the affected protein, which thus allows the latter to be immunolocalised within cells (Ross-MacDonald et al., 1999). We can thus see the glimmerings of a holistic, genome-wide, cell-wide unravelling of cellular physiology. Some of these approaches will be easily adaptable to higher organisms. We will soon have read-outs of RNA expression patterns in cells undergoing a variety of developmental and physiological programmes in normal and diseased states. The analysis of function and the identification of ORFs in higher eukaryotes are likely to be more problematic. However, solutions for the rapid assessment of the functions of novel genes are already emerging. New insights are coming from labs using double-stranded RNA to interfere with cellular processes in C. elegans. It was originally found in this organism that the injection of double-stranded RNA corresponding to part of the mRNA of a gene prevents the expression of that gene through a mechanism that currently remains mysterious (Fire, 1999). The technique works extremely well in the nematode and even in the fruit fly, but doubts had been cast as to whether it would ever be valuable in mammals. The recent finding that the technique does indeed work in the mouse may well accelerate programmes to identify gene function by circumventing the particularly lengthy procedures for disruption of mouse genes (Wianny and Zernicka-Goetz, 2000). The multiple layers of complexity revealed by these emerging studies give some indication of the computational power that will be needed to model the cell. Is it now time for a new breed of mathematical biologists to emerge? Our present generation of cellular and molecular biologists have lost sight of some of the basic principles of physical chemistry, and quantitative analyses are done poorly if at all. Should the quantification of reaction kinetics now come out of the traditional domain of enzymology and be applied to multiple cellular processes - if we are truly to understand the dynamics of the living cell? If the yeast cell is complex, then how much greater complexity will we find in multicellular eukaryotes, given all the potential for cell-cell interactions? These problems are perhaps most alluring in the field of development, in which many phenomena are now demanding attention at the cellular level. In recent decades we have seen classical embryological approaches supplemented by genetic analyses to define the components of many developmental signalling pathways. This has demonstrated the existence of a conserved collection of molecular switches that can be used in a variety of different developmental circumstances. We are perhaps reaching the limits at which conventional genetic analyses can interpret these processes: often the precise relationships between components of regulatory pathways is not clear. We require a better grasp of how the molecules within the pathways interact, which will require the concerted application of sub-cellular fractionation, to identify molecular complexes, and proteomics. This has to be achieved in a way that allows us to interpret the consequences of multiple signalling events between different cell types. In the introduction to his famous text The Cell in Development and Inheritance, E. B. Wilson wrote almost a century ago: ‘It has only recently become possible adequately to formulate the great problems of development and heredity in terms of cellular biology - indeed we can as yet do little more than so formulate them.’ Has our perspective changed during the past one hundred years? Are not these the same challenges that lie ahead for the twenty-first century? It is now rather like being Alice in Wonderland in a room with many doors, each of which marks the onset of a new journey. Undoubtedly, any of the doors will lead to remarkable opportunities, but to what extent can we, as Alice, rely upon drinking from the bottle, or eating the biscuit, that happens to be at hand? We will have to use the existing resources, but it will be fascinating to see what new ingenuities we can bring to bear to help us on our journey through Wonderland. I have the feeling that we are to witness conceptual challenges to the way we think about cell biology that we cannot yet begin to appreciate…but what I would give to be around in one hundred years time to witness the progress we have made on our journeys!

In this globalisation era, native-like pronunciation has no longer become the goal of pronunciation teaching in EFL classrooms. Instead, intelligibility, more specifically, global intelligibility, has become a legitimate goal of pronunciation teaching (Moedjito, 2009). However, researchers and practitioners have not reached to the final conclusion of what makes EFL speakers’ utterances more intelligible. This paper is to report a study investigating factors which made EFL speakers’ utterances more intelligible in the context of global intelligibility. In order to achieve the goal, the present researchers used three instruments to collect data: a questionnaire, an in-depth interview, and an assessment of EFL speakers’ utterances from the in-depth interview. The quantitative data from the questionnaire and assessment of EFL speakers’ utterances were submitted to a Pearson’s Product Moment test to assess the correlation coefficient of each independent variable to intelligibility and to a multiple regression test to examine the predictive power of the independent variables to intelligibility as the dependent variable. Meanwhile, the data of the in-depth interview were qualitatively scrutinised. The results of the data analysis revealed that word pronunciation accuracy might become the most influencing factor which made EFL speakers’ utterances more intelligible. In addition to the accurate pronunciation, meaningful vocabulary might crucially account for intelligibility of EFL speakers’ utterances. These findings were positively confirmed by the results of the in-depth interview analysis. The major pedagogical implication of the study is that in English pronunciation classes, there should be more focus on word pronunciation accuracy in EFL classrooms.

AbstractContemporary views of adult pronunciation instruction emphasize the development of intelligible speech using empirically-validated pedagogical principles. Because learners typically have limited time for pronunciation work, instruction should be provided in a way that maximizes the use of the available opportunities. However, achievement of such a goal entails applying detailed knowledge of the phonetic learning process with due attention to the nature of differences that arise among learners, whether they share or do not share the same native language. In this longitudinal investigation, we examined productions of consonants and consonant clusters in English learners from two language backgrounds over a two-year period. Extensive between- and within-group variability was observed, with some targets produced very well at the outset, and others improving over time. The results argue against a common curriculum for learners. Instead, pronunciation instruction that focuses on individual learners' needs is called for. The findings are discussed in terms of strategies that might be used to develop effective and efficient pedagogical practices.

Identity-Based Encryption (IBE) which simplifies the public key and certificate management at Public Key Infrastructure (PKI) is an important alternative to public key encryption. However, one of the main efficiency drawbacks of IBE is the overhead computation at Private Key Generator (PKG) during user revocation. Efficient revocation has been well studied in traditional PKI setting, but the cumbersome management of certificates is precisely the burden that IBE strives to alleviate [2]. It aiming at tackling the critical issue of identity revocation, we introduce outsourcing computation into IBE for the first time and propose a revocable IBE scheme in the server-aided setting. Our scheme offloads most of the key generation related operations during key-issuing and key-update processes to a Key Update Cloud Service Provider, leaving only a constant number of simple operations for PKG and users to perform locally [3]. This goal is achieved by utilizing a novel collusion-resistant technique: we employ a hybrid private key for each user, in which an AND gate is involved to connect and bound the identity component and the time component [4]. Furthermore, we propose another construction which is provable secure under the recently formulized Refereed Delegation of Computation model. Finally, we provide extensive experimental results to demonstrate the efficiency of our proposed construction. In public key encryption every user must have a pair of keys, public key and private key, for encrypting and decrypting messages. An Identity-based encryption (IBE) eliminates the need for a Public Key Infrastructure (PKI). IBE uses the human intelligible identities (e.g., unique name, email address, IP address, etc) as public keys [5]. The sender using IBE encrypts message with the receivers’ identity rather than looking for receivers’ public key and corresponding certificate. Accordingly, receiver decrypts ciphertext using private key associated with the corresponding identity [6]. The private keys of users are obtained from a trusted third party called as Private Key Generator (PKG). The motivation of this paper is to study and review an efficient and secure Identity based encryption scheme with outsourced revocation for cloud computing [7].

During the last years the call for publishing and sharing research data has become ubiquitous. Besides moral appeals towards transparency as a basic principle of science, more and more policies and regulations start to push researchers to make their research data available to the scientific community and the general public. In addition to research funding organizations, publishers are most influential in this regard as they are able to boost the practice of data sharing by incentives that are highly attractive for researchers: publications and hence reputation in academia. In consequence more and more datasets are published by researchers – in very different ways, using the quite heterogeneous tools and publishing solutions currently available.However, these data publications do not necessarily increase transparency in research. Publishing research data might even contribute to an increase in noise and opacity. Mere disclosure of date has very little value per se, as The Royal Society in its report “Science as an open enterprise” (2012) noticed. The report asks for “intelligent openness” where data are not just published but effectively communicated. To accomplish intelligent openness, data have to be accessible, intelligible, assessable and usable (p. 14).The presentation will take up this consideration and explore the challenges involved. Communicating data aims at enabling receivers (i. e. data users) to correctly interpret and appropriately use the published research data. As will be shown by examples of published datasets from the field of behavioral and social sciences, currently this aim is by no means generally achieved. In seeking to comply with data policies of funders and publishers researcher may be inclined to publish datasets that are hardly intelligible and not usable. Additionally there is a lack of data publishing infrastructures (including technical tools as well as standards and social practices) supporting researchers in communicating data in a meaningful way to their different audiences. Obviously, it is much easier to share data within the own research community than across research fields, disciplines or even cultures. In general, the less the researchers who publish data and the audience who wants to use these data share a common context (increasing “distance-from-data-origin”, Baker & Yarmey 2009), the more demanding communicating research data will become.Thus, publishers face considerable challenges when trying to advance from publishing to communicating research data. Developing solutions pointing in this direction should be, nevertheless, of primary concern, as publishing without communicating might ultimately be just a waste of resources. Therefore, besides exploring the challenges, the presentation will also try to identify steps that might help to approach the ambitious goal of communicating research data.

Abstract Plato’s Philebus famously combines a deliberation on the virtuous life as a balancing act between prudence and pleasure with a theory of the composition of mixtures from limit and limitedness. The latter aspect of the dialogue is used by the Neoplatonic philosopher Proclus as a basis for his own metaphysical analysis of the ultimate first principle, the One, and the manner in which it produces all things which exist. Multiple scholarly analyses have been provided of Proclus’ use of the Phileban theory of limit and the unlimited for his description of the first principle’s creation process. However, this paper shows that Proclus reads the Philebus not merely for its discussion of limit and unlimited, but also for its description of the good life. After all, the Neoplatonic One is also the Good from Plato’s Republic. In Phil. 20d1–11, Socrates suggest that the good is perfect, sufficient, and desirable. Proclus’ Commentary on the Republic and Platonic Theology reveal that these three aspects of the good provide Proclus with a framework to describe the Neoplatonic first principle qua Good. In Proclus’ view, the three Phileban concepts constitute the base elements of the good which reappear in all of its manifestations, and thus link the good in us to the transcendent and unqualified Good: the desirable element represents the good’s singularity and its position as the centre around which all beings circle; the sufficient element represents the non-reciprocal bestowal of existence and generative power by any form of the good upon its participants; lastly, the perfect element reverts all creatures to the good in which they participate, even when not all genera of beings in the Neoplatonic universe are equally capable of such participation. Furthermore, Proclus uses the description of the good life as not merely intellectual from the Philebus to fortify his arguments in disagreements with other Neoplatonic commentators regarding the transcendence of the Good over the intelligible principles, and conversely employs the Neoplatonic definition of the first principle to affirm the ethics of the Platonic dialogue. Thus, although Proclus’ primary goal in reading the Philebus is to obtain knowledge of the ultimate first principle, Socrates’ analysis of the virtuous life in the dialogue is just as important for his purposes as the theory of mixtures.

Introduction Fashion has long been associated with resistance movements across Asia and Australia, from the hand-spun cotton Khadi of Mahatma Gandhi’s freedom struggle to the traditional ankle length robe worn by Tibetans in the ‘White Wednesday Movement’ (Singh et al.; Yangzom). There are many reasons why fashion and activism have been interlinked. Fashion can serve as a form of nonverbal communication (Crane), which can convey activists’ grievances and concerns while symbolising solidarity (Doerr). It can provide an avenue to enact individual agency against repressive, authoritarian regimes (Yangzom; Doerr et al.). Fashion can codify a degree of uniformity within groups and thereby signal social identity (Craik), while also providing a means of building community (Barry and Drak). Fashion, therefore, offers activists the opportunity to develop the three characteristics which unite a social or environmental movement: a shared concern about an issue, a sense of social identity, and connections between individuals and groups. But while these fashion functions map onto movement characteristics, it remains unclear whether activists across the world deliberately include fashion into their protest action repertoires. This uncertainty exists partly because of a research and media focus on large scale, mass protests (Lester and Hutchins), where fashion characteristics are immediately visible and amenable to retrospective interpretation. This focus helps explain the rich volume of research examining the manifestation of fashion in past protests, such as the black, red, and yellow colours worn during the 1988 Aboriginal Long March of Freedom, Justice, and Hope (Maynard Dress; Coghlan), and the pink anti-Trump ‘pussyhats’ (Thompson). However, the protest events used to identify these fashion characteristics are a relatively small proportion of actions used by environmental activists (Dalton et al.; Gulliver et al.), which include not only rallies and marches, but also information evenings, letter writing sessions, and eco-activities such as tree plantings. This article aims to respond to Barnard’s (Looking) call for more empirical work on what contemporary cultural groups visually do with what they wear (see also Gerbaudo and Treré) via a content analysis of 36,676 events promoted on Facebook by 728 Australian environmental groups between 2010 and 2019. The article firstly reports findings from an analysis of this dataset to identify how fashion manifests in environmental activism, building on research demonstrating the role of protest-related nonverbal communications, such as protest signage (Bloomfield and Doolin), images (Kim), and icons, slogans, and logos (Goodnow). The article then considers what activists may seek to achieve through incorporating fashion into their action repertoire, and whether this suggests solidarity with activists seeking to effect environmental change across the wider Asian region. Fashion Activism Fashion is created through a particular assemblage of clothes, accessories, and hairstyles (Barry and Drak), which in turn forms a prevailing custom or style of dress (Craik). It is a cultural practice, providing ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) for an individual to express their social roles (Craik) and political identity (Behnke). Some scholars argue that fashion became overtly political during the 1960s and 70s, as social movements politicised appearance (Edwards). This has only increased in relevance with the rise of far right, populist, and authoritarian regimes, whose sub-cultures enact politicised identities through their distinct fashion characteristics (Gaugele and Titton; Gaugele). Fashion can therefore play an important role in protest movements, as “political subjectivities, political authority, political power and discipline are rendered visible, and thereby real, by the way fashion co-establishes them” (Behnke 3). Across the literature scholars have identified two primary avenues by which fashion and activism are connected. The first of these relates to activism targeting the fashion industry. This type of activism is found in both Asia and Australia, and promotes sustainable consumption choices such as buying used goods and transforming existing items (Chung and Yim), as well as highlighting garment worker exploitation within the fashion industry (Khan and Richards). The second avenue is called ‘fashion activism’: the use of fashion to intentionally signal a message seeking to evoke social and/or political change (Thompson). In this conceptualisation, clothing is used to signify a particular message (Crane). An example of this type of fashion activism is the ‘SlutWalk’, a protest where participants deliberately wore outfits described as slutty or revealing as a response to victim-blaming of women who had experienced sexual assault (Thompson). A key element of fashion activism thus appears to be its message intentionality. Clothes are specifically utilised to convey a message, such as a grievance about victim-blaming, which can then be incorporated into design features displayed on t-shirts, pins, and signs both on the runway and in protest events (Titton). However, while this ‘sender/receiver’ model of fashion communication (Barnard, Fashion as) can be compelling for activists, it is complex in practice. A message receiver can never have full knowledge of what message the sender seeks to signify through a particular clothing item, nor can the message sender predict how a receiver will interpret that message. Particular arrangements of clothing only hold communicative power when they are easily interpreted and related to the movement and its message, usually only intelligible to a specific culture or subculture (Goodnow). Even within that subculture it remains problematic to infer a message from a particular style of dress, as demonstrated in examples where dress is used to imply sexual consent; for example, in rape and assault cases (Lennon et al.). Given the challenges of interpreting fashion, do activists appear to use the ‘real estate’ (Benda 7) afforded by it as a protest tool? To investigate this question a pre-existing dataset of 36,676 events was analysed to ascertain if, and how, environmental activism engages with fashion (a detailed methodology is available on the OSF). Across this dataset, event categories, titles, and descriptions were reviewed to collate events connecting environmental activism to fashion. Three categories of events were found and are discussed in the next section: street theatre, sustainable fashion practices, and disruptive protest. Street Theatre Street theatre is a form of entertainment which uses public performance to raise awareness of injustices and build support for collective action (Houston and Pulido). It uses costumes as a vehicle for conveying messages about political issues and for making demands visible, and has been utilised by protesters across Australia and Asia (Roces). Many examples of street theatre were found in the dataset. For example, Extinction Rebellion (XR) consistently promoted street theatre events via sub-groups such as the ‘Red Rebels’ – a dedicated team of volunteers specialising in costumed street theatre – as well as by inviting supporters to participate in open street theatre events, such as in the ‘Halloween Dead Things Disco’. Dressed as spooky skeletons (doot, doot) and ghosts, we'll slide and shimmy down Sydney's streets in a supernatural style, as we bring attention to all the species claimed by the Sixth Mass Extinction. These street theatre events appeared to prioritise spectacle rather than disruption as a means to attract attention to their message. The Cairns and Far North Environment Centre ‘Climate Action Float’, for example, requested that attendees: Wear blue and gold or dress as your favourite reef animal, solar panel, maybe even the sun itself!? Reef & Solar // Blue & Gold is the guiding theme but we want your creativity take it from there. Most groups used street theatre as one of a range of different actions organised across a period of time. However, Climacts, a performance collective which uses ‘spectacle and satire to communicate the urgency of the climate and biodiversity crisis’ (Climacts), utilised this tactic exclusively. Their Climate Guardians collective used distinctive angel costumes to perform at the Climate Conference of Parties 26, and in various places around Australia (see images on their Website). Fig. 1: Costumed protest against Downer EDI's proposed work on the Adani coalmine; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). Sustainable Fashion Practices The second most common type of event which connected fashion with activism were those promoting sustainable fashion practices. While much research has highlighted the role of activism in raising awareness of problems related to the fashion industry (e.g. Hirscher), groups in the dataset were primarily focussed on organising activities where supporters communally created their own fashion items. The most common of these was the ‘crafternoon’, with over 260 separate crafternoon events identified in the dataset. These events brought activists together to create protest-related kit such as banners, signs, and costumes from recycled or repurposed materials, as demonstrated by Hume Climate Action Now’s ‘Crafternoon for Climate’ event: Come along on Sunday arvo for a relaxed arvo making posters and banners for upcoming Hume Climate Action Now events… Bring: Paints, textas, cardboard, fabric – whatever you’ve got lying around. Don’t have anything? That’s cool, just bring yourself. Events highlighting fashion industry problems were less frequent and tended to prioritise sharing of information about the fashion industry rather than promoting protests. For example, Transition Town Vincent held a ‘Slowing Down Fast Fashion – Transition Town Vincent Movie Night’ while the Green Embassy promoted the ‘Eco Fashion Week’. This event, held in 2017, was described as Australia’s only eco-fashion week, and included runway shows, music, and public talks. Other events also focussed on public talks, such as a Conservation Council of ACT event called ‘Green Drinks Canberra October 2017: Summer Edwards on the fashion industry’ and a panel discussion organised by a group called SEE-Change entitled ‘The Sustainable Wardrobe’. Disruptive Protest and T-Shirts Few events in the dataset mentioned elements of fashion outside of street theatre or sustainable fashion practices, with only one organisation explicitly connecting fashion with activism in its event details. This group – Australian Youth Climate Coalition – organised an event called ‘Activism in Fashion: Tote Bags, T-shirts and Poster Painting!’, which asked: How can we consistently be involved in campaigning while life can be so busy? Can we still be loud and get a message across without saying a word? The iconic 21st century activist "t-shirt and tote-bag" combination is hard to miss these days! Unlike street theatre and sustainable fashion practices, fashion appeared to be a consideration for only a small number of disruptive protests promoted by environmental groups in Australia. XR Brisbane sought to organise a fashion parade during the 2019 Rebellion Week, while XR protesters in Melbourne stripped down to underwear for a march through Melbourne city arcades (see also Turbet). Few common fashion elements appeared consistently on individual activists participating in events, and these were limited to accessories, such as ‘Stop Adani’ earrings, or t-shirts sold for fundraising and promotional purposes. Indeed, t-shirts appeared to be the most promoted clothing item in the dataset, continuing a long tradition of their use in protests (e.g. Maynard, Blankets). Easy to create, suitable for displaying both text and imagery, t-shirts sharing anti-coal messages featured predominantly in the Stop Adani campaign, while yellow t-shirts were a common item in Knitting Nanna’s anti-coal seam gas mining protests. Fig. 2: Stop Adani earrings and t-shirts; Image by John Englart (CC BY-SA 2.0). The Role of Fashion in Environmental Activism As these findings demonstrate, fashion appears to be deliberately utilised in environmental activism primarily through street theatre and the promotion of sustainable fashion practices. While fewer examples of fashion in disruptive protest were found and no consistent fashion assemblage was identified, accessories and t-shirts were utilised by many groups. What may activists be seeking to achieve through incorporating fashion via street theatre and sustainable fashion practices? Some scholars have argued that incorporating fashion into protest allows activists to signal political dissent against authoritarian control. For example, Yanzoom noted that by utilising fashion as a means of communication, Tibetan activists were able to embody their political goals despite repression of speech and movement by political powerholders. However, a consistent fashion repertoire across protests in this Australian dataset was not found. The opportunities afforded by protected protest rights in Australia and absence of violent police repression of disruptive protests may be one explanation why distinctive dress such as the masks and black attire of Hong Kong pro-democracy protesters did not manifest in the dataset. Other scholars have observed that fashion sub-cultures also developed partly to express anti-establishment politics, such as the punk movement in the 1970s. Radical clothing accessorised by symbols, bright hair colours, body piercings, and heavy-duty books signalled opposition to the dominant political ideology (Craik). However, none of these purposes appeared to play a role in Australian environmental activism either. Instead, it appears that Maynard’s contention that Australian protest fashion barely deviates from everyday dress remains true today. Fashion within the events promoted in this large empirical dataset retained the ‘prevalence of everyday clothing’ (Maynard, Dress 111). The lack of a clearly discernible single protest fashion style within the dataset may be related to the shortcomings of the sender/receiver model of fashion communication. As Barnard (Fashion Statements) argued, fashion is not always used as a vehicle for conveying messages, but also as a platform for constructing and reproducing identity. Indeed, a multiplicity of researchers have noted how fashion acts as a signal of what social groups individuals belong to (see Roach-Higgins and Eicher). Activist groups have a variety of goals, which not only include promoting environmental change but also mobilising more people to join their cause (Gulliver et al., Understanding). Stereotyping can hinder achievement of these goals. It has been demonstrated, for example, that individuals who hold negative stereotypes of ‘typical’ activists are less likely to want to associate with them, and less likely to adopt their behaviours (Bashir et al.). Accordingly, some activist groups have been shown to actively promote dress associated with other identity groups, specifically to challenge cultural constructions of environmental activist stereotypes (see also Roces). For example, Bloomfield and Doolins’s study of the NZ anti-GE group MAdGE (Mothers against Genetic Engineering in Food and the Environment) demonstrated how visual protest artifacts conveyed the protesters’ social identity as mothers and customers rather than environmental activists, claiming an alternative cultural mandate for challenging the authority of science (see also Einwohner et al.). The data suggest that Australian activists are seeking to avoid this stereotype as well. The absence of a consistent fashion promoted within the dataset may reflect awareness of problematic stereotypes that activists may be then deliberately seeking to avoid. Maynard (Dress), for example, has noted how the everyday dress of Australian protesters serves to deflect stereotypical labelling of participants. This strategy is also mirrored by the changing nature of groups within the Australian environmental movement. The event database demonstrates that an increasing number of environmental groups are emerging with names highlighting non-stereotypical environmental identities: groups such as ‘Engineers Declare’ and ‘Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action’. Beyond these identity processes, the frequent use of costumed street theatre protest suggests that activists recognise the value of using fashion as a vehicle for communicating messages, despite the challenges of interpretation described above. Much of the language used to promote street theatre in the Facebook event listings suggests that these costumes were deliberately designed to signify a particular meaning, with individuals encouraged to dress up to be ‘a vehicle for myth and symbol’ (Lavender 11). It may be that costumes are also utilised in protest due to their suitability as an image event, convenient for dissemination by mass media seeking colourful and engaging imagery (Delicath and Deluca; Doerr). Furthermore, costumes, as with text or colours presented on t-shirts, may offer activists an avenue to clearly convey a visual message which is more resistant to stereotyping. This is especially relevant given that fashion can be re-interpreted and misinterpreted by audiences, as well as reframed and reinterpreted by the media (Maynard, Dress). While the prevalence of costumed performance and infrequent mentions of fashion in the dataset may be explained by stereotype avoidance and messaging clarity, sustainable fashion practices were more straightforward in intent. Groups used multiple approaches to educate audiences about sustainable fashion, whether through fostering sustainable fashion practices or raising awareness of fashion industry problems. In this regard, fashion in protest in Australia closely resembles Asian sustainable fashion activism (see e.g. Chon et al. regarding the Singaporean context). In particular, the large number of ‘crafternoons’ suggests their importance as sites of activism and community building. Craftivism – acts such as quilting banners, yarn bombing, and cross stitching feminist slogans – are used by many groups to draw attention to social, political and environmental issues (McGovern and Barnes). This type of ‘creative activism’ (Filippello) has been used to challenge aesthetic and political norms across a variety of contested socio-political landscapes. These activities not only develop activism skills, but also foster community (Barry and Drak). For environmental groups, these community building events can play a critical role in sustaining and supporting ongoing environmental activism (Gulliver et al., Understanding) as well as demonstrating solidarity with workers across Asia experiencing labour injustices linked to the fashion industry (Chung and Yim). Conclusion Studies examining protest fashion demonstrate that clothing provides a canvas for sharing protest messages and identities in both Asia and Australia (Benda; Yangzom; Craik). However, despite the fashion’s utility as communication tool for social and environmental movements, empirical studies of how fashion is used by activists in these contexts remain rare. This analysis demonstrates that Australian environmental activists use fashion in their action repertoire primarily through costumed street theatre performances and promoting sustainable fashion practices. By doing so they may be seeking to use fashion as a means of conveying messages, while avoiding stereotypes that can demobilise supporters and reduce support for their cause. Furthermore, sustainable fashion activism offers opportunities for activists to achieve multiple goals: to subvert the fast fashion industry, to provide participation avenues for new activists, to help build activist communities, and to express solidarity with those experiencing fast fashion-related labour injustices. These findings suggest that the use of fashion in protest actions can move beyond identity messaging to also enact sustainable practices while co-opting and resisting hegemonic ideas of consumerism. By integrating fashion into the vibrant and diverse actions promoted by environmental movements across Australia and Asia, activists can construct and perform identities while fostering the community bonds and networks from which movements demanding environmental change derive their strength. Ethics Approval Statement This study was approved by the Research Ethics Committee of the University of Queensland (2018000963). 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Australia in Maps is a compilation of cartography taken from the collection of over 600,000 maps held at the Australian National Library. Included in this collection are military maps, coastal maps and modern-day maps for tourists. The map of the eastern coast of ‘New Holland’ drawn by James Cook when he ‘discovered’ Australia in 1770 is included. Also published is Eddie Koiki Mabo’s map drawn on a hole-punched piece of paper showing traditional land holdings in the Murray Islands in the Torres Strait. This map became a key document in Eddie Mabo’s fight for native title recognition, a fight which became the precursor to native title rights as they are known today. The inclusion of these two drawings in a collection of maps defining Australia as a country illustrates the dichotomies and contradictions which exist in a colonial nation. It is now fifteen years since the Native Title Act 1994 (Commonwealth) was developed in response to the Mabo cases in order to recognise Indigenous customary law and traditional relationships to the land over certain (restricted) parts of Australia. It is 220 years since the First Fleet arrived and Indigenous land was (and remains) illegally possessed through the process of colonisation (Moreton-Robinson Australia). Questions surrounding ‘country’ – who owns it, has rights to use it, to live on it, to develop or protect it – are still contested and contentious today. In part, this contention arises out of the radically different conceptions of ‘country’ held by, in its simplest sense, Indigenous nations and colonisers. For Indigenous Australians the land has a spiritual significance that I, as a non-Indigenous person, cannot properly understand as a result of the different ways in which relationships to land are made available. The ways of understanding the world through which my identity as a non-Indigenous person are made intelligible, by contrast, see ‘country’ as there to be ‘developed’ and exploited. Within colonial logic, discourses of development and the productive use of resources function as what Wetherell and Potter term “rhetorically self-sufficient” in that they are principles which are considered to be beyond question (177). As Vincent Tucker states; “The myth of development is elevated to the status of natural law, objective reality and evolutionary necessity. In the process all other world views are devalued and dismissed as ‘primitive’, ‘backward’, ‘irrational’ or ‘naïve’” (1). It was this precise way of thinking which was able to justify colonisation in the first place. Australia was seen as terra nullius; an empty and un-developed land not recognized as inhabited. Indigenous people were incorrectly perceived as individuals who did not use the land in an efficient manner, rather than as individual nations who engaged with the land in ways that were not intelligible to the colonial eye. This paper considers the tensions inherent in definitions of ‘country’ and the way these tensions are played out through native title claims as white, colonial Australia attempts to recognise (and limit) Indigenous rights to land. It examines such tensions as they appear in the media as an example of how native title issues are made intelligible to the non-Indigenous general public who may otherwise have little knowledge or experience of native title issues. It has been well-documented that the news media play an important role in further disseminating those discourses which dominate in a society, and therefore frequently supports the interests of those in positions of power (Fowler; Hall et. al.). As Stuart Hall argues, this means that the media often reproduces a conservative status quo which in many cases is simply reflective of the positions held by other powerful institutions in society, in this case government, and mining and other commercial interests. This has been found to be the case in past analysis of media coverage of native title, such as work completed by Meadows (which found that media coverage of native title issues focused largely on non-Indigenous perspectives) and Hartley and McKee (who found that media coverage of native title negotiations frequently focused on bureaucratic issues rather than the rights of Indigenous peoples to oppose ‘developments’ on their land). This paper aims to build on this work, and to map the way in which native title, an ongoing issue for many Indigenous groups, figures in a mainstream newspaper at a time when there has not been much mainstream public interest in the process. In order to do this, this paper considered articles which appeared in Australia’s only national newspaper – The Australian – over the six months preceding the start of July 2008. Several main themes ran through these articles, examples of which are provided in the relevant sections. These included: economic interests in native title issues, discourses of white ownership and control of the land, and rhetorical devices which reinforced the battle-like nature of native title negotiations rather than emphasised the rights of Indigenous Australians to their lands. Native Title: Some Definitions and Some Problems The concept of native title itself can be a difficult one to grasp and therefore a brief definition is called for here. According to the National Native Title Tribunal (NNTT) website (www.nntt.gov.au), native title is the recognition by Australian law that some Indigenous people have rights and interests to their land that come from their traditional laws and customs. The native title rights and interests held by particular Indigenous people will depend on both their traditional laws and customs and what interests are held by others in the area concerned. Generally speaking, native title must give way to the rights held by others. Native title is therefore recognised as existing on the basis of certain laws and customs which have been maintained over an area of land despite the disruption caused by colonisation. As such, if native title is to be recognised over an area of country, Indigenous communities have to argue that their cultures and connection with the land have survived colonisation. As the Maori Land Court Chief Judge Joe Williams argues: In Australia the surviving title approach […] requires the Indigenous community to prove in a court or tribunal that colonisation caused them no material injury. This is necessary because, the greater the injury, the smaller the surviving bundle of rights. Communities who were forced off their land lose it. Those whose traditions and languages were beaten out of them at state sponsored mission schools lose all of the resources owned within the matrix of that language and those traditions. This is a perverse result. In reality, of course, colonisation was the greatest calamity in the history of these people on this land. Surviving title asks aboriginal people to pretend that it was not. To prove in court that colonisation caused them no material injury. Communities who were forced off their land are the same communities who are more likely to lose it. As found in previous research (Meadows), these inherent difficulties of the native title process were widely overlooked in recent media reports of native title issues published in The Australian. Due to recent suggestions made by Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin for changes to be made to the native title system, The Australian did include reports on the need to ensure that traditional owners share the economic profits of the mining boom. This was seen in an article by Karvelas and Murphy entitled “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Law”. The article states that: Fifteen years after the passage of the historic Mabo legislation, the Rudd Government has flagged sweeping changes to native title to ensure the benefits of the mining boom flow to Aboriginal communities and are not locked up in trusts or frittered away. Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin, delivering the third annual Eddie Mabo Lecture in Townsville, said yesterday that native title legislation was too complex and had failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities, despite lucrative agreements with mining companies. (1) Whilst this passage appears supportive of Indigenous Australians in that it argues for their right to share in economic gains made through ‘developments’ on their country, the use of phrases such as ‘frittered away’ imply that Indigenous Australians have made poor use of their ‘lucrative agreements’, and therefore require further intervention in their lives in order to better manage their financial situations. Such an argument further implies that the fact that many remote Indigenous communities continue to live in poverty is the fault of Indigenous Australians’ mismanagement of funds from native title agreements rather than from governmental neglect, thereby locating the blame once more in the hands of Indigenous people rather than in a colonial system of dispossession and regulation. Whilst the extract does continue to state that native title legislation is too complex and has ‘failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities’, the article does not go on to consider other areas in which native title is failing Indigenous people, such as reporting the protection of sacred and ceremonial sites, and provisions for Indigenous peoples to be consulted about developments on their land to which they may be opposed. Whilst native title agreements with companies may contain provisions for these issues, it is rare that there is any regulation for whether or not these provisions are met after an agreement is made (Faircheallaigh). These issues almost never appeared in the media which instead focused on the economic benefits (or lack thereof) stemming from the land rather than the sovereign rights of traditional owners to their country. There are many other difficulties inherent in the native title legislation for Indigenous peoples. It is worth discussing some of these difficulties as they provide an image of the ways in which ‘country’ is conceived of at the intersection of a Western legal system attempting to encompass Indigenous relations to land. The first of these difficulties relates to the way in which Indigenous people are required to delineate the boundaries of the country which they are claiming. Applications for native title over an area of land require strict outlining of boundaries for land under consideration, in accordance with a Western system of mapping country. The creation of such boundaries requires Indigenous peoples to define their country in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones, and in many cases proves quite difficult as areas of traditional lands may be unavailable to claim (Neate). Such differences in understandings of country mean that “for Indigenous peoples, the recognition of their indigenous title, should it be afforded, may bear little resemblance to, or reflect minimally on, their own conceptualisation of their relations to country” (Glaskin 67). Instead, existing as it does within a Western legal system and subject to Western determinations, native title forces Indigenous people to define themselves and their land within white conceptions of country (Moreton-Robinson Possessive). In fact, the entire concept of native title has been criticized by many Indigenous commentators as a denial of Indigenous sovereignty over the land, with the result of the Mabo case meaning that “Indigenous people did not lose their native title rights but were stripped of their sovereign rights to manage their own affairs, to live according to their own laws, and to own and control the resources on their lands” (Falk and Martin 38). As such, Falk and Martin argue that The Native Title Act amounts to a complete denial of Aboriginal sovereignty so that Indigenous people are forced to live under a colonial regime which is able to control and regulate their lives and access to country. This is commented upon by Aileen Moreton-Robinson, who writes that: What Indigenous people have been given, by way of white benevolence, is a white-constructed from of ‘Indigenous’ proprietary rights that are not epistemologically and ontologically grounded in Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty. Indigenous land ownership, under these legislative regimes, amounts to little more than a mode of land tenure that enables a circumscribed form of autonomy and governance with minimum control and ownership of resources, on or below the ground, thus entrenching economic dependence on the nation state. (Moreton-Robinson Sovereign Subjects 4) The native title laws in place in Australia restrict Indigenous peoples to existing within white frameworks of knowledge. Within the space of The Native Title Act there is no room for recognition of Indigenous sovereignty whereby Indigenous peoples can make decisions for themselves and control their own lands (Falk and Martin). These tensions within definitions of ‘country’ and sovereignty over land were reflected in the media articles examined, primarily in terms of the way in which ‘country’ was related to and used. This was evident in an article entitled “An Economic Vision” with a tag-line “Native Title Reforms offer Communities a Fresh Start”: Central to such a success story is the determination of indigenous people to help themselves. Such a business-like, forward-thinking approach is also evident in Kimberley Land Council executive director Wayne Bergmann's negotiations with some of the world's biggest resource companies […] With at least 45 per cent of Kimberley land subject to native title, Mr Bergmann, a qualified lawyer, is acutely aware of the royalties and employment potential. Communities are also benefitting from the largesse of Australia’s richest man, miner Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest, whose job training courses and other initiatives are designed to help the local people, in his words, become “wonderful participating Australians.” (15) Again, this article focuses on the economic benefits to be made from native title agreements with mining companies rather than other concerns with the use of Indigenous areas of country. The use of the quote from Forrest serves to imply that Indigenous peoples are not “wonderful participating Australians” unless they are able to contribute in an economic sense, and overlooks many contributions made by Indigenous peoples in other areas such as environmental protection. Such definitions also measure ‘success’ in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones and force Indigenous peoples into a relationship to country based on Western notions of resource extraction and profit rather than Indigenous notions of custodianship and sustainability. This construction of Indigenous economic involvement as only rendered valid on particular terms echoes findings from previous work on constructions of Indigenous people in the media, such as that by LeCouteur, Rapley and Augoustinos. Theorising ‘Country’ The examples provided above illustrate the fact that the rhetoric and dichotomies of ‘country’ are at the very heart of the native title process. The process of recognising Indigenous rights to land through native title invites the question of how ‘country’ is conceived in the first place. Goodall writes that there are tensions within definitions of ‘country’ which indicate the ongoing presence of Indigenous people’s connections to their land despite colonisation. She writes that the word ‘country’: may seem a self-evident description of rural economy and society, with associations of middle-class gentility as well as being the antonym of the city. Yet in Australia there is another dimension altogether. Aboriginal land-owners traditionally identify themselves by the name of the land for which they were the custodians. These lands are often called, in today’s Aboriginal English, their ‘country’. This gives the word a tense and resonating echo each time it is used to describe rural-settler society and land. (162) Yet the distinctions usually drawn between those defined as ‘country’ people or ‘locals’ and the traditional Indigenous people of the area suggest that, as Schlunke states, in many cases Indigenous people are “too local to be ‘local’” (43). In other words, if white belonging and rights to an area of country are to be normalised, the prior claims of traditional owners are not able to be considered. As such, Indigenous belonging becomes too confronting as it disrupts the ways in which other ‘country’ people relate to their land as legitimately theirs. In the media, constructions of ‘country’ frequently fell within a colonial definition of country which overlooked Indigenous peoples. In many of these articles land was normatively constructed as belonging to the crown or the state. This was evidenced in phrases such as, “The proceedings [of the Noongar native title claim over the South Western corner of Australia] have been watched closely by other states in the expectation they might encounter similar claims over their capital cities” (Buckley-Carr 2). Use of the word their implies that the states (which are divisions of land created by colonisation) have prior claim to ‘their’ capital cities and that they rightfully belong to the government rather than to traditional owners. Such definitions of ‘country’ reflect European rather than Indigenous notions of boundaries and possession. This is also reflected in media reports of native title in the widespread use of European names for areas of land and landmarks as opposed to their traditional Indigenous names. When the media reported on a native title claim over an area of land the European name for the country was used rather than, for example, the Indigenous name followed by a geographical description of where that land is situated. Customs such as this reflect a country which is still bound up in European definitions of land rather than Indigenous ones (Goodall 167; Schlunke 47-48), and also indicate that the media is reporting for a white audience rather than for an Indigenous one whom it would affect the most. Native title debates have also “shown the depth of belief within much of rural and regional Australia that rural space is most rightfully agricultural space” (Lockie 27). This construction of rural Australia is reflective of the broader national imagining of the country as a nation (Anderson), in which Australia is considered rich in resources from which to derive profit. Within these discourses the future of the nation is seen as lying in the ‘development’ of natural resources. As such, native title agreements with industry have often been depicted in the media as obstacles to be overcome by companies rather than a way of allowing Indigenous people control over their own lands. This often appears in the media in the form of metaphors of ‘war’ for agreements for use of Indigenous land, such as development being “frustrated” by native title (Bromby) and companies being “embattled” by native title issues (Wilson). Such metaphors illustrate the adversarial nature of native title claims both for recognition of the land in the first place and often in subsequent dealings with resource companies. This was also seen in reports of company progress which would include native title claims in a list of other factors affecting stock prices (such as weak drilling results and the price of metals), as if Indigenous claims to land were just another hurdle to profit-making (“Pilbara Lures”). Conclusion As far as the native title process is concerned, the answers to the questions considered at the start of this paper remain within Western definitions. Native title exists firmly within a Western system of law which requires Indigenous people to define and depict their land within non-Indigenous definitions and understandings of ‘country’. These debates are also frequently played out in the media in ways which reflect colonial values of using and harvesting country rather than Indigenous ones of protecting it. The media rarely consider the complexities of a system which requires Indigenous peoples to conceive of their land through boundaries and definitions not congruent with their own understandings. The issues surrounding native title draw attention to the need for alternative definitions of ‘country’ to enter the mainstream Australian consciousness. These need to encompass Indigenous understandings of ‘country’ and to acknowledge the violence of Australia’s colonial history. Similarly, the concept of native title needs to reflect Indigenous notions of country and allow traditional owners to define their land for themselves. In order to achieve these goals and overcome some of the obstacles to recognising Indigenous sovereignty over Australia the media needs to play a part in reorienting concepts of country from only those definitions which fit within a white framework of experiencing the world and prioritise Indigenous relations and experiences of country. If discourses of resource extraction were replaced with discourses of sustainability, if discourses of economic gains were replaced with respect for the land, and if discourses of white control over Indigenous lives in the form of native title reform were replaced with discourses of Indigenous sovereignty, then perhaps some ground could be made to creating an Australia which is not still in the process of colonising and denying the rights of its First Nations peoples. The tensions which exist in definitions and understandings of ‘country’ echo the tensions which exist in Australia’s historical narratives and memories. The denied knowledge of the violence of colonisation and the rights of Indigenous peoples to remain on their land all haunt a native title system which requires Indigenous Australians to minimise the effect this violence had on their lives, their families and communities and their values and customs. As Katrina Schlunke writes when she confronts the realisation that her family’s land could be the same land on which Indigenous people were massacred: “The irony of fears of losing one’s backyard to a Native Title claim are achingly rich. Isn’t something already lost to the idea of ‘Freehold Title’ when you live over unremembered graves? What is free? What are you to hold?” (151). If the rights of Indigenous Australians to their country are truly to be recognised, mainstream Australia needs to seriously consider such questions and whether or not the concept of ‘native title’ as it exists today is able to answer them. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Damien Riggs and Andrew Gorman-Murray for all their help and support with this paper, and Braden Schiller for his encouragement and help with proof-reading. I would also like to thank the anonymous referees for their insightful comments. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. 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While the term “visual literacy” has grown in popularity in the last 50 years, its meaning remains nebulous. It is described variously as: a vehicle for aesthetic appreciation, a means of defence against visual manipulation, a sorting mechanism for an increasingly data-saturated age, and a prerequisite to civic inclusion (Fransecky 23; Messaris 181; McTigue and Flowers 580). Scholars have written extensively about the first three subjects but there has been less research on how visual literacy frames civic life and how it might help the public as a tool to address disadvantage and assist in removing social and cultural barriers. This article examines a forerunner to visual literacy in the push to create an international symbol language born out of popular education movements, a project that fell short of its goals but still left a considerable impression on graphic media. This article, then, presents an analysis of visual literacy campaigns in the early postwar era. These campaigns did not attempt to invent a symbolic language but posited that images themselves served as a universal language in which students could receive training. Of particular interest is how the concept of visual literacy has been mobilised as a pedagogical tool in design, digital humanities and in broader civic education initiatives promoted by Third Space institutions. Behind the creation of new visual literacy curricula is the idea that images can help anchor a world community, supplementing textual communication. Figure 1: Visual Literacy Yearbook. Montebello Unified School District, USA, 1973. Shedding Light: Origins of the Visual Literacy Frame The term “visual literacy” came to the fore in the early 1970s on the heels of mass literacy campaigns. The educators, creatives and media theorists who first advocated for visual learning linked this aim to literacy, an unassailable goal, to promote a more radical curricular overhaul. They challenged a system that had hitherto only acknowledged a very limited pathway towards academic success; pushing “language and mathematics”, courses “referred to as solids (something substantial) as contrasted with liquids or gases (courses with little or no substance)” (Eisner 92). This was deemed “a parochial view of both human ability and the possibilities of education” that did not acknowledge multiple forms of intelligence (Gardner). This change not only integrated elements of mass culture that had been rejected in education, notably film and graphic arts, but also encouraged the critique of images as a form of good citizenship, assuming that visually literate arbiters could call out media misrepresentations and manipulative political advertising (Messaris, “Visual Test”). This movement was, in many ways, reactive to new forms of mass media that began to replace newspapers as key forms of civic participation. Unlike simple literacy (being able to decipher letters as a mnemonic system), visual literacy involves imputing meanings to images where meanings are less fixed, yet still with embedded cultural signifiers. Visual literacy promised to extend enlightenment metaphors of sight (as in the German Aufklärung) and illumination (as in the French Lumières) to help citizens understand an increasingly complex marketplace of images. The move towards visual literacy was not so much a shift towards images (and away from books and oration) but an affirmation of the need to critically investigate the visual sphere. It introduced doubt to previously upheld hierarchies of perception. Sight, to Kant the “noblest of the senses” (158), was no longer the sense “least affected” by the surrounding world but an input centre that was equally manipulable. In Kant’s view of societal development, the “cosmopolitan” held the key to pacifying bellicose states and ensuring global prosperity and tranquillity. The process of developing a cosmopolitan ideology rests, according to Kant, on the gradual elimination of war and “the education of young people in intellectual and moral culture” (188-89). Transforming disparate societies into “a universal cosmopolitan existence” that would “at last be realised as the matrix within which all the original capacities of the human race may develop” and would take well-funded educational institutions and, potentially, a new framework for imparting knowledge (Kant 51). To some, the world of the visual presented a baseline for shared experience. Figure 2: Exhibition by the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum in Vienna, photograph c. 1927. An International Picture Language The quest to find a mutually intelligible language that could “bridge worlds” and solder together all of humankind goes back to the late nineteenth century and the Esperanto movement of Ludwig Zamenhof (Schor 59). The expression of this ideal in the world of the visual picked up steam in the interwar years with designers and editors like Fritz Kahn, Gerd Arntz, and Otto and Marie Neurath. Their work transposing complex ideas into graphic form has been rediscovered as an antecedent to modern infographics, but the symbols they deployed were not to merely explain, but also help education and build international fellowship unbounded by spoken language. The Neuraths in particular are celebrated for their international picture language or Isotypes. These pictograms (sometimes viewed as proto-emojis) can be used to represent data without text. Taken together they are an “intemporal, hieroglyphic language” that Neutrath hoped would unite working-class people the world over (Lee 159). The Neuraths’ work was done in the explicit service of visual education with a popular socialist agenda and incubated in the social sphere of Red Vienna at the Gesellschafts- und Wirtschaftsmuseum (Social and Economic Museum) where Otto served as Director. The Wirtschaftsmuseum was an experiment in popular education, with multiple branches and late opening hours to accommodate the “the working man [who] has time to see a museum only at night” (Neurath 72-73). The Isotype contained universalist aspirations for the “making of a world language, or a helping picture language—[that] will give support to international developments generally” and “educate by the eye” (Neurath 13). Figure 3: Gerd Arntz Isotype Images. (Source: University of Reading.) The Isotype was widely adopted in the postwar era in pre-packaged sets of symbols used in graphic design and wayfinding systems for buildings and transportation networks, but with the socialism of the Neuraths’ peeled away, leaving only the system of logos that we are familiar with from airport washrooms, charts, and public transport maps. Much of the uptake in this symbol language could be traced to increased mobility and tourism, particularly in countries that did not make use of a Roman alphabet. The 1964 Olympics in Tokyo helped pave the way when organisers, fearful of jumbling too many scripts together, opted instead for black and white icons to represent the program of sports that summer. The new focus on the visual was both technologically mediated—cheaper printing and broadcast technologies made the diffusion of image increasingly possible—but also ideologically supported by a growing emphasis on projects that transcended linguistic, ethnic, and national borders. The Olympic symbols gradually morphed into Letraset icons, and, later, symbols in the Unicode Standard, which are the basis for today’s emojis. Wordless signs helped facilitate interconnectedness, but only in the most literal sense; their application was limited primarily to sports mega-events, highway maps, and “brand building”, and they never fulfilled their role as an educational language “to give the different nations a common outlook” (Neurath 18). Universally understood icons, particularly in the form of emojis, point to a rise in visual communication but they have fallen short as a cosmopolitan project, supporting neither the globalisation of Kantian ethics nor the transnational socialism of the Neuraths. Figure 4: Symbols in use. Women's bathroom. 1964 Tokyo Olympics. (Source: The official report of the Organizing Committee.) Counter Education By mid-century, the optimism of a universal symbol language seemed dated, and focus shifted from distillation to discernment. New educational programs presented ways to study images, increasingly reproducible with new technologies, as a language in and of themselves. These methods had their roots in the fin-de-siècle educational reforms of John Dewey, Helen Parkhurst, and Maria Montessori. As early as the 1920s, progressive educators were using highly visual magazines, like National Geographic, as the basis for lesson planning, with the hopes that they would “expose students to edifying and culturally enriching reading” and “develop a more catholic taste or sensibility, representing an important cosmopolitan value” (Hawkins 45). The rise in imagery from previously inaccessible regions helped pupils to see themselves in relation to the larger world (although this connection always came with the presumed superiority of the reader). “Pictorial education in public schools” taught readers—through images—to accept a broader world but, too often, they saw photographs as a “straightforward transcription of the real world” (Hawkins 57). The images of cultures and events presented in Life and National Geographic for the purposes of education and enrichment were now the subject of greater analysis in the classroom, not just as “windows into new worlds” but as cultural products in and of themselves. The emerging visual curriculum aimed to do more than just teach with previously excluded modes (photography, film and comics); it would investigate how images presented and mediated the world. This gained wider appeal with new analytical writing on film, like Raymond Spottiswoode's Grammar of the Film (1950) which sought to formulate the grammatical rules of visual communication (Messaris 181), influenced by semiotics and structural linguistics; the emphasis on grammar can also be seen in far earlier writings on design systems such as Owen Jones’s 1856 The Grammar of Ornament, which also advocated for new, universalising methods in design education (Sloboda 228). The inventorying impulse is on display in books like Donis A. Dondis’s A Primer of Visual Literacy (1973), a text that meditates on visual perception but also functions as an introduction to line and form in the applied arts, picking up where the Bauhaus left off. Dondis enumerates the “syntactical guidelines” of the applied arts with illustrations that are in keeping with 1920s books by Kandinsky and Klee and analyse pictorial elements. However, at the end of the book she shifts focus with two chapters that examine “messaging” and visual literacy explicitly. Dondis predicts that “an intellectual, trained ability to make and understand visual messages is becoming a vital necessity to involvement with communication. It is quite likely that visual literacy will be one of the fundamental measures of education in the last third of our century” (33) and she presses for more programs that incorporate the exploration and analysis of images in tertiary education. Figure 5: Ideal spatial environment for the Blueprint charts, 1970. (Image: Inventory Press.) Visual literacy in education arrived in earnest with a wave of publications in the mid-1970s. They offered ways for students to understand media processes and for teachers to use visual culture as an entry point into complex social and scientific subject matter, tapping into the “visual consciousness of the ‘television generation’” (Fransecky 5). Visual culture was often seen as inherently democratising, a break from stuffiness, the “artificialities of civilisation”, and the “archaic structures” that set sensorial perception apart from scholarship (Dworkin 131-132). Many radical university projects and community education initiatives of the 1960s made use of new media in novel ways: from Maurice Stein and Larry Miller’s fold-out posters accompanying Blueprint for Counter Education (1970) to Emory Douglas’s graphics for The Black Panther newspaper. Blueprint’s text- and image-dense wall charts were made via assemblage and they were imagined less as charts and more as a “matrix of resources” that could be used—and added to—by youth to undertake their own counter education (Cronin 53). These experiments in visual learning helped to break down old hierarchies in education, but their aim was influenced more by countercultural notions of disruption than the universal ideals of cosmopolitanism. From Image as Text to City as Text For a brief period in the 1970s, thinkers like Marshall McLuhan (McLuhan et al., Massage) and artists like Bruno Munari (Tanchis and Munari) collaborated fruitfully with graphic designers to create books that mixed text and image in novel ways. Using new compositional methods, they broke apart traditional printing lock-ups to superimpose photographs, twist text, and bend narrative frames. The most famous work from this era is, undoubtedly, The Medium Is the Massage (1967), McLuhan’s team-up with graphic designer Quentin Fiore, but it was followed by dozens of other books intended to communicate theory and scientific ideas with popularising graphics. Following in the footsteps of McLuhan, many of these texts sought not just to explain an issue but to self-consciously reference their own method of information delivery. These works set the precedent for visual aids (and, to a lesser extent, audio) that launched a diverse, non-hierarchical discourse that was nonetheless bound to tactile artefacts. In 1977, McLuhan helped develop a media textbook for secondary school students called City as Classroom: Understanding Language and Media. It is notable for its direct address style and its focus on investigating spaces outside of the classroom (provocatively, a section on the third page begins with “Should all schools be closed?”). The book follows with a fine-grained analysis of advertising forms in which students are asked to first bring advertisements into class for analysis and later to go out into the city to explore “a man-made environment, a huge warehouse of information, a vast resource to be mined free of charge” (McLuhan et al., City 149). As a document City as Classroom is critical of existing teaching methods, in line with the radical “in the streets” pedagogy of its day. McLuhan’s theories proved particularly salient for the counter education movement, in part because they tapped into a healthy scepticism of advertisers and other image-makers. They also dovetailed with growing discontent with the ad-strew visual environment of cities in the 1970s. Budgets for advertising had mushroomed in the1960s and outdoor advertising “cluttered” cities with billboards and neon, generating “fierce intensities and new hybrid energies” that threatened to throw off the visual equilibrium (McLuhan 74). Visual literacy curricula brought in experiential learning focussed on the legibility of the cities, mapping, and the visualisation of urban issues with social justice implications. The Detroit Geographical Expedition and Institute (DGEI), a “collective endeavour of community research and education” that arose in the aftermath of the 1967 uprisings, is the most storied of the groups that suffused the collection of spatial data with community engagement and organising (Warren et al. 61). The following decades would see a tamed approach to visual literacy that, while still pressing for critical reading, did not upend traditional methods of educational delivery. Figure 6: Beginning a College Program-Assisting Teachers to Develop Visual Literacy Approaches in Public School Classrooms. 1977. ERIC. Searching for Civic Education The visual literacy initiatives formed in the early 1970s both affirmed existing civil society institutions while also asserting the need to better inform the public. Most of the campaigns were sponsored by universities, major libraries, and international groups such as UNESCO, which published its “Declaration on Media Education” in 1982. They noted that “participation” was “essential to the working of a pluralistic and representative democracy” and the “public—users, citizens, individuals, groups ... were too systematically overlooked”. Here, the public is conceived as both “targets of the information and communication process” and users who “should have the last word”. To that end their “continuing education” should be ensured (Study 18). Programs consisted primarily of cognitive “see-scan-analyse” techniques (Little et al.) for younger students but some also sought to bring visual analysis to adult learners via continuing education (often through museums eager to engage more diverse audiences) and more radical popular education programs sponsored by community groups. By the mid-80s, scores of modules had been built around the comprehension of visual media and had become standard educational fare across North America, Australasia, and to a lesser extent, Europe. There was an increasing awareness of the role of data and image presentation in decision-making, as evidenced by the surprising commercial success of Edward Tufte’s 1982 book, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information. Visual literacy—or at least image analysis—was now enmeshed in teaching practice and needed little active advocacy. Scholarly interest in the subject went into a brief period of hibernation in the 1980s and early 1990s, only to be reborn with the arrival of new media distribution technologies (CD-ROMs and then the internet) in classrooms and the widespread availability of digital imaging technology starting in the late 1990s; companies like Adobe distributed free and reduced-fee licences to schools and launched extensive teacher training programs. Visual literacy was reanimated but primarily within a circumscribed academic field of education and data visualisation. Figure 7: Visual Literacy; What Research Says to the Teacher, 1975. National Education Association. USA. Part of the shifting frame of visual literacy has to do with institutional imperatives, particularly in places where austerity measures forced strange alliances between disciplines. What had been a project in alternative education morphed into an uncontested part of the curriculum and a dependable budget line. This shift was already forecasted in 1972 by Harun Farocki who, writing in Filmkritik, noted that funding for new film schools would be difficult to obtain but money might be found for “training in media education … a discipline that could persuade ministers of education, that would at the same time turn the budget restrictions into an advantage, and that would match the functions of art schools” (98). Nearly 50 years later educators are still using media education (rebranded as visual or media literacy) to make the case for fine arts and humanities education. While earlier iterations of visual literacy education were often too reliant on the idea of cracking the “code” of images, they did promote ways of learning that were a deep departure from the rote methods of previous generations. Next-gen curricula frame visual literacy as largely supplemental—a resource, but not a program. By the end of the 20th century, visual literacy had changed from a scholarly interest to a standard resource in the “teacher’s toolkit”, entering into school programs and influencing museum education, corporate training, and the development of public-oriented media (Literacy). An appreciation of image culture was seen as key to creating empathetic global citizens, but its scope was increasingly limited. With rising austerity in the education sector (a shift that preceded the 2008 recession by decades in some countries), art educators, museum enrichment staff, and design researchers need to make a case for why their disciplines were relevant in pedagogical models that are increasingly aimed at “skills-based” and “job ready” teaching. Arts educators worked hard to insert their fields into learning goals for secondary students as visual literacy, with the hope that “literacy” would carry the weight of an educational imperative and not a supplementary field of study. Conclusion For nearly a century, educational initiatives have sought to inculcate a cosmopolitan perspective with a variety of teaching materials and pedagogical reference points. Symbolic languages, like the Isotype, looked to unite disparate people with shared visual forms; while educational initiatives aimed to train the eyes of students to make them more discerning citizens. The term ‘visual literacy’ emerged in the 1960s and has since been deployed in programs with a wide variety of goals. Countercultural initiatives saw it as a prerequisite for popular education from the ground up, but, in the years since, it has been formalised and brought into more staid curricula, often as a sort of shorthand for learning from media and pictures. The grand cosmopolitan vision of a complete ‘visual language’ has been scaled back considerably, but still exists in trace amounts. Processes of globalisation require images to universalise experiences, commodities, and more for people without shared languages. Emoji alphabets and globalese (brands and consumer messaging that are “visual-linguistic” amalgams “increasingly detached from any specific ethnolinguistic group or locality”) are a testament to a mediatised banal cosmopolitanism (Jaworski 231). In this sense, becoming “fluent” in global design vernacular means familiarity with firms and products, an understanding that is aesthetic, not critical. It is very much the beneficiaries of globalisation—both state and commercial actors—who have been able to harness increasingly image-based technologies for their benefit. To take a humorous but nonetheless consequential example, Spanish culinary boosters were able to successfully lobby for a paella emoji (Miller) rather than having a food symbol from a less wealthy country such as a Senegalese jollof or a Morrocan tagine. This trend has gone even further as new forms of visual communication are increasingly streamlined and managed by for-profit media platforms. The ubiquity of these forms of communication and their global reach has made visual literacy more important than ever but it has also fundamentally shifted the endeavour from a graphic sorting practice to a critical piece of social infrastructure that has tremendous political ramifications. Visual literacy campaigns hold out the promise of educating students in an image-based system with the potential to transcend linguistic and cultural boundaries. This cosmopolitan political project has not yet been realised, as the visual literacy frame has drifted into specialised silos of art, design, and digital humanities education. It can help bridge the “incomplete connections” of an increasingly globalised world (Calhoun 112), but it does not have a program in and of itself. Rather, an evolving visual literacy curriculum might be seen as a litmus test for how we imagine the role of images in the world. 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IntroductionThe common origin of the adjective “corporeal” and the noun “corpse” in the Latin root corpus points to the value of mortuary practices for investigating how the human body is objectified. In post-mortem rituals, the body—formerly the manipulator of objects—becomes itself the object that is manipulated. Thus, these funerary rituals provide a type of double reflexivity, where the object and subject of manipulation can be used to reciprocally illuminate one another. To this extent, any consideration of corporeality can only benefit from a discussion of how the body is objectified through mortuary practices. This paper offers just such a discussion with respect to a selection of two contrasting mortuary practices, in the context of the prehistoric past and the Classical Era respectively. At the most general level, we are motivated by the same intellectual impulse that has stimulated expositions on corporeality, materiality, and incarnation in areas like phenomenology (Merleau-Ponty 77–234), Marxism (Adorno 112–119), gender studies (Grosz vii–xvi), history (Laqueur 193–244), and theology (Henry 33–53). That is to say, our goal is to show that the body, far from being a transparent frame through which we encounter the world, is in fact a locus where historical, social, cultural, and psychological forces intersect. On this view, “the body vanishes as a biological entity and becomes an infinitely malleable and highly unstable culturally constructed product” (Shilling 78). However, for all that the cited paradigms offer culturally situated appreciations of corporeality; our particular intellectual framework will be provided by cognitive science. Two reasons impel us towards this methodological choice.In the first instance, the study of ritual has, after several decades of stagnation, been rewarded—even revolutionised—by the application of insights from the new sciences of the mind (Whitehouse 1–12; McCauley and Lawson 1–37). Thus, there are good reasons to think that ritual treatments of the body will refract historical and social forces through empirically attested tendencies in human cognition. In the present connection, this means that knowledge of these tendencies will reward any attempt to theorise the objectification of the body in mortuary rituals.In the second instance, because beliefs concerning the afterlife can never be definitively judged to be true or false, they give free expression to tendencies in cognition that are otherwise constrained by the need to reflect external realities accurately. To this extent, they grant direct access to the intuitive ideas and biases that shape how we think about the world. Already, this idea has been exploited to good effect in areas like the cognitive anthropology of religion, which explores how counterfactual beings like ghosts, spirits, and gods conform to (and deviate from) pre-reflective cognitive patterns (Atran 83–112; Barrett and Keil 219–224; Barrett and Reed 252–255; Boyer 876–886). Necessarily, this implies that targeting post-mortem treatments of the body will offer unmediated access to some of the conceptual schemes that inform thinking about human corporeality.At a more detailed level, the specific methodology we propose to use will be provided by conceptual blending theory—a framework developed by Gilles Fauconnier, Mark Turner, and others to describe how structures from different areas of experience are creatively blended to form a new conceptual frame. In this system, a generic space provides the ground for coordinating two or more input spaces into a blended space that synthesises them into a single output. Here this would entail using natural or technological processes to structure mortuary practices in a way that satisfies various psychological needs.Take, for instance, W.B. Yeats’s famous claim that “Too long a sacrifice / Can make a stone of the heart” (“Easter 1916” in Yeats 57-8). Here, the poet exploits a generic space—that of everyday objects and the effort involved in manipulating them—to coordinate an organic input from that taxonomy (the heart) with an inorganic input (a stone) to create the blended idea that too energetic a pursuit of an abstract ideal turns a person into an unfeeling object (the heart-as-stone). Although this particular example corresponds to a familiar rhetorical figure (the metaphor), the value of conceptual blending theory is that it cuts across distinctions of genre, media, language, and discourse level to provide a versatile framework for expressing how one area of human experience is related to another.As indicated, we will exploit this versatility to investigate two ways of objectifying the body through the examination of two contrasting mortuary practices—cremation and inhumation—against different cultural horizons. The first of these is the conceptualisation of the body as an object of a technical process, where the post-mortem cremation of the corpse is analogically correlated with the metallurgical refining of ore into base metal. Our area of focus here will be Bronze Age cremation practices. The second conceptual scheme we will investigate focuses on treatments of the body as a vegetable object; here, the relevant analogy likens the inhumation of the corpse to the planting of a seed in the soil from which future growth will come. This discussion will centre on the Classical Era. Burning: The Body as Manufactured ObjectThe Early and Middle Bronze Age in Western Europe (2500-1200 BCE) represented a period of change in funerary practices relative to the preceding Neolithic, exemplified by a move away from the use of Megalithic monuments, a proliferation of grave goods, and an increase in the use of cremation (Barrett 38-9; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Brück, Material Metaphors 308; Waddell, Bronze Age 141-149). Moreover, the Western European Bronze Age is characterised by a shift away from communal burial towards single interment (Barrett 32; Bradley 158-168). Equally, the Bronze Age in Western Europe provides us with evidence of an increased use of cist and pit cremation burials concentrated in low-lying areas (Woodman 254; Waddell, Prehistoric 16; Cooney and Grogan 105-121; Bettencourt 103). This greater preference for lower-lying location appears to reflect a distinctive change in comparison to the distribution patterns of the Neolithic burials; these are often located on prominent, visible aspects of a landscape (Cooney and Grogan 53-61). These new Bronze Age burial practices appear to reflect a distancing in relation to the territories of the “old ancestors” typified by Megalithic monuments (Bettencourt 101-103). Crucially, the Bronze Age archaeological record provides us with evidence that indicates that cremation was becoming the dominant form of deposition of human remains throughout Central and Western Europe (Sørensen and Rebay 59-60).The activities associated with Bronze Age cremations such as the burning of the body and the fragmentation of the remains have often been considered as corporeal equivalents (or expressions) of the activities involved in metal (bronze) production (Brück, Death 84-86; Sørensen and Rebay 60–1; Rebay-Salisbury, Cremations 66-67). There are unequivocal similarities between the practices of cremation and contemporary bronze production technologies—particularly as both processes involve the transformation of material through the application of fire at temperatures between 700 ºC to 1000 ºC (Musgrove 272-276; Walker et al. 132; de Becdelievre et al. 222-223).We assert that the technologies that define the European Bronze Age—those involved in alloying copper and tin to produce bronze—offered a new conceptual frame that enabled the body to be objectified in new ways. The fundamental idea explored here is that the displacement of inhumation by cremation in the European Bronze Age was motivated by a cognitive shift, where new smelting technologies provided novel conceptual metaphors for thinking about age-old problems concerning human mortality and post-mortem survival. The increased use of cremation in the European Bronze Age contrasts with the archaeological record of the Near Eastern—where, despite the earlier emergence of metallurgy (3300–3000 BCE), we do not see a notable proliferation in the use of cremation in this region. Thus, mortuary practices (i.e. cremation) provide us with an insight into how Western European Bronze Age cultures mediated the body through changes in technological objects and processes.In the terminology of conceptual blending, the generic space in question centres on the technical manipulation of the material world. The first input space is associated with the anxiety attending mortality—specifically, the cessation of personal identity and the extinction of interpersonal relationships. The second input space represents the technical knowledge associated with bronze production; in particular, the extraction of ore from source material and its mixing with other metals to form an alloy. The blended space coordinates these inputs to objectify the human body as an object that is ritually transformed into a new but more durable substance via the cremation process. In this contention we use the archaeological record to draw a conceptual parallel between the emergence of bronze production technology—centring on transition of naturally occurring material to a new subsistence (bronze)—and the transitional nature of the cremation process.In this theoretical framework, treating the body as a mixture of substances that can be reduced to its constituents and transformed through technologies of cremation enabled Western European Bronze Age society to intervene in the natural process of putrefaction and transform the organic matter into something more permanent. This transformative aspect of the cremation is seen in the evidence we have for secondary burial practices involving the curation and circulation of cremated bones of deceased members of a group (Brück, Death 87-93). This evidence allows us to assert that cremated human remains and objects were considered products of the same transformation into a more permanent state via burning, fragmentation, dispersal, and curation. Sofaer (62-69) states that the living body is regarded as a person, but as soon as the transition to death is made, the body becomes an object; this is an “ontological shift in the perception of the body that assumes a sudden change in its qualities” (62).Moreover, some authors have proposed that the exchange of fragmented human remains was central to mortuary practices and was central in establishing and maintaining social relations (Brück, Death 76-88). It is suggested that in the Early Bronze Age the perceptions of the human body mirrored the perceptions of objects associated with the arrival of the new bronze technology (Brück, Death 88-92). This idea is more pronounced if we consider the emergence of bronze technology as the beginning of a period of capital intensification of natural resources. Through this connection, the Bronze Age can be regarded as the point at which a particular natural resource—in this case, copper—went through myriad intensive manufacturing stages, which are still present today (intensive extraction, production/manufacturing, and distribution). Unlike stone tool production, bronze production had the addition of fire as the explicit method of transformation (Brück, Death 88-92). Thus, such views maintain that the transition achieved by cremation—i.e. reducing the human remains to objects or tokens that could be exchanged and curated relatively soon after the death of the individual—is equivalent to the framework of commodification connected with bronze production.A sample of cremated remains from Castlehyde in County Cork, Ireland, provides us with an example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in a Western European context (McCarthy). This is chosen because it is a typical example of a Bronze Age cremation burial in the context of Western Europe; also, one of the authors (MG) has first-hand experience in the analysis of its associated remains. The Castlehyde cremation burial consisted of a rectangular, stone-lined cist (McCarthy). The cist contained cremated, calcined human remains, with the fragments generally ranging from a greyish white to white in colour; this indicates that the bones were subject to a temperature range of 700-900ºC. The organic content of bone was destroyed during the cremation process, leaving only the inorganic matrix (brittle bone which is, often, described as metallic in consistency—e.g. Gejvall 470-475). There is evidence that remains may have been circulated in a manner akin to valuable metal objects. First of all, the absence of long bones indicates that there may have been a practice of removing salient remains as curatable records of ancestral ties. Secondly, remains show traces of metal staining from objects that are no longer extant, which suggests that graves were subject to secondary burial practices involving the removal of metal objects and/or human bone. To this extent, we can discern that human remains were being processed, curated, and circulated in a similar manner to metal objects.Thus, there are remarkable similarities between the treatment of the human body in cremation and bronze metal production technologies in the European Bronze Age. On the one hand, the parallel between smelting and cremation allowed death to be understood as a process of transformation in which the individual was removed from processes of organic decay. On the other hand, the circulation of the transformed remains conferred a type of post-mortem survival on the deceased. In this way, cremation practices may have enabled Bronze Age society to symbolically overcome the existential anxiety concerning the loss of personhood and the breaking of human relationships through death. In relation to the former point, the resurgence of cremation in nineteenth century Europe provides us with an example of how the disposal of a human body can be contextualised in relation to socio-technological advancements. The (re)emergence of cremation in this period reflects the post-Enlightenment shift from an understanding of the world through religious beliefs to the use of rational, scientific approaches to examine the natural world, including the human body (and death). The controlled use of fire in the cremation process, as well as the architecture of crematories, reflected the industrial context of the period (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 16).With respect to the circulation of cremated remains, Smith suggests that Early Medieval Christian relics of individual bones or bone fragments reflect a reconceptualised continuation of pre-Christian practices (beginning in Christian areas of the Roman Empire). In this context, it is claimed, firstly, that the curation of bone relics and the use of mobile bone relics of important, saintly individuals provided an embodied connection between the sacred sphere and the earthly world; and secondly, that the use of individual bones or fragments of bone made the Christian message something portable, which could be used to reinforce individual or collective adherence to Christianity (Smith 143-167). Using the example of the Christian bone relics, we can thus propose that the curation and circulation of Bronze Age cremated material may have served a role similar to tools for focusing religiously oriented cognition. Burying: The Body as a Vegetable ObjectGiven that the designation “the Classical Era” nominates the entirety of the Graeco-Roman world (including the Near East and North Africa) from about 800 BCE to 600 CE, there were obviously no mortuary practices common to all cultures. Nevertheless, in both classical Greece and Rome, we have examples of periods when either cremation or inhumation was the principal funerary custom (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21).For instance, the ancient Homeric texts inform us that the ancient Greeks believed that “the spirit of the departed was sentient and still in the world of the living as long as the flesh was in existence […] and would rather have the body devoured by purifying fire than by dogs or worms” (Mylonas 484). However, the primary sources and archaeological record indicate that cremation practices declined in Athens circa 400 BCE (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 20). With respect to the Roman Empire, scholarly opinion argues that inhumation was the dominant funerary rite in the eastern part of the Empire (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 17-21; Morris 52). Complementing this, the archaeological and historical record indicates that inhumation became the primary rite throughout the Roman Empire in the first century CE. Inhumation was considered to be an essential rite in the context of an emerging belief that a peaceful afterlife was reflected by a peaceful burial in which bodily integrity was maintained (Rebay-Salisbury, Inhumation 19-21; Morris 52; Toynbee 41). The question that this poses is how these beliefs were framed in the broader discourses of Classical culture.In this regard, our claim is that the growth in inhumation was driven (at least in part) by the spread of a conceptual scheme, implicit in Greek fertility myths that objectify the body as a seed. The conceptual logic here is that the post-mortem continuation of personal identity is (symbolically) achieved by objectifying the body as a vegetable object that will re-grow from its own physical remains. Although the dominant metaphor here is vegetable, there is no doubt that the motivating concern of this mythological fabulation is human mortality. As Jon Davies notes, “the myths of Hades, Persephone and Demeter, of Orpheus and Eurydice, of Adonis and Aphrodite, of Selene and Endymion, of Herakles and Dionysus, are myths of death and rebirth, of journeys into and out of the underworld, of transactions and transformations between gods and humans” (128). Thus, such myths reveal important patterns in how the post-mortem fate of the body was conceptualised.In the terminology of mental mapping, the generic space relevant to inhumation contains knowledge pertaining to folk biology—specifically, pre-theoretical ideas concerning regeneration, survival, and mortality. The first input space attaches to human mortality; it departs from the anxiety associated with the seeming cessation of personal identity and dissolution of kin relationships subsequent to death. The second input space is the subset of knowledge concerning vegetable life, and how the immersion of seeds in the soil produces a new generation of plants with the passage of time. The blended space combines the two input spaces by way of the funerary script, which involves depositing the body in the soil with a view to securing its eventual rebirth by analogy with the sprouting of a planted seed.As indicated, the most important illustration of this conceptual pattern can be found in the fertility myths of ancient Greece. The Homeric Hymns, in particular, provide a number of narratives that trace out correspondences between vegetation cycles, human mortality, and inhumation, which inform ritual practice (Frazer 223–404; Carney 355–65; Sowa 121–44). The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, for instance, charts how Persephone is abducted by Hades, god of the dead, and taken to his underground kingdom. While searching for her missing daughter, Demeter, goddess of fertility, neglects the earth, causing widespread devastation. Matters are resolved when Zeus intervenes to restore Persephone to Demeter. However, having ingested part of Hades’s kingdom (a pomegranate seed), Persephone is obliged to spend half the year below ground with her captor and the other half above ground with her mother.The objectification of Persephone as both a seed and a corpse in this narrative is clearly signalled by her seasonal inhumation in Hades’ chthonic realm, which is at once both the soil and the grave. And, just as the planting of seeds in autumn ensures rebirth in spring, Persephone’s seasonal passage from the Kingdom of the Dead nominates the individual human life as just one season in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. A further signifying element is added by the ingestion of the pomegranate seed. This is evocative of her being inseminated by Hades; thus, the coordination of vegetation cycles with life and death is correlated with secondary transition—that from childhood to adulthood (Kerényi 119–183).In the examples given, we can see how the Homeric Hymn objectifies both the mortal and sexual destiny of the body in terms of thresholds derived from the vegetable world. Moreover, this mapping is not merely an intellectual exercise. Its emotional and social appeal is visible in the fact that the Eleusinian mysteries—which offered the ritual homologue to the Homeric Hymn to Demeter—persisted from the Mycenaean period to 396 CE, one of the longest recorded durations for any ritual (Ferguson 254–9; Cosmopoulos 1–24). In sum, then, classical myth provided a precedent for treating the body as a vegetable object—most often, a seed—that would, in turn, have driven the move towards inhumation as an important mortuary practice. The result is to create a ritual form that makes key aspects of human experience intelligible by connecting them with cyclical processes like the seasons of the year, the harvesting of crops, and the intergenerational oscillation between the roles of parent and child. Indeed, this pattern remains visible in the germination metaphors and burial practices of contemporary religions such as Christianity, which draw heavily on the symbolism associated with mystery cults like that at Eleusis (Nock 177–213).ConclusionWe acknowledge that our examples offer a limited reflection of the ethnographic and archaeological data, and that they need to be expanded to a much greater degree if they are to be more than merely suggestive. Nevertheless, suggestiveness has its value, too, and we submit that the speculations explored here may well offer a useful starting point for a larger survey. In particular, they showcase how a recurring existential anxiety concerning death—involving the fear of loss of personal identity and kinship relations—is addressed by different ways of objectifying the body. Given that the body is not reducible to the objects with which it is identified, these objectifications can never be entirely successful in negotiating the boundary between life and death. In the words of Jon Davies, “there is simply no let-up in the efforts by human beings to transcend this boundary, no matter how poignantly each failure seemed to reinforce it” (128). For this reason, we can expect that the record will be replete with conceptual and cognitive schemes that mediate the experience of death.At a more general level, it should also be clear that our understanding of human corporeality is rewarded by the study of mortuary practices. 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Introduction Figure 1 The counter-Terrorism advertising campaign of London’s Metropolitan Police commodifies some everyday items such as mobile phones, computers, passports and credit cards as having the potential to sustain terrorist activities. The process of ascribing cultural values and symbolic meanings to some everyday technical gadgets objectifies and situates Terrorism into the everyday life. The police, in urging people to look out for ‘the unusual’ in their normal day-to-day lives, juxtapose the everyday with the unusual, where day-to-day consumption, routines and flows of human activity can seemingly house insidious and atavistic elements. This again is reiterated in the Met police press release: Terrorists live within our communities making their plans whilst doing everything they can to blend in, and trying not to raise suspicions about their activities. (MPA Website) The commodification of Terrorism through uncommon and everyday objects situates Terrorism as a phenomenon which occupies a liminal space within the everyday. It resides, breathes and co-exists within the taken-for-granted routines and objects of ‘the everyday’ where it has the potential to explode and disrupt without warning. Since 9/11 and the 7/7 bombings Terrorism has been narrated through the disruption of mobility, whether in mid-air or in the deep recesses of the Underground. The resonant thread of disruption to human mobility evokes a powerful meta-narrative where acts of Terrorism can halt human agency amidst the backdrop of the metropolis, which is often a metaphor for speed and accelerated activities. If globalisation and the interconnected nature of the world are understood through discourses of risk, Terrorism bears the same footprint in urban spaces of modernity, narrating the vulnerability of the human condition in an inter-linked world where ideological struggles and resistance are manifested through inexplicable violence and destruction of lives, where the everyday is suspended to embrace the unexpected. As a consequence ambient fear “saturates the social spaces of everyday life” (Hubbard 2). The commodification of Terrorism through everyday items of consumption inevitably creates an intertextuality with real and media events, which constantly corrode the security of the metropolis. Paddy Scannell alludes to a doubling of place in our mediated world where “public events now occur simultaneously in two different places; the place of the event itself and that in which it is watched and heard. The media then vacillates between the two sites and creates experiences of simultaneity, liveness and immediacy” (qtd. in Moores 22). The doubling of place through media constructs a pervasive environment of risk and fear. Mark Danner (qtd. in Bauman 106) points out that the most powerful weapon of the 9/11 terrorists was that innocuous and “most American of technological creations: the television set” which provided a global platform to constantly replay and remember the dreadful scenes of the day, enabling the terrorist to appear invincible and to narrate fear as ubiquitous and omnipresent. Philip Abrams argues that ‘big events’ (such as 9/11 and 7/7) do make a difference in the social world for such events function as a transformative device between the past and future, forcing society to alter or transform its perspectives. David Altheide points out that since September 11 and the ensuing war on terror, a new discourse of Terrorism has emerged as a way of expressing how the world has changed and defining a state of constant alert through a media logic and format that shapes the nature of discourse itself. Consequently, the intensity and centralisation of surveillance in Western countries increased dramatically, placing the emphasis on expanding the forms of the already existing range of surveillance processes and practices that circumscribe and help shape our social existence (Lyon, Terrorism 2). Normalisation of Surveillance The role of technologies, particularly information and communication technologies (ICTs), and other infrastructures to unevenly distribute access to the goods and services necessary for modern life, while facilitating data collection on and control of the public, are significant characteristics of modernity (Reiman; Graham and Marvin; Monahan). The embedding of technological surveillance into spaces and infrastructures not only augment social control but also redefine data as a form of capital which can be shared between public and private sectors (Gandy, Data Mining; O’Harrow; Monahan). The scale, complexity and limitations of omnipresent and omnipotent surveillance, nevertheless, offer room for both subversion as well as new forms of domination and oppression (Marx). In surveillance studies, Foucault’s analysis is often heavily employed to explain lines of continuity and change between earlier forms of surveillance and data assemblage and contemporary forms in the shape of closed-circuit television (CCTV) and other surveillance modes (Dee). It establishes the need to discern patterns of power and normalisation and the subliminal or obvious cultural codes and categories that emerge through these arrangements (Fopp; Lyon, Electronic; Norris and Armstrong). In their study of CCTV surveillance, Norris and Armstrong (cf. in Dee) point out that when added to the daily minutiae of surveillance, CCTV cameras in public spaces, along with other camera surveillance in work places, capture human beings on a database constantly. The normalisation of surveillance, particularly with reference to CCTV, the popularisation of surveillance through television formats such as ‘Big Brother’ (Dee), and the expansion of online platforms to publish private images, has created a contradictory, complex and contested nature of spatial and power relationships in society. The UK, for example, has the most developed system of both urban and public space cameras in the world and this growth of camera surveillance and, as Lyon (Surveillance) points out, this has been achieved with very little, if any, public debate as to their benefits or otherwise. There may now be as many as 4.2 million CCTV cameras in Britain (cf. Lyon, Surveillance). That is one for every fourteen people and a person can be captured on over 300 cameras every day. An estimated £500m of public money has been invested in CCTV infrastructure over the last decade but, according to a Home Office study, CCTV schemes that have been assessed had little overall effect on crime levels (Wood and Ball). In spatial terms, these statistics reiterate Foucault’s emphasis on the power economy of the unseen gaze. Michel Foucault in analysing the links between power, information and surveillance inspired by Bentham’s idea of the Panopticon, indicated that it is possible to sanction or reward an individual through the act of surveillance without their knowledge (155). It is this unseen and unknown gaze of surveillance that is fundamental to the exercise of power. The design and arrangement of buildings can be engineered so that the “surveillance is permanent in its effects, even if it is discontinuous in its action” (Foucault 201). Lyon (Terrorism), in tracing the trajectory of surveillance studies, points out that much of surveillance literature has focused on understanding it as a centralised bureaucratic relationship between the powerful and the governed. Invisible forms of surveillance have also been viewed as a class weapon in some societies. With the advancements in and proliferation of surveillance technologies as well as convergence with other technologies, Lyon argues that it is no longer feasible to view surveillance as a linear or centralised process. In our contemporary globalised world, there is a need to reconcile the dialectical strands that mediate surveillance as a process. In acknowledging this, Giles Deleuze and Felix Guattari have constructed surveillance as a rhizome that defies linearity to appropriate a more convoluted and malleable form where the coding of bodies and data can be enmeshed to produce intricate power relationships and hierarchies within societies. Latour draws on the notion of assemblage by propounding that data is amalgamated from scattered centres of calculation where these can range from state and commercial institutions to scientific laboratories which scrutinise data to conceive governance and control strategies. Both the Latourian and Deleuzian ideas of surveillance highlight the disparate arrays of people, technologies and organisations that become connected to make “surveillance assemblages” in contrast to the static, unidirectional Panopticon metaphor (Ball, “Organization” 93). In a similar vein, Gandy (Panoptic) infers that it is misleading to assume that surveillance in practice is as complete and totalising as the Panoptic ideal type would have us believe. Co-optation of Millions The Metropolitan Police’s counter-Terrorism strategy seeks to co-opt millions where the corporeal body can complement the landscape of technological surveillance that already co-exists within modernity. In its press release, the role of civilian bodies in ensuring security of the city is stressed; Keeping Londoners safe from Terrorism is not a job solely for governments, security services or police. If we are to make London the safest major city in the world, we must mobilise against Terrorism not only the resources of the state, but also the active support of the millions of people who live and work in the capita. (MPA Website). Surveillance is increasingly simulated through the millions of corporeal entities where seeing in advance is the goal even before technology records and codes these images (William). Bodies understand and code risk and images through the cultural narratives which circulate in society. Compared to CCTV technology images, which require cultural and political interpretations and interventions, bodies as surveillance organisms implicitly code other bodies and activities. The travel bag in the Metropolitan Police poster reinforces the images of the 7/7 bombers and the renewed attempts to bomb the London Underground on the 21st of July. It reiterates the CCTV footage revealing images of the bombers wearing rucksacks. The image of the rucksack both embodies the everyday as well as the potential for evil in everyday objects. It also inevitably reproduces the cultural biases and prejudices where the rucksack is subliminally associated with a specific type of body. The rucksack in these terms is a laden image which symbolically captures the context and culture of risk discourses in society. The co-optation of the population as a surveillance entity also recasts new forms of social responsibility within the democratic polity, where privacy is increasingly mediated by the greater need to monitor, trace and record the activities of one another. Nikolas Rose, in discussing the increasing ‘responsibilisation’ of individuals in modern societies, describes the process in which the individual accepts responsibility for personal actions across a wide range of fields of social and economic activity as in the choice of diet, savings and pension arrangements, health care decisions and choices, home security measures and personal investment choices (qtd. in Dee). While surveillance in individualistic terms is often viewed as a threat to privacy, Rose argues that the state of ‘advanced liberalism’ within modernity and post-modernity requires considerable degrees of self-governance, regulation and surveillance whereby the individual is constructed both as a ‘new citizen’ and a key site of self management. By co-opting and recasting the role of the citizen in the age of Terrorism, the citizen to a degree accepts responsibility for both surveillance and security. In our sociological imagination the body is constructed both as lived as well as a social object. Erving Goffman uses the word ‘umwelt’ to stress that human embodiment is central to the constitution of the social world. Goffman defines ‘umwelt’ as “the region around an individual from which signs of alarm can come” and employs it to capture how people as social actors perceive and manage their settings when interacting in public places (252). Goffman’s ‘umwelt’ can be traced to Immanuel Kant’s idea that it is the a priori categories of space and time that make it possible for a subject to perceive a world (Umiker-Sebeok; qtd. in Ball, “Organization”). Anthony Giddens adapted the term Umwelt to refer to “a phenomenal world with which the individual is routinely ‘in touch’ in respect of potential dangers and alarms which then formed a core of (accomplished) normalcy with which individuals and groups surround themselves” (244). Benjamin Smith, in considering the body as an integral component of the link between our consciousness and our material world, observes that the body is continuously inscribed by culture. These inscriptions, he argues, encompass a wide range of cultural practices and will imply knowledge of a variety of social constructs. The inscribing of the body will produce cultural meanings as well as create forms of subjectivity while locating and situating the body within a cultural matrix (Smith). Drawing on Derrida’s work, Pugliese employs the term ‘Somatechnics’ to conceptualise the body as a culturally intelligible construct and to address the techniques in and through which the body is formed and transformed (qtd. in Osuri). These techniques can encompass signification systems such as race and gender and equally technologies which mediate our sense of reality. These technologies of thinking, seeing, hearing, signifying, visualising and positioning produce the very conditions for the cultural intelligibility of the body (Osuri). The body is then continuously inscribed and interpreted through mediated signifying systems. Similarly, Hayles, while not intending to impose a Cartesian dichotomy between the physical body and its cognitive presence, contends that the use and interactions with technology incorporate the body as a material entity but it also equally inscribes it by marking, recording and tracing its actions in various terrains. According to Gayatri Spivak (qtd. in Ball, “Organization”) new habits and experiences are embedded into the corporeal entity which then mediates its reactions and responses to the social world. This means one’s body is not completely one’s own and the presence of ideological forces or influences then inscribe the body with meanings, codes and cultural values. In our modern condition, the body and data are intimately and intricately bound. Outside the home, it is difficult for the body to avoid entering into relationships that produce electronic personal data (Stalder). According to Felix Stalder our physical bodies are shadowed by a ‘data body’ which follows the physical body of the consuming citizen and sometimes precedes it by constructing the individual through data (12). Before we arrive somewhere, we have already been measured and classified. Thus, upon arrival, the citizen will be treated according to the criteria ‘connected with the profile that represents us’ (Gandy, Panoptic; William). Following September 11, Lyon (Terrorism) reveals that surveillance data from a myriad of sources, such as supermarkets, motels, traffic control points, credit card transactions records and so on, was used to trace the activities of terrorists in the days and hours before their attacks, confirming that the body leaves data traces and trails. Surveillance works by abstracting bodies from places and splitting them into flows to be reassembled as virtual data-doubles, and in the process can replicate hierarchies and centralise power (Lyon, Terrorism). Mike Dee points out that the nature of surveillance taking place in modern societies is complex and far-reaching and in many ways insidious as surveillance needs to be situated within the broadest context of everyday human acts whether it is shopping with loyalty cards or paying utility bills. Physical vulnerability of the body becomes more complex in the time-space distanciated surveillance systems to which the body has become increasingly exposed. As such, each transaction – whether it be a phone call, credit card transaction, or Internet search – leaves a ‘data trail’ linkable to an individual person or place. Haggerty and Ericson, drawing from Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the assemblage, describe the convergence and spread of data-gathering systems between different social domains and multiple levels (qtd. in Hier). They argue that the target of the generic ‘surveillance assemblage’ is the human body, which is broken into a series of data flows on which surveillance process is based. The thrust of the focus is the data individuals can yield and the categories to which they can contribute. These are then reapplied to the body. In this sense, surveillance is rhizomatic for it is diverse and connected to an underlying, invisible infrastructure which concerns interconnected technologies in multiple contexts (Ball, “Elements”). The co-opted body in the schema of counter-Terrorism enters a power arrangement where it constitutes both the unseen gaze as well as the data that will be implicated and captured in this arrangement. It is capable of producing surveillance data for those in power while creating new data through its transactions and movements in its everyday life. The body is unequivocally constructed through this data and is also entrapped by it in terms of representation and categorisation. The corporeal body is therefore part of the machinery of surveillance while being vulnerable to its discriminatory powers of categorisation and victimisation. As Hannah Arendt (qtd. in Bauman 91) had warned, “we terrestrial creatures bidding for cosmic significance will shortly be unable to comprehend and articulate the things we are capable of doing” Arendt’s caution conveys the complexity, vulnerability as well as the complicity of the human condition in the surveillance society. Equally it exemplifies how the corporeal body can be co-opted as a surveillance entity sustaining a new ‘banality’ (Arendt) in the machinery of surveillance. Social Consequences of Surveillance Lyon (Terrorism) observed that the events of 9/11 and 7/7 in the UK have inevitably become a prism through which aspects of social structure and processes may be viewed. This prism helps to illuminate the already existing vast range of surveillance practices and processes that touch everyday life in so-called information societies. As Lyon (Terrorism) points out surveillance is always ambiguous and can encompass genuine benefits and plausible rationales as well as palpable disadvantages. There are elements of representation to consider in terms of how surveillance technologies can re-present data that are collected at source or gathered from another technological medium, and these representations bring different meanings and enable different interpretations of life and surveillance (Ball, “Elements”). As such surveillance needs to be viewed in a number of ways: practice, knowledge and protection from threat. As data can be manipulated and interpreted according to cultural values and norms it reflects the inevitability of power relations to forge its identity in a surveillance society. In this sense, Ball (“Elements”) concludes surveillance practices capture and create different versions of life as lived by surveilled subjects. She refers to actors within the surveilled domain as ‘intermediaries’, where meaning is inscribed, where technologies re-present information, where power/resistance operates, and where networks are bound together to sometimes distort as well as reiterate patterns of hegemony (“Elements” 93). While surveillance is often connected with technology, it does not however determine nor decide how we code or employ our data. New technologies rarely enter passive environments of total inequality for they become enmeshed in complex pre-existing power and value systems (Marx). With surveillance there is an emphasis on the classificatory powers in our contemporary world “as persons and groups are often risk-profiled in the commercial sphere which rates their social contributions and sorts them into systems” (Lyon, Terrorism 2). Lyon (Terrorism) contends that the surveillance society is one that is organised and structured using surveillance-based techniques recorded by technologies, on behalf of the organisations and governments that structure our society. This information is then sorted, sifted and categorised and used as a basis for decisions which affect our life chances (Wood and Ball). The emergence of pervasive, automated and discriminatory mechanisms for risk profiling and social categorising constitute a significant mechanism for reproducing and reinforcing social, economic and cultural divisions in information societies. Such automated categorisation, Lyon (Terrorism) warns, has consequences for everyone especially in face of the new anti-terror measures enacted after September 11. In tandem with this, Bauman points out that a few suicidal murderers on the loose will be quite enough to recycle thousands of innocents into the “usual suspects”. In no time, a few iniquitous individual choices will be reprocessed into the attributes of a “category”; a category easily recognisable by, for instance, a suspiciously dark skin or a suspiciously bulky rucksack* *the kind of object which CCTV cameras are designed to note and passers-by are told to be vigilant about. And passers-by are keen to oblige. Since the terrorist atrocities on the London Underground, the volume of incidents classified as “racist attacks” rose sharply around the country. (122; emphasis added) Bauman, drawing on Lyon, asserts that the understandable desire for security combined with the pressure to adopt different kind of systems “will create a culture of control that will colonise more areas of life with or without the consent of the citizen” (123). This means that the inhabitants of the urban space whether a citizen, worker or consumer who has no terrorist ambitions whatsoever will discover that their opportunities are more circumscribed by the subject positions or categories which are imposed on them. Bauman cautions that for some these categories may be extremely prejudicial, restricting them from consumer choices because of credit ratings, or more insidiously, relegating them to second-class status because of their colour or ethnic background (124). Joseph Pugliese, in linking visual regimes of racial profiling and the shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes in the aftermath of 7/7 bombings in London, suggests that the discursive relations of power and visuality are inextricably bound. Pugliese argues that racial profiling creates a regime of visuality which fundamentally inscribes our physiology of perceptions with stereotypical images. He applies this analogy to Menzes running down the platform in which the retina transforms him into the “hallucinogenic figure of an Asian Terrorist” (Pugliese 8). With globalisation and the proliferation of ICTs, borders and boundaries are no longer sacrosanct and as such risks are managed by enacting ‘smart borders’ through new technologies, with huge databases behind the scenes processing information about individuals and their journeys through the profiling of body parts with, for example, iris scans (Wood and Ball 31). Such body profiling technologies are used to create watch lists of dangerous passengers or identity groups who might be of greater ‘risk’. The body in a surveillance society can be dissected into parts and profiled and coded through technology. These disparate codings of body parts can be assembled (or selectively omitted) to construct and represent whole bodies in our information society to ascertain risk. The selection and circulation of knowledge will also determine who gets slotted into the various categories that a surveillance society creates. Conclusion When the corporeal body is subsumed into a web of surveillance it often raises questions about the deterministic nature of technology. The question is a long-standing one in our modern consciousness. We are apprehensive about according technology too much power and yet it is implicated in the contemporary power relationships where it is suspended amidst human motive, agency and anxiety. 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