Journal articles on the topic 'Victorian Parents' Council History'

Richard Arthur Reyment was born of parents of English, Swedish, and Spanish descent in Coburg, Victoria, Australia on 4 December 1926. After obtaining his bachelor degree from Melbourne University in 1948 he spent several years with the British Colonial Service in Nigeria. While there he obtained his masters degree from Melbourne and a doctorate from the University of Stockholm (Sweden). His work in Nigeria led to the appointment as professor at the University of Ibadan. He returned to Sweden in 1965 with an appointment from the Swedish Natural Science Research Council. In 1967 he was awarded his DSc from Melbourne University and was appointed to the Chair of Historical Geology and Paleontology at the University of Uppsala (Sweden), where he remained until his retirement in 1991. His early studies on random events, multivariate morphometrics, and statistical analysis in geology and biology naturally led him into the quantitative aspects of his chosen profession, and whetted his desire to share these experiences with others with similar interests. This, he decided, could best be accomplished through an organization to promote quantitative methods and approaches, which led to his concept of the International Association for Mathematical Geology (IAMG). His efforts and enthusiasm resulted in the founding of the Association at the ill-fated International Geological Congress (IGC) in Prague in 1968. Reyment was elected the first IAMG secretary general and later the second president. The IAMG is affiliated with both the IGC and the International Statistical Institute (ISI). In recognition of his scientific accomplishments he was awarded IAMG's highest award, the William Christian Krumbein Medal, in 1979 and a special Certificate of Merit in 2002. Reyment's pioneering efforts have influenced a generation of geologists and paleontologists.

James Burn Russell's pamphlet, Life in One Room (1888), is almost certainly the best known and, as is argued here, the most influential published work in the history of social reform in modern Scotland. Regardless of Russell's own intentions and political beliefs Life in One Room became the default source for those who sought to promote housing for the working class and council housing in particular. It is remarkable just how often, and at what length, it was quoted in writings about and referenced in debates on housing before the first world war, during the war and after. This article seeks to identify the influence and attraction of Russell's pamphlet with particular reference to the author's opposition to social Darwinism and to its literary qualities. Russell's style was quintessentially Victorian but this is not to dismiss it as hopelessly sentimental. Informed by recent approaches to the history of Victorian culture and literature we can see how Russell, equally at home in the arts as in the sciences, consciously used sentimentalism or pathos to get his message across to the wider public.

Abstract [The story of liability for ‘nervous shock’ begins with the Privy Council decision in Victorian Railways Commissioners v Coultas in 1888 holding that such damage was too remote—a decision soon rejected by courts in England and elsewhere (though it had considerable influence in the United States). Over the next hundred years, courts gradually extended the boundaries of liability for what is now called psychiatric injury or mental harm. But the law reports tell us nothing about James and Mary Coultas, apart from what happened to them on one particular day. Moreover, the assertion in the initial report that Mary suffered a miscarriage is actually misleading, colouring judicial attitudes to nervous shock over a long period. Who were James and Mary Coultas, and why did they bring the action? What were the consequences of losing the case, and what happened to them after that? This article looks beyond the law reports to other sources in order to answer these questions.]

This paper reports on one aspect of data gathered in an Australian Research Council (ARC) funded project which sought to uncover how children are responded to when their parents are arrested and imprisoned. This paper presents initial specific insights into how Victorian schools understand and respond to these children. Due to the limited research previously conducted in this area of study, a flexible and exploratory approach was implemented. Data were obtained from eight Victorian education staff members, from a variety of professional domains, and were analysed using thematic analysis. Results indicate that a school's ability to respond appropriately to this group of students is shaped by the general and specific knowledge of parental imprisonment held by schools. Access to such knowledge is limited, however, by both the stigmatised nature of the problem and the current, fragmented, service system. More optimistically, it seems that when schools have greater awareness, positive responses can be implemented. Implications for this are discussed, with a particular focus on the need for clear channels of communication and collaborative work.

Australia has had high levels of unemployment since the mid-1970s, particularly from approximately 1976-94, yet to date there has been no significant study of political activism by the unemployed in the modern era. This article fills some of this knowledge gap by examining the activities of the Victorian Coalition against Poverty and Unemployment (CAPU), an activist group based on an alliance of trade unions, churches, community groups and the unemployed. Whilst CAPU was influenced by conventional Marxist critiques of the welfare state and highly critical of both the professional social welfare sector and the Australian Labor Party, it also worked co-operatively with key community welfare groups such as the Victorian Council of Social Service and the Brotherhood of St Laurence on specific campaigns. Consequently, it is argued that CAPU was not an anti-welfare organisation per se, but rather acted as the radical arm of the welfare lobby seeking to shame governments into operationalising in practice their declared social justice principles.

In the late nineteenth century, British anthropometrists attempted to normalize the practice of measuring bodies as they sought to collate data about the health and racial makeup of their fellow citizens. As the country’s leading anthropometrists, Francis Galton and Charles Roberts worked to overcome suspicion about their motives and tried to establish the value of recording physical dimensions from their subjects’ perspective. For Galton, the father of the eugenics movement, the attainment of objective self-knowledge figured alongside the ranking of one’s physique and faculties against established norms. The competitive tests at Galton’s anthropometric laboratory were meant to help subjects identify their strengths and weaknesses, ultimately revealing their level of eugenic fitness. Roberts, on the other hand, saw the particular value of anthropometric data in informing economic and social policy, but capitalized on parents’ interest in their children’s growth rates to encourage regular monitoring of their physical development. While both Galton and Roberts hoped that individuals would ultimately furnish experts with their anthropometric data to analyze, they both understood that the public would need to have explained the practical purposes of such studies and to familiarize themselves with their methods. This article argues that while anthropometry did not become a fully domestic practice in this period, it became a more visible one, paving the way for individuals to take an interest in metrical evaluations of their bodies in the coming years.

In Elementary Schooling and the Working Classes, 1860–1914, J. S. Hurt employs what has become a classic opening in works of social history. “Much of the history of education,” he declares, “has been written from the top, from the perspective of those who ran and provided the schools, be they civil servants or members of the religious societies that promoted the cause of popular education. Little has been written from the viewpoint of those who were the recipients of this semi-charitable endeavour, the parents who paid the weekly schoolpence and the children who sat in the schoolrooms of nineteenth-century England.”Hurt's point is well taken, but he leaves himself open to the retort that he also draws his information mainly from official sources. The parents rarely speak in his book, the children almost never. One could make the same criticism of Phil Gardner's The Lost Elementary Schools of Victorian England. Gardner claims that the so-called dame schools, the private venture schools that served a large fraction of the Victorian working class, were unfairly disparaged and suppressed by educational bureaucrats. But he too depends largely on bureaucratic reports to reconstruct the history of schools outside the state system. Neither Gardner nor Hurt quite succeeds in plumbing educational history to the very bottom: they do little to reconstruct the classroom experience from the viewpoint of the working-class child.What sources could we use to recover that history? There are, of course, the reports of school inspectors, but Gardner warns us that they had a vested interest in condemning dame shools.

Lorsque l'on étudie le fonctionnement des réseaux de famille et de parenté, la question la plus importante, et pourtant la moins étudiée, est de savoir dans quelle mesure ces systèmes de soutien sont affectés par les conditions démographiques dans le passé. Nous commençons par examiner les changements rapides démographiques intervenus, surtout en matière de mortalité et de fécondité, dans l'Angleterre de l'époque victorienne et rappellons à quel point les cohortes nées dans les années 1851–1855 et 1901–1905 ont pu connaître des conditions démographiques différentes. L'accent est mis sur l'impact que des conditions démographiques modifiées ont pu avoir sur le fonctionnement des réseaux familiaux et le soutien apporté par la parenté. Les modèles de parenté subissent des modifications au cours de la vie, ces changements étant étudiés au niveau des individus, grâce à un programme informatique de simulation, intitulé CAMSIM. Cet exercice de simulation a permis de reconstituer les effets que les modifications de fécondité et de mortalité ont pu entraîner sur le nombre et le type de parents vivants, auxquels un individu peut faire théoriquement appel pour l'aider, è un âge donné.

By the interwar years, Parisian parks—artificial pockets of nature in the densely built city—had become a locus of debates around “child-friendly play spaces.” The diversity of Paris’s young population in age, gender, and social status meant that the criteria of what constituted “child-friendly” was constantly in flux and that definitions of childhood remained fluid. Interwar Parisian parks became spaces of debate over proper forms of outdoor play and the risks children faced while playing. Municipal administrators and elected municipal councilors, together with pedagogues and parents, mutually constructed the spaces of parks and park-use policies. Children’s presence in public acted both as an incentive and a challenge in creating municipal policies to regulate public spaces or in reconfiguring the organization of these spaces. Municipal council debates, parents’ petitions or complaints, reports filed by neighborhood representatives, and daily logs recorded by park guards all reveal how children’s actions in green spaces played a pivotal role in the making and remaking of the urban environment.

AbstractThis article investigates the empirical backing for the claim that poor law officials needed legal authority to refuse poor parents’ right to the custody of their children in order to stabilise children's welfare institutions during the nineteenth century. Although workhouses were capable of accommodating children, Victorian lawmakers feared children would model themselves on adult paupers to become permanent burdens on the state. To tackle this problem, a system of children's welfare institutions called ‘district schools’ was introduced to train children to become industrious adult labourers. Children were usually classified as orphans or deserted so they could be sent to district schools without fear of family intervention. However, children with ambiguous parental circumstances were labelled as ‘other’ and considered a problematic class because they were perceived to be at risk of having on-going contact with their birth families. Lawmakers feared parents of ‘other’ children would undermine reformation efforts by asserting their custody rights, and passed the first laws in English history to allow the state to restrict parental rights on this basis. This article explores the claim of unwanted parental involvement, and in doing so, seeks to contextualise the origins of public law interference in the family sphere within a narrative of imposed citizenship rather than protection.

Objectives To investigate the quality of information in referrals for patients aged under 16 years referred for dental extraction under general anaesthesia (GA), to ascertain the knowledge and expectations of the parents of these patients, and to determine whether the number of teeth extracted in secondary care coincides with that of the referring dentist. Design Retrospective study of referrals of all patients aged under 16 years referred to community dental clinics in Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, Northamptonshire and Oxfordshire over a 26-day period. Results The majority (62.2%) of the 251 referrals examined were for extractions under GA. Of these, 125 were by letter and 117 using a pro forma. Significantly more pro formas (33) than letters (8) contained a full medical history (P<0.001). A treatment plan was included in significantly more pro formas (76) than letters (49) (P<0.01). Few referrals contained a note about the discussion of alternatives to a GA procedure and only 37% (58/156) of parents reported that the referring general dental practitioner had discussed alternative treatments with them. A total of 551 primary teeth were indicated for removal but 846 teeth were eventually removed. Conclusions Our findings indicate a need for parents of patients referred for GA procedures to be better informed about alternatives. Improvement in the quality of referrals, perhaps with the aid of standard pro formas, would also facilitate more effective management of referred patients.

This article examines Jane Cobden's campaign for the London County Council (L.C.C.) in 1888–89 and its controversial aftermath. Cobden's effort, a pioneering political venture of British feminism, illuminates late-Victorian concepts of gender. It provides at once an anticipation of, and a distinct contrast to, the militant suffragism of the Edwardian era. In addition, it suggests new ways of thinking about the connection between women's-suffragist and labor politics. Perhaps because the campaign was a comparatively obscure incident when measured against the broad sweep of British political history, however, no scholar has done much more than sketch its bare outline. Hopefully, the fuller depiction provided below will accord it the treatment it really deserves.This article approaches the subject from a tangent, however. Cobden's campaign was a significant if little-known episode not only in the history of British suffragism but also in the life of a man who went on to play a major role in British politics long after the first county council elections had been forgotten. This was George Lansbury, Cobden's political agent during 1888–89 and secretary of the Bow and Bromley Radical and Liberal Federation. Lansbury eventually became one of the main architects of the socialist movement in East London and a chief male supporter of the militant suffragettes during the Edwardian era (in 1912 he temporarily lost his seat in the House of Commons and went to prison on their behalf). He also became a founder and editor of the quintessential “rebel” newspaper, theDaily Herald(which was designated Labour's official organ after Lansbury left it in 1922), a pacifist opponent of World War I, and, from 1931 to 1935, leader of the Labour party itself.

IN 1886, Mrs. Coultas found herself in a buggy astride railway tracks with a train hurtling towards her. Some frantic manoeuvrings by the driver and the gatekeeper at the level-crossing managed to avert a collision. But Mrs. Coultas, terrified by the approaching train, had already fainted into her brother's arms. She subsequently suffered a miscarriage and “severe nervous shock”. Mrs. Coultas sued the gatekeeper's employer for negligently inflicted nervous shock. So begins the fascina-ting, if chequered, history of liability for negligently caused psychiatric injury. It was an inauspicious beginning. The Privy Council denied Mrs. Coultas' claim on the grounds that her injury, arising as it did from circumstances that did not involve any physical impact, was too remote to permit recovery in negligence. But larger agendas were also at work. The idea that plaintiffs might recover damages for injuries inflicted through shock alone seriously disconcerted a Privy Council already alert to the growing number of negligence claims against railway companies for physical impact injuries. The legal recognition of nervous shock injuries, it was thought, would leave “a wide field open for imaginary claims” (Victorian Railway Commissioners v. James Coultas and Mary Coultas (1888) 13 A.C. 222 at p. 227).

The Cambridge Malting House, an experimental school, serves here as a case study for investigating the tensions within 1920s liberal elites between their desire to abandon some Victorian and Edwardian sets of values in favour of more democratic ones, and at the same time their insistence on preserving themselves as an integral part of the English upper class. Susan Isaacs, the manager of the Malting House, provided the parents – some of whom were the most famous scientists and intellectuals of their age – with an opportunity to fulfil their ‘fantasy’ of bringing up children in total freedom. In retrospect, however, she deeply criticized those from their milieu for not fully understanding the real socio-cultural implications of their ideological decision to make independence and freedom the core values in their children’s education. Thus, 1920s progressive education is a paradigmatic case study of the cultural and ideological inner contradictions within liberal thought in the interwar era. The article also shows how psychoanalysis – which attracted many progressive educators – played a crucial role in providing liberals of all sorts with a new language to articulate their political visions, but, at the same time, explored the limits of the liberal discourse as a whole.

Abstract Over the course of the nineteenth century children increasingly became social, economic and scientific concerns. Their physical and mental well-being was deemed intrinsic to the future development of Britain and its Empire, and thus maintaining healthy youngsters was, by the turn of the twentieth century, considered a national priority. This article explores the interconnectivity between poverty and the child residents of pauper lunatic asylums in England. It draws on a corpus of extant patient case files from four pauper lunatic asylums between 1851 and 1907 and engages with detailed information about the children and their mental conditions. Additionally, there will be a focus on understanding family backgrounds, parental occupations, the correlation between diagnoses and class, and methods of ‘treatment’ designed to equip children for independent working lifestyles. The overarching objective is to consider the socio-economic ramifications of child mental illness for parents and families and better understand how Victorian institutions accommodated this specific class of patient.

Based on my personal history as a young man of Maroccan origin, born in the Netherlands, and as a teacher and a member of the municipal council of Amsterdam, I reflect upon the choices I made in life. What made me resilient against radical forms of Islam and how can we prevent others to make radical choices? Parents have a role here, showing to be interested in the search for meaning of their children and also being well aware of their whereabouts and the friends they associate with. Furthermore profound religious education as critical counterbalance against radical ideologies is necessary. And, of no less importance, is a welcoming attitude to Muslims, to make them feel part of the Dutch society.

Liberal NGOs such as Ardhanary Institute, Gaya Nusantara and Arus Pelangi devoted their bodyfor LGBT with a statement “my body is mine, not the one who has the right to govern my body, notthe parents, the state, and even the religion”. This movement is disturbing the community. Theresearch question of the study was how did LGBT exist in Indonesia? And how does fiqh al hadithview about LGBT. This study used normative legal research. The result of this study revealed that theexistence of LGBT in Indonesia in its history. Prohibition and punishment have been explained inthe book of Tuhfah al Ahwaz , the fatawa of MUI (Indonesian Council of Ulama) (1974, 2014)in line with the criminal code article 292 homosexsual acts, article 4 point 1a of the law onpornography and contradictory to article 1 of law № 1 of 1974 about marriage.

In May-June 1905 a special conference on education for non-Russians (inorodtsy) of the eastern Empire met in St Petersburg. The conference was organized by the Ministry of National Enlightenment (i.e. Education) with the concurrence of the Holy Synod. It was chaired by A. S. Budilovich, a member of the Council of Ministers. The conference had been preceded by an investigatory commission, also headed by Budilovich, which visited non-Russian elementary schools in the eastern regions of Russia and interviewed education officials, teachers, and parents involved in the education of non-Russians in the area. The purpose of the commission and the subsequent conference was the “examination of the presently existing legislation concerning the non-Russian schools of eastern Russia and in particular that system among them which is linked to the name of N.I. Il'minskii, compared with the schools of the general type that exist in those regions, on the one hand, and with the confessional schools (especially Moslem and Buddhist), on the other.”

This issue of the African Studies Review is devoted to research in the African humanities. The appearance of new approaches to the study of literary texts, oral traditions, and the popular arts has inspired us to assemble this collection. Recently, the African humanities have been neglected as an important area in which new empirical and theoretical advances have been made for the study of oral texts, art, and performance.The articles in this collection by Robert Cancel, David Coplan, Bennetta Jules-Rosette, and V. Y. Mudimbe were presented at the Conference on Popular Arts and the Media in Africa held at the University of California, San Diego from May 17-19, 1982. This conference was sponsored by the Joint Committee on African Studies of the Social Science Research Council and the American Council of Learned Societies. We would like to thank the Joint Committee for their support of this conference and our initial efforts to develop a research synthesis for the African humanities.This collection begins with V. Y. Mudimbe's commentary on the nature of African art and the limitations of research models used to study it. He questions the role and position of African arts, especially visual arts, in the post-colonial world. He suggests that the time has passed where most of these works can be judged simply as self-enclosed cultural referents, isolated from the effects of the last two hundred years of history. The process of “aesthetization” that he describes is one which, in various transformations, informs each of the papers that follow. When Fanon suggested that to take on a language is to “take on a world,” he foreshadowed the ideas that acknowledge the development of Africa's humanities in a context of cultural interchange with other world traditions. This is not to accept the Victorian pronouncements that credited all African achievements to various forms of Western influence. Rather, it is a movement towards the view that African culture, always fluid and dynamic, has been responsive to all manner of influences, both local and foreign.

Background: The Gail model is the most widely used breast cancer risk assessment tool. An accurate assessment of individual’s breast cancer risk is very important for prevention of the disease and for the health care providers to make decision on taking chemoprevention for high-risk women in clinical practice in Qatar. Aim: To assess the breast cancer risk among Arab women population in Qatar using the Gail model and provide a global comparison of risk assessment. Subjects and Methods: In this cross-sectional study of 1488 women (aged 35 years and older), we used the Gail Risk Assessment Tool to assess the risk of developing breast cancer. Sociodemographic features such as age, lifestyle habits, body mass index, breast-feeding duration, consanguinity among parents, and family history of breast cancer were considered as possible risks. Results: The mean age of the study population was 47.8 ± 10.8 years. Qatari women and Arab women constituted 64.7% and 35.3% of the study population, respectively. The mean 5-year and lifetime breast cancer risks were 1.12 ± 0.52 and 10.57 ± 3.1, respectively. Consanguineous marriage among parents was seen in 30.6% of participants. We found a relationship between the 5-year and lifetime risks of breast cancer and variables such as age, age at menarche, gravidity, parity, body mass index, family history of cancer, menopause age, occupation, and level of education. The linear regression analysis identified the predictors for breast cancer in women such as age, age at menarche, age of first birth, family history and age of menopausal were considered the strong predictors and significant contributing risk factors for breast cancer after adjusting for ethnicity, parity and other variables. Conclusion: The current study is the first to evaluate the performance of the Gail model for Arab women population in the Gulf Cooperation Council. Gail model is an appropriate breast cancer risk assessment tool for female population in Qatar.

Objectives: Longitudinal data from infancy onwards, from the Australian Temperament Project, a prospective study of the temperament and development of a large and representative sample of Victorian children, were examined to identify predictors of psychological disorder at 11–12 years of age. Method: Those children scoring in the at-risk range for psychological disorder according to parents, teachers and self-reports using the Child Behaviour Questionnaire were selected at 11–12 years of age for in-depth assessment and comparison with a group of children with no history of adjustment problems. Analyses of group differences using longitudinal data gathered from infancy to 12 years focused on parent and teacher reports on child temperament and behaviour, and various facets of home and school adjustment. Results: The strongest predictors of adjustment at 12 years were previous behaviour problems, along with some specific temperament factors involving self-regulation capacities and mother's overall rating of child difficulty. Results based on parallel teacher data including peer adjustment, and social and academic competence measures were consistent with parent data. Conclusions: Our research confirms the persistence of early appearing behaviour problems in a community sample and the longitudinal influence of temperament factors in childhood. The study supports the need for a focus on early intervention and prevention strategies in the child mental health field.

The 1890s was a decade of remarkable progress in Whanganui. The depression of the 1880s was over. The town became an important port and distribution centre with railway connections to Wellington and New Plymouth as well as wharves at Castlecliff and in town. Alexander Hatrick began his riverboat service on the river enabling tourists from all over the world to travel the "Rhine of New Zealand." The colonial town developed culturally. The Technical School of Design was established in 1892, the public museum opened a few years later and the library was extended. The local MP, John Ballance, was Premier until his death in 1893; his state funeral and that in 1898 of the Māori chief, Te Keepa Rangihiwinui, were defining moments in Whanganui's history. A 40-year building boom began, starting with the replacement of old town centre premises dating from the 1860s and earlier. In 1890 there were two architects in town, but only one with recognized qualifications: Alfred Atkins, FRIBA. Having been in practice with Frederick de Jersey Clere in the 1880s, Atkins' practice blossomed in the 1890s. He was architect to both the Education and Hospital Boards at a time of major commissions and advisor to the Borough Council. He designed the museum and a large warehouse and bond store for Sclanders of Nelson and organized the architectural competition for what is now known as The Royal Whanganui Opera House. This paper examines these and other buildings together with some "gentlemen's residences" as examples of the Victorian architecture which characterizes Whanganui today. During the 1890s the Borough Council continued to grapple with the problem of fires in town. The arguments raged over the merits of building in wood versus brick. This paper looks at the evolution of the Council's eventual designation in 1898 of a downtown "brick area" with bylaws requiring at least brick side walls on all new buildings. The era of building permits began and the erection of new brick walls heralded the end of the wooden shop. The brick buildings that followed changed the character of Whanganui's townscape.

The question that springs to mind at the start of this brief résumé of my career is, how did I come to be employed by the British Economic and Social Research Council, when my research training seemed so much against it? Memory is at best a fallible guide, but, as I remember, 1965 saw the appearance of The World We Have Lost, by Peter Laslett, which sought to describe the structure of English society before the Industrial Revolution. I had known Laslett as a lecturer in the Cambridge History Faculty who gave a course of general lectures on the history of political thought in the ancient world; he was also more generally known as the man who had researched the late-seventeenth-century philosopher John Locke. But here he was, writing a different kind of book altogether, with a first chapter called “The Passing of the Patriarchal Household: Parents and Children, Masters and Servants,” and further chapters on such topics as whether the peasants really starved. What was this political analyst up to? Not to anything good, or so I was told in a leading article in the Times Literary Supplement for 9 December 1965. In a scabrous attack entitled “The Book of Numbers,” E. P. Thompson (for it was he, hiding behind the cloak of anonymity that was generally assumed by the authors of leading articles) did everything to undermine Laslett’s version of the new history. “It is to be hoped that the cause will survive Mr Laslett’s advocacy,” he concluded. He succeeded with me; I let the book pass me by on the other side.

Background/Context Educators, parents, politicians, and the media often complain that young people know little history and compare them unfavorably to better-educated, earlier generations. However, the charge is exaggerated. Young people have performed poorly on history tests for decades. Students’ poor scores on one test in particular, the focus of this study, caught the nation's attention: the New York Times 1943 survey of college freshmen's history knowledge. Focus of Study This study examines the debate between supporters of history education and supporters of social studies education about the New York Times 1943 survey of college freshmen's history knowledge. In a report on the survey results, the newspaper claimed that these students knew little of their country's history, and not much more about its geography. The study places the survey in the broader context of history and social studies education in the early to mid-twentieth century. The study traces the origins of the survey and the debate between two key players, Allan Nevins and Erling Hunt, and describes reactions to the survey from educators, politicians, the media, and the public. In addition, the study describes how the American Historical Association, the Mississippi Valley Historical Association, and the National Council for the Social Studies counteracted the survey's findings to defend the teaching of history and social studies in the U.S. Research Design This study is a historical examination of the survey and the controversy it generated. The study uses archival resources, primary documents, contemporary newspaper and journal articles, and key players’ private letters, to explain how the survey was developed, reported on, and responded to. Conclusions Although the survey was not the first of its kind, and certainly not the last, and did not result in major changes in history and social studies instruction, it gave defenders of history education and social studies education a national battleground for their war of words. In examining the increased interest in the pedagogical debate on fact-based learning versus historical thinking skills that the survey provoked, this study brings perspective to a long-standing controversy, highlights the tension between advocates of history education and advocates of social studies education, and shows how the public reacted with deep alarm to the survey's results. This study highlights the divisive effects of using a single test to draw conclusions about the state of education. In the conclusion, the study calls for a negotiation by all sides in what are known today as “the history wars.”

A história do passado permite ver que o padrinho, com vários nomes, foi usado já no Novo Testamento. Foi também criticado (Tertuliano), foi necessidade e até transformou-se em família sagrada para o batizado, a ponto de tornar-se problema do Tridentino. O Código de Direito Canônico de 1917 estabeleceu condições para ser padrinho, que o Código de 1983 reviu com muitas discussões A legislação atual, não assumida por muitos pastores, dá aos pais importância maior na responsabilidade no batismo das crianças, mas é bem mais adulta no aceitar os padrinhos para pequenos e grandes.Abstract: Thanks to the history of the past we can see that the figure of the godfather, with different names, was already used in the New Testament. It was also criticized, (Tertullian), it became an essential feature and even became a sacred family for the baptized, so much so that it also became a problem for the Council of Trent. The 1917 Code of Canon Law established the conditions for someone to become a godfather, and those were reviewed by the 1983 Code, after much discussion. The present legislation, not accepted by many persons, gives the parents greater responsibility in their children’ baptism, but is much more mature in its acceptance of godparents for children or adults.

A long story could be told about the educational institutions where young Dutchmen were trained for an administrative and legal career in the Indies. This educational process started with the foundation of the Javanese Institute (Instituut voor dejavaanse taal) in Surakarta in 1832. Ten years later this institute was closed and the training of Dutch civil servants was transferred to the city of Delft in the Netherlands. A Royal Academy for Engineers has been established in that town and was subsequently made subservient to this overseas task too. The study of language at an engineering academy reads strangely but was done for reasons of economy. In the words of the Minister of the Colonies (J.C. Baud) who was responsible for this decision: the arid and unpleasant study of Oriental languages could better be accomplished in a cold climate than in the hot climate of Java which was not at all conducive to hard work and study! In 1864 the instruction of civil servants for Indonesia was transferred to a state institution in Leiden (Rijks-instelling van onderwijs in Indische taal-, land- en volkenkunde). But the municipal authorities of Delft were unwilling to lose the young hopefuls for the Indies and their wealthy parents, many of them with a colonial background themselves, who, for the sake of the education of their children, had taken domicile in Delft after their retirement. In the same year 1864 the municipal council of Delft established a local Indies Institute (Indische Instelling) of its own that turned out much more successful than the Leiden state institute which soon disappeared. On the other hand, the training of Indies lawyers and judges became a firm monopoly of Leiden University after the passing of a new law on Dutch universities in 1876.

The Larger Context and Arguments on Mother Tongue and Education Many non-English speaking parents think that if their children only learn English, they will fare better in school. In the last half a century or so, researchers have noticed the problem faced especially by developing nations in their language-related educational policies.1 Some countries, like Burundi, for example, have adopted this mentality and made English the official national language, in hopes that encouraging English will stimulate the economy and improve the job prospects of youth.2 However, research consistently shows that focusing entirely on English or any “majority language” at the detriment of one’s native language actually does more harm than good. There are many 1 See works of Joshua Fishman, Language Problems of Developing Nations. New York: Wiley, 1968 and Joshua Fishman. Readings in the Sociology of Language. The Hague, Paris: Mouton, 1968. 2 Angelina Kioko, “Why Schools Should Teach Young Learners in Home Language,” British Council, January 16, 2015, https://www.britishcouncil.org/voices-magazine/ why-schools-should-teach-young-learners-home-language. 238 Toyin Falola and Michael Oladejo Afolayan benefts of children’s maintaining their native language, which I summarize below and will expand upon throughout the essay: 3 1. One’s language is tied with one’s identity. Consequently, then, maintaining one’s native language means maintaining one’s identity. With this maintained identity, one feels a connection to one’s native culture and therefore has a positive self-concept. 2. Maintaining one’s language allows one to strengthen relationships with family and community members who perhaps do not speak English (or the majority language) or who prefer to speak in their native language. Tis allows for one to keep a reliable social network bound by a common tongue. 3. If a young child is forced to speak in English (or the majority language) when they prefer to speak in their mother tongue, they are also forced to operate at a lower intellectual age than they actually are. Tis can damage the child’s academic future. Therefore, it is best for the child to be encouraged to speak both languages and experience the benefits of bilingualism and a fully developing brain. 4. Similar to #3, children who are able to speak in their native language and English (or the majority language) experience higher academic achievement throughout their life.

Our present time is characterised by many contradictions and the aspect of uncertainty indicates a sense of our deep loss of values. Education is the traditional space, in which generations create meanings and adults prefigure the future. Despite the idea of liquid modernity, which dominates our existence, we are convinced that we inherit meaningful testimonies of schools born in the spirit of the Reform from the pedagogic culture of the last two centuries. Schools, such as Dalton, Jena Plan, Decroly and Freinet, are still alive and bringing us a new message of citizenship education coherent with the impulse of their founders. Following our field study to investigate the reality of the Schools of Method in the areas of the Flanders and Brussels we were able to draw a solid concept of community. In the 500th anniversary of the Reformation, we assume that the modern western culture reaches its task to convert the dispute into tolerance. Citizenship education wishes to overcome any separations and indicates the road to peace and harmony. It is not by chance that Reform Schools are now reaffirming the original impulse. They are transforming the contradictions of our postmodern society into the management of daily education. Headmasters and teachers are seriously opting for movement and variety of the curriculum against school stereotypes of the disciplines. Children become protagonists of the reformation, using the methodology of dialogue, development and discovery. Teachers and parents appear to be fundamental parts of the process, and learning democracy in school begins with the practice of a council of pupils: discussing, deciding, doing. The external world actively enters schools to shape life. History is composed of the biographies of senior citizens, mainly grandfathers, and languages are matter of pride for children from families with migrant backgrounds.

Abstract Objectives The aim of this study was to assess the dietary intakes of lutein, zeaxanthin (L + Z) and omega-3-essential fatty acid(EFA) among a selected population of Australian based adults and to examine the effect of specified risk factors for age-related macular degeneration(AMD) on those levels. Methods A cross-sectional study involving 70 adults aged 19–52 years was carried out. Demographic data were obtained using an online self-administered questionnaire while dietary intakes were estimated using USDA's 24 hours recall questionnaire, the Victorian Cancer Council(Australia) food frequency questionnaire and anthropometric characteristics were obtained using a body composition analyzer. Dietary intakes of lutein, zeaxanthin, omega-3-EFA and anthropometric indices against the risk of AMD were established using descriptive statistics and Spearman correlation. Results The mean age of the population was 29.9 ± 8.1years with 51% men and 49% women. Women had a higher intake of L + Z (1908.6 μg/day versus 1032.8 μg/day) and alpha-linolenic acid(ALA) compared to men(1.7 ± 1.1 g/day versus 1.6 ± 1.2 g/day). Men consumed more omega-3-EFA than women (433 ± 397.1 mg/day versus 365 ± 210.7 mg/day). L + Z levels were higher among people of Middle Eastern and South Asian origin (&gt;4000 μg/day) in the 19–25years age group. People of Middle Eastern, South East Asian and South Asian had the highest intake of omega-3-EFA(&gt;500 mg/day) at ages 19–25, 26–32 and 34–52years respectively. Women aged 34–52years with a family history of AMD had higher levels of L + Z(&gt;2500 μg/day) while women aged 26–32years with a family history of AMD had higher levels of ALA(&gt;3 g/day). Ethnicity and L + Z were correlated (P = −0.456, P &lt; 0.02). Higher levels of intake of L + Z (&gt;4000 μg/day) were seen in participants aged 34–52years with a 5–10years residence in Australia. Participants who had less than 5–10years of residency had higher levels of omega-3-EFA(&gt;500 mg/day) for ages 26–32years while those aged 34–52years who had less than 5years of residency had higher ALA(&gt;4 g/day). Conclusions Intake levels for L + Z vary significantly among participants. Culturally specific dietary habits could feasibly influence the levels of intake of L + Z. Intake levels of omega-3-EFA were met. This study provides detailed intake levels of L + Z and omega-3-EFA for the ‘at-risk’ AMD group. Funding Sources No funding source.

Retinoblastoma is an aggressive eye tumor originating from maturing cone precursors in the developing retina and most commonly seen in childhood. In 98 % of patients, retinoblastoma is caused by bi-allelic inactivation of the RB1 tumor suppressor gene. Approximately 40 % of disorders in the RB1 gene are germline. This study aimed to analyze the frequency of germline RB1 variants in a cohort of Belarusian patients with retinoblastoma and to correlate the variants with clinical phenotypes. The study was approved by an Independent Ethics Committee and the Scientific Council of the Belarusian Research Center for Pediatric Oncology, Hematology and Immunology. The study included 20 patients from unrelated families (9 patients with unilateral retinoblastoma, 11 – with bilateral). Two out of eleven patients with bilateral retinoblastoma had a positive family history. Genomic DNA was extracted from peripheral blood mononuclear cells. Using polymerase chain reaction, we obtained fragments including sequences of all exons, regions of splice sites and promoter regions of the RB1 gene. Nucleotide sequences of the obtained amplicons were detected by next-generation sequencing. All clinically significant variants were confirmed by Sanger sequencing. Multiplex ligation-dependent probe amplification (MLPA) or fluorescence in situ hybridization (FISH) were used to detect gross alterations. A genetic analysis of blood relatives was carried out for five probands with detected germline variants. We identified 13 different variants in 14 patients: 38.5 % (n = 5) of them were defects in splice sites; 15.4 % (n = 2) – missense mutations; 15.4 % (n = 2) – small deletions (frameshift); 23% (n = 3) – large deletions; 7.7% (n = 1) – nonsense mutations. Four of these variants had not been previously reported in patients with retinoblastoma from other populations (exon 3: c.350_351delTT, p. Phe117TyrfsTer2; exon 8: c.861+2T>G; exon 24: c.2520+4A>G; Del of exons 16, 17). Germline mutations were detected in 33.3 % (3/9) of patients with unilateral retinoblastoma and in 100% (11/11) of patients with bilateral disease. A genetic screening of relatives showed that three variants were de novo, and two variants were inherited from parents in families with a positive history of retinoblastoma. Here we reported the first results of genetic examination of Belarusian patients with retinoblastoma. Seventy-eight point six per cent (78.6 %) of variants were detected by sequencing, 21.4 % were identified with the help of the MLPA and FISH methods. Among sporadic cases, germline RB1 variants were detected in 66.6 % (12/18) of cases. A full range of screening techniques is required to achieve high sensitivity of detection in retinoblastoma patients. Our study also provides new evidence that will inform patient management and genetic counseling.

Background A number of studies have shown promising performance of artificial intelligence (AI) algorithms for diagnosis of lesions in skin cancer. To date, none of these have assessed algorithm performance in the real-world setting. Objective The aim of this project is to evaluate practical issues of implementing a convolutional neural network developed by MoleMap Ltd and Monash University eResearch in the clinical setting. Methods Participants were recruited from the Alfred Hospital and Skin Health Institute, Melbourne, Australia, from November 1, 2019, to May 30, 2021. Any skin lesions of concern and at least two additional lesions were imaged using a proprietary dermoscopic camera. Images were uploaded directly to the study database by the research nurse via a custom interface installed on a clinic laptop. Doctors recorded their diagnosis and management plan for each lesion in real time. A pre-post study design was used. In the preintervention period, participating doctors were blinded to AI lesion assessment. An interim safety analysis for AI accuracy was then performed. In the postintervention period, the AI algorithm classified lesions as benign, malignant, or uncertain after the doctors’ initial assessment had been made. Doctors then had the opportunity to record an updated diagnosis and management plan. After discussing the AI diagnosis with the patient, a final management plan was agreed upon. Results Participants at both sites were high risk (for example, having a history of melanoma or being transplant recipients). 743 lesions were imaged in 214 participants. In total, 28 dermatology trainees and 17 consultant dermatologists provided diagnoses and management decisions, and 3 experienced teledermatologists provided remote assessments. A dedicated research nurse was essential to oversee study processes, maintain study documents, and assist with clinical workflow. In cases where AI algorithm and consultant dermatologist diagnoses were discordant, participant anxiety was an important factor in the final agreed management plan to biopsy or not. Conclusions Although AI algorithms are likely to be of most use in the primary care setting, higher event rates in specialist settings are important for the initial assessment of algorithm safety and accuracy. This study highlighted the importance of considering workflow issues and doctor-patient-AI interactions prior to larger-scale trials in community-based practices. Acknowledgments This research was supported by the Victorian Medical Research Acceleration Fund, with 1:1 contribution from MoleMap Ltd. VM is supported by the National Health and Medical Research Council Early Career Fellowship. CF is supported by the Monash University Research Training Program Scholarship. Conflicts of Interest SM is head of clinical research and regulatory affairs at Kahu.ai Ltd, a subsidiary of MoleMap Ltd. MH was the chief medical officer and a director of MoleMap Ltd, and holds shares in MoleMap Ltd. Trial Registration ClinicalTrials.gov NCT04040114; https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/NCT04040114

Intracranial arachnoid cysts (AC) are arachnoid-lined expansion of the normal subarachnoid space. They are very common and neurosurgeons, specially those taking care of the pediatric population, face this disease in their daily activities quite frequently. So, considering the importance of this topic, the editorial board of Archives of Pediatric Neurosurgery decided to dedicate the present issue to articles addressing any view of AC. The first article is an interesting and complete review of many aspects of AC that must be known by pediatric neurologists and neurosurgeons concerning epidemiology, pathophysiological, symptomatology, imaging and classification. It is well known that, frequently, AC are discovered incidentally on radiological exams. In other cases, it is difficult to stablish a relationship between the symptoms and the AC. Is a headache related do the cysts? Is the seizure an effect of the cyst? In spite of the doubts regarding symptoms and AC, Faraj et al describe some clinical manifestations according to AC locations. The association and risk of developing subdural hemorrhage and AC is also discussed. And finally, the authors analyze literature data regarding a frequent and practical aspect about how to council parents and patients harboring an AC in the sports practice. The knowledge of the natural history of a disease is the first step in the decision making of any patient. This is particularly important in pathological conditions that are discovered incidentally or in asymptomatic patients. Souza et al performed an excellent literature review on this topic that may guide us how to manage our patients. Who do we should operate? What are the cases of highest risk of cyst growing? Regarding treatment, the literature ranges from CSF shunts to microsurgery and neuroendoscopy. In this sense, Paiva et al discuss the role of neuroendoscopy and the possible associated complications that can be expected. Two articles address treatment of AC at the quadrigeminal cistern and posterior fossa. Furtado et al propose a therapeutic algorithm based on a literature review and Dastoli et al describe four posterior fossa AC treated by neuroendoscopic fenestration. In the setting of Clinical Images, a suprasellar arachnoid cyst with an unusual extension to the middle fossa is presented followed by a video showing the microsurgical surgery of a middle fossa AC. The great advantage in participate of Archives of Pediatric Neurosurgery is to be able to discover different clinical and surgical approaches, especially on controversial topics such as arachnoid cysts, around the different pediatric neurosurgery departments in our continental country. Thereby, Mansilla et al, with the honorable participation of a great friend of Brazilian pediatric neurosurgery, Gianpiero Tamburrini, share a survey that demonstrates which symptoms were considered related to AC, which complementary exams should be performed and the types of treatment chosen among Brazilian pediatric neurosurgeons. The APN editorial board invite its readers to discover these articles and delve further into the controversial topic of arachnoid cysts.

The article analyses one of the most grievous chapters in the history of Ukrainian nation – the Great Famine (Holodomor) of 1932–1933. It is referred to the massive famine that was deliberately organized by the Soviet authorities, which led to many millions hu-man losses in the rural area in the territory of the Ukrainian SSR and Kuban. Planned confiscation of grain crops and other food products from villagers by the representatives of the Soviet authorities led to a multimillion hunger massacre of people in rural area. At the same time, the Soviet government had significant reserves of grain in warehouses and exported it abroad, since without collectivization and Ukrainian bread it was impossible to launch the industrialization that demanded Ukrainian grain to be contributed to foreigners in return for their assistance. Ukrainian grain turned into currency. The authorities of that time refused to accept foreign assistance for starving people and simultaneously banned and blocked their leaving outside the Ukrainian SSR. The so-called “barrier troops” were organized in order to prevent hungry people from flee to the freedom and not let anyone enter the starving area. The situation is characterized by the fact that the idea and practice of barrier troops tested on Ukrainians were lately used on the battlefields of the World War II. Among three Holodomors, the government did not conceal only the first one (1921–1922), as it could be blamed on the tsarist regime that brought the villagers to the poverty, and post-war devastation. The famine of 1946–1947 was silenced, but the population generally perceived it as a clear consequence of two horrendous misfortunes – the World War II and dreadful drought. Especially rigid was position of the government regarding the very fact of genocide in 1933–1933 not only its scale. The author emphasizes that the Great Famine is refused to be admitted not because it was unreal but to avoid the assessment of its special direction against Ukraine and Ukrainian nation, saying instead that it affected the fate of all nations. The article describes the renovation of internal passports system and the obligatory registration at a certain address that took place in the USSR in 1932. Decree of the Council of People’s Commissars of the USSR stipulated the fact that people living in rural areas should not obtain passports. Therefore, collective farmers of the Ukrainian SSR actually did not obtain passports. The villagers were forbidden to leave collective farms without signed agreement with the employer, that deprived them of the right to free movement. Even after the introduction of labour books the collective farmers did not obtain them either. The author describes the destruction of the collective farms system that his parents dedicated their entire labour life to. Instead of preserving productive forces, material and technical base and introducing new forms of agrarian sector management and the whole society to the development path, this system has been thoughtlessly destroying and plundering. Keywords: Holodomor, Ukrainian villagers, collectivization, genocide, confiscation, barrier troops.

The development of acute kidney injury (AKI) in preterm infants with hemodynamically significant patent ductus arteriosus (HSPDA) is an additional burden on homeostatic mechanisms, leading to loss of fluid, electrolyte balance, and acid-base disturbance and increasing the risk of mortality by 50%. Therefore, early detection of AKI in preterm infants with HSPDA is extremely important in terms of improving treatment outcomes. Purpose — to create, evaluate and further analyze the binary logistic regression model of AKI on the background of HSPDA in premature infants. Materials and methods. The group of study participants consisted of 40 premature babies with HSPDA, who were admitted for treatment on the first day of life to the Department of Anesthesiology and Neonatal Intensive Care at MI «Dnepropetrovsk Regional Children's Clinical Hospital» Dnepropetrovsk Regional Council». On the third to fifth day of life, 23 (57.5%) patients were diagnosed with AKI. Clinical and laboratory examination included obstetric history, gestational age, weight, physical examination, clinical analysis of blood and urine, arterial blood oxygen saturation, biochemical methods — examination of urea, serum and urine creatinine, serum and urine sodium, serum potassium. The concentration index of creatinine, fractional excretion of sodium, glomerular filtration rate (GFR) according to the Schwartz formula were calculated. Instrumental methods of examination included echocardiography with Doppler, ultrasound Doppler of renal vessels, renal spectroscopy in the near infrared region. In order to preliminarily determine the diagnostic potential of some clinical'anamnestic and laboratory data, the parameters of the sample with AKI and the sample without this pathology were compared: in the case of interval scale the Mann–Whitney U-test was used, in the case of categorical scale — χ2-test or Fisher's exact test. Spearman's rank correlation was used to form the optimal set of input variables for regression modeling. The method of binary logistic regression was used to develop a diagnostic model of AKI development on the background of HSPDA in premature infants. Results. At the stage of exploratory data analysis (several dozen parameters of clinical and biochemical analysis of blood and urine, renal hemodynamics, renal oxygenation and therapeutic measures on the first day), as well as clinical and anamnestic data, it was found that AKI has a significant relationship with 14 interval ( maximum blood flow velocity in the interlobar renal artery, minimum blood flow velocity in the interlobar renal artery, resistance index in the interlobar renal artery, maximum blood flow velocity in the main renal artery, diameter of the open arterial duct, renal oxygenation, fractional renal tissue extraction of oxygen, serum creatinine, GFR, creatinine concentration index, urinary sodium, fractional sodium excretion, urine protein, diastolic blood pressure) and 9 nominal values (the size of the patent ductus arteriosus on the first day of more than 2 mm, ibuprofen therapy at a dose of 20 mg/kg on the first day, ibuprofen therapy on the first day of life, furosemide treatment, history of renal disease in the mother, chronic foci of infection in the mother, hypertension of pregnancy, threat of abortion, necrotizing enterocolitis in the patient on the first day of life). Conclusions. The most significant predictors of AKI development in premature infants with HSPDA are the parameter of maximum blood flow velocity in the interlobar renal artery, HSPDA diameter greater than 2 mm and serum creatinine level on the first day of life. The sensitivity of the AKI logistic regression model, in which HSPDA diameter and serum creatinine level are used as explanatory variables, is 91%, specificity — 88%, overall accuracy — 90%. Replacement of serum creatinine in the logit function for the maximum blood flow velocity in the interlobar renal artery allows to increase the sensitivity of the model up to 96%, and the overall accuracy up to 93%. The study was conducted in accordance with the principles of the Helsinki Declaration. The research protocol was approved by the Local Ethics Committee of the institution mentioned in the work. Informed consent of parents of children was obtained for the research. The authors were declare no conflict of interest. Key words: hemodynamically significant patent ductus arteriosus, premature infants, acute kidney injury, prediction of early diagnosis.

Special needs dentistry, also known as special care dentistry, is a specialty of dentistry concerned with the oral health ofpeople who have intellectual disability, or who are affected by other medical, physical, or psychiatric issues. Their additionalneeds may be due directly to their impairment or disability, or to some aspect of their medical history that affects theiroral health, or because their social, environmental or cultural context disables them with reference to their oral health.1According to data from the Indonesian Medical Council, there was an increasing number of Indonesians experiencing chronicdiseases including cancer, stroke, heart disease, renal disease, and diabetes mellitus from 2013 to 2018.2Unfortunately, therewas no data describing other special needs condition aside from medically challenged. This absence of data might makedentists and authorities complacent about this need. Even in the developed country, we found that people with disabilitieswere rarely identified as a priority population group in the public health policy and practice.3Along with increasing awareness of parents and careers, supporting facilities and education such as physiotherapy, speechtherapy, management behavior are much in demand. Though, dental treatment is still not popular. They are prioritizinggeneral health instead of dental and oral health to support short term impact.4Meanwhile, special need persons are proneto poor oral health. People with developmental disabilities have higher rates of cavities, gum disease and tooth loss and thecause is often heartbreakingly simple.5Many of these persons are physically unable to brush their teeth, and many won’t allowsomeone else do it for them.6Others are hampered by medical conditions, or by the side effects of medications they take,which is why regular dental checkups and cleanings are so important.General dentists are reluctant of taking care of special need patientsWe recognized that there are only a few oral health professions that work to improve the oral health of people withspecial needs.7Not only is their access to care almost non-existent in comparison to the general population, but also thefacilities are inadequate and staff lack awareness of oral health matters that may impact those with special needs.8Moreover,parents and careers are confronted with different problems such as, dentists who lack skills and competency in managingpeople with disabilities. Dentists reported having difficulty treating such patients. The complexity in treating patients withspecial needs, the variety of medical conditions or disabilities that require more time or altered delivery methods than theroutine delivery of dental care for the general population,9and sometimes patients required special methods and techniquesto treat their oral health conditions has led to low preparedness and willingness of oral health professionals to treat patientswith special needs.10 It requires a holistic approach that is dentist led in order to meet the complex requirements of peoplewith impairments. It may impact access and thus their oral health, while other complications include inconvenient locationsof dental clinics, transport issues, and cost of dental treatment.11All patients with special needs should have equal access andhigh-quality treatment that focuses on patient safety, patient-centered care, and treatment of all dental needs. Thus, oral healthprofessional needs to have training or special education to handle patients with special needs in an effort to increase oral anddental health of this population.Dental student training improvement is neededIt is written in standard competency of Indonesian dental doctor released by Indonesian Medical Council thatundergraduate dental student must be able to ascertain congenital and hereditary abnormalities in oral cavity, and maintainingoral soft tissue health in patients with compromised medical condition. In fact, there are limitation of opportunity forthem to meet those special patients. Dentists who treat patients with special needs are dental pediatrics; there are no dentalspecialists who specifically manage patients who are adults with special needs.12 Furthermore, for the undergraduate basis,dental school are not well equipped with staff and tools to support that competency. Of the 11 dental schools that have beenaccredited ”A” in Indonesia, there are only 4 dental schools who have structured dental courses on taking care of oral and dentalhealth for person with special needs. This program is restricted to postgraduate student only. There is no syllabus or programfor undergraduate dental students. Lack of training and experience of undergraduate dental students in dealing with patientswith special needs was one of the most reported issues that inhibits the treatment of these patients. Therefore, the access ofdental student to gain knowledge and experience in this major should be improved.Indeed, it is well known that good oral health is conducive to overall well-being. Due to increasing demand of treatingspecial care persons with their complexities, oral health professionals need to improve their skill and knowledge. Tania Saskianti, DDS, PhD, Ped DentChairperson, Joint Scientific Meeting in Special Care DentistryLecturer, Department of Pediatric DentistryFaculty of Dental Medicine, Universitas Airlangga REFERENCES1. Friel S, Jamieson L. Political economy, trade relations and health inequalities: lessons from general health. Community Dent Health. 2019; 36(2),152–156 (2019).2. National Institute of Health Research and Development of Ministry of Health Indonesia. Main Result of Basic Health Research 2018. 2018.3. Victorian Health Promoting Foundation. Disability and health inequalities in Australia. VicHealth. 2012; 1–11.4. Anders PL, Davis EL. Oral health of patients with intellectual disabilities: A systematic review. Spec Care Dentist. 2010; 30(3):110–7.5. Minihan PM, Morgan JP, Park A, Yantsides KE, Nobles CJ, Finkelman MD, et al. At-home oral care for adults with developmental disabilities A surveyof caregivers. J Am Dent Assoc. 2014; 145(10):1018–25.6. Eijsink AM, Schipper G, Vermaire JH. A Q-methodology study among caregivers of people with moderate intellectual disabilities on their clients’health care: An example in oral health. J Appl Res Intellect. Disabil. 2018; 31(5):915–26.7. Wyne AH, Hammad N, Splieth C. Oral health knowledge of health care workers in special children’s center. Pak J Med Sci. 2015; 31(1):164–8.8. Hewson ND. Submission 552 - Australian Dental Association Inc - Disability Care and Support - Public inquiry. Aust Dent Assoc. 2010; 1–20.9. Wilson NJ, Lin Z, Villarosa A, Lewis P, Philip P, Sumar B, et al. Countering the poor oral health of people with intellectual and developmentaldisability: a scoping literature review. BMC Public Health. 2019; 19(1):1530.10. Alumran A, Almulhim L, Almolhim B, Bakodah S, Aldossary H, Alakrawi Z. Preparedness and willingness of dental care providers to treat patientswith special needs. Clin Cosmet Investig Dent. 2018; 10:231–6.11. Steinberg BJ. Issues and challenges in special care dentistry. J Dent Educ. 2005; 69:323–4.12. Vertel N, Harrison RL, Campbell KM. Access to Dental Services for Children with Special Health Care Needs: A Pilot Study at the DentalDepartment of BC Children’s Hospital. J Can Dent Assoc. 2017; 83:h6.

PurposeSoon after its establishment in 1863, the Board of Education – “the body responsible for administering public education in Victoria – determined that a system of universal mixed (coeducational) schooling would be adopted in the colony. Existing single-sex departments were “encouraged”, or compelled, to amalgamate, and no new separate schools were established. Although administrators and officials endorsed coeducation, primarily on the grounds of efficiency and economy, opposition from some teachers and parents persisted for many decades. Those opposed to the mixing of children within the schools expressed particular concern about the moral well-being of female pupils, and wished to protect them from what they perceived as corrupting influences. Nevertheless, once decided upon, the policy of universal coeducation prevailed, and when Victoria's first state secondary schools were established in the early 20th century, they too were coeducational.Design/methodology/approachDocumentary evidence, primarily the records of the various boards responsible for the administration of the public schools, evidence provided to several royal commissions, and various contemporary sources, have been examined to discover how the policy of universal coeducation was developed and implemented, and to examine what arguments were offered in favour of and against such a system.FindingsThe colony of Victoria implemented a system of universal coeducation within the public education sector well in advance of its adoption by other Australian colonies, and before it was generally accepted by similar societies elsewhere. The purpose of this paper is to examine why, how and by whom the policy of coeducation was formulated and implemented, and what opposition it faced.Originality/valueAlthough reference is often made to coeducational schooling in histories of education in the 19th century, the information provided is usually of a general nature, without providing specific information about the process by which separate schooling was superseded by coeducation – how and when one type of educational provision came to be replaced by another.

Abstract Background Meta-analyses of randomised controlled trials suggest that psychological interventions to reduce children’s risk of depression are effective. Nevertheless, these effects are modest and diminish over time. The Medical Research Council recommends a mixed-methods approach to the evaluation of complex interventions. By gaining a more thorough understanding of participants’ perspectives, qualitative evaluations of preventive interventions could improve their efficacy, longevity and transfer into clinical practice. Methods 18 parents and 22 children who had received a 12-session family- and group-based cognitive-behavioural intervention to prevent youth depression as part of a randomised controlled trial took part in semi-structured interviews or a focus group about aspects which had been perceived as helpful, elements they were still using after the intervention had ended, and suggestions they had for improving the intervention. Results The chance to openly share and discuss their experiences of depression within and between families was considered helpful by both children and parents. Children benefitted the most from learning coping strategies for dealing with stress and many still used them in everyday life. Parents profited mostly from increasing positive family time, but noted that maintaining new routines after the end of the intervention proved difficult. Participants were generally content with the intervention but commented on how tiring and time consuming it was. Conclusions Managing parents’ expectations of family-based interventions in terms of their own mental health needs (versus those of their children) and leaving more room for open discussions may result in interventions which are more appealing to participating families. Increasing intervals between sessions may be one means of improving the longevity of interventions. Trial registration The original RCT this evaluation is a part of was registered under NCT02115880.

Introduction It is now commonplace for babies to begin their lives inhabiting media environments characterised by the presence, distribution, and mobility of digital devices and screens. Such arrangements can be traced, in part, to the birth of a new regime of mobile and touchscreen media beginning with the release of the iPhone in 2007 and the iPad in 2010, which stimulated a surge in household media consumption, underpinned by broadband and wireless Internet infrastructures. Research into these conditions of ambient mediation at the beginnings of life, however, is currently dominated by medical and educational literature, largely removed from media studies approaches that seek to understand the everyday contexts of babies using media. Putting aside discourses of promise or peril familiar to researchers of children’s media (Buckingham; Postman), this paper draws on ongoing research in both domestic and social media settings exploring infants’ everyday encounters and entanglements with mobile media and communication technologies. The paper identifies the ways infants’ mobile communication is assembled and distributed through touchscreen interfaces, proxy parent users, and commercial software sorting. It argues that within these interfacial, intermediary, and interactive contexts, we can conceptualise infants’ communicative agency through an emerging repertoire of techniques: accidental, assisted and automated. This assemblage of infant communication recognises that children no longer live with but in media (Deuze), which underscores the impossibility of a path of media resistance found in medical discourses of ‘exposure’ and restriction, and instead points to the need for critical and ethical responses to these immanent conditions of infant media life. Background and Approach Infants, understandably, have largely been excluded from analyses of mobile mediality given their historically limited engagement with or capacity to use mobile media. Yet, this situation is undergoing change as mobile devices become increasingly prominent in children’s homes (OfCom; Rideout), and as touchscreen interfaces lower thresholds of usability (Buckleitner; Hourcade et al.). The dominant frameworks within research addressing infants and media continue to resonate with long running and widely circulated debates in the study of children and mass media (Wartella and Robb), responding in contradictory ways to what is seen as an ever-increasing ‘technologization of childhood’ (McPake, Plowman and Stephen). Education research centres on digital literacy, emphasising the potential of mobile computing for these future digital learners, labourers, and citizens (McPake, Plowman and Stephen). Alternatively, health research largely positions mobile media within the rubric of ‘screen time’ inherited from older broadcast models, with paediatric groups continuing to caution parents about the dangers of infants’ ‘exposure’ to electronic screens (Strasburger and Hogan), without differentiating between screen types or activities. In turn, a range of digital media channels seek to propel or profit from infant media culture, with a number of review sites, YouTube channels and tech blogs promoting or surveying the latest gadgets and apps for babies. Within media studies, research is beginning to analyse the practices, conceptions and implications of digital interfaces and content for younger children. Studies are, for example, quantifying the devices, activities, and time spent by young children with mobile devices (Ofcom; Rideout), reviewing the design and marketing of children’s mobile application software products (e.g. Shuler), analysing digital content shared about babies on social media platforms (Kumar & Schoenebeck; Morris), and exploring emerging interactive spaces and technologies shaping young children’s ‘postdigital’ play (Giddings; Jayemanne, Nansen and Apperley). This paper extends this growing area of research by focusing specifically on infants’ early encounters, contexts, and configurations of mobile mediality, offering some preliminary analysis of an emerging repertoire of mobile communication techniques: accidental, assisted, and automated. That is, through infants playing with devices and accidentally activating them; through others such as parents assisting use; and through software features in applications that help to automate interaction. This analysis draws from an ongoing research project exploring young children’s mobile and interactive media use in domestic settings, which is employing ethnographic techniques including household technology tours and interviews, as well as participant observation and demonstrations of infant media interaction. To date 19 families, with 31 children aged between 0 and 5, located in Melbourne, Australia have participated. These participating families are largely homogeneous and privileged; though are a sample of relatively early and heavy adopters that reveal emerging qualities about young children’s changing media environments and encounters. This approach builds on established traditions of media and ethnographic research on technology consumption and use within domestic spaces (e.g. Mackay and Ivey; Silverstone and Hirsch), but turns to the digital media encountered by infants, the geographies and routines of these encounters, and how families mediate these encounters within the contexts of home life. This paper offers some preliminary findings from this research, drawing mostly from discussions with parents about their babies’ use of digital, mobile, and touchscreen media. In this larger project, the domestic and family research is accompanied by the collection of online data focused on the cultural context of, and content shared about, infants’ mobile media use. In this paper I report on social media analysis of publicly shared images tagged with #babyselfie queried from Instagram’s API. I viewed all publicly shared images on Instagram tagged with #babyselfie, and collected the associated captions, comments, hashtags, and metadata, over a period of 48 hours in October 2014, resulting in a dataset of 324 posts. Clearly, using this data for research purposes raises ethical issues about privacy and consent given the posts are being used in an unintended context from which they were originally shared; something that is further complicated by the research focus on young children. These issues, in which the ease of extracting online data using digital methods research (Rogers), needs to be both minimised and balanced against the value of the research aims and outcomes (Highfield and Leaver). To minimise risks, captions and comments cited in this paper have been de-identified; whist the value of this data lies in complementing and contextualising the more ethnographically informed research, despite perceptions of incompatibility, through analysis of the wider cultural and mediated networks in which babies’ digital lives are now shared and represented. This field of cultural production also includes analysis of examples of children’s software products from mobile app stores that support baby image capture and sharing, and in particular in this paper discussion of the My Baby Selfie app from the iTunes App Store and the Baby Selfie app from the Google Play store. The rationale for drawing on these multiple sources of data within the larger project is to locate young children’s digital entanglements within the diverse places, platforms and politics in which they unfold. This research scope is limited by the constraints of this short paper, however different sources of data are drawn upon here in order to identify, compare, and contextualise the emerging themes of accidental, assisted, and automated. Accidental Media Use The domestication and aggregation of mobile media in the home, principally laptops, mobile phones and tablet computers has established polymediated environments in which infants are increasingly surrounded by mobile media; in which they often observe their parents using mobile devices; and in which the flashing of screens unsurprisingly draws their attention. Living within these ambient media environments, then, infants often observe, find and reach for mobile devices: on the iPad or whatever, then what's actually happening in front of them, then naturally they'll gravitate towards it. These media encounters are animated by touchscreens interfaces that are responsive to the gestural actions of infants. Conversely, touchscreen interfaces drive attempts to swipe legacy media screens. Underscoring the nomenclature of ‘natural user interfaces’ within the design and manufacturer communities, screens lighting up through touch prompts interest, interaction, and even habituation through gestural interaction, especially swiping: It's funny because when she was younger she would go up the T.V. and she would try swiping to turn the channel.They can grab it and start playing with it. It just shows that it's so much part of their world … to swipe something. Despite demonstrable capacities of infants to interact with mobile screens, discussions with parents revealed that accidental forms of media engagement were a more regular consequence of these ambient contexts, interfacial affordances and early encounters with mobile media. It was not uncommon for infants to accidentally swipe and activate applications, to temporarily lock the screen, or even to dial contacts: He didn't know the password, and he just kept locking it … find it disabled for 15 minutes.If I've got that on YouTube, they can quite quickly get on to some you know [video] … by pressing … and they don't do it on purpose, they're just pushing random buttons.He does Skype calls! I think he recognizes their image, the icon. Then just taps it and … Similarly, in the analysis of publicly shared images on Instagram tagged with #babyselfie, there were instances in which it appeared infants had accidentally taken photos with the cameraphone based on the image content, photo framing or descriptions in the caption. Many of these photos showed a baby with an arm in view reaching towards the phone in a classic trope of a selfie image; others were poorly framed shots showing parts of baby faces too close to the camera lens suggesting they accidentally took the photograph; whilst most definitive was many instances in which the caption of the image posted by parents directly attributed the photographic production to an infant: Isabella's first #babyselfie She actually pushed the button herself! My little man loves taking selfies lol Whilst, then, the research identified many instances in which infants accidentally engaged in mobile media use, sometimes managing to communicate with an unsuspecting interlocutor, it is important to acknowledge such encounters could not have emerged without the enabling infrastructure of ambient media contexts and touchscreen interfaces, nor observed without studying this infrastructure utilising materially-oriented ethnographic perspectives (Star). Significantly, too, was the intermediary role played by parents. With parents acting as intermediaries in household environments or as proxy users in posting content on their behalf, multiple forms of assisted infant communication were identified. Assisted Media Use Assisted communication emerged from discussions with parents about the ways, routines, and rationale for making mobile media available to their children. These sometimes revolved around keeping their child engaged whilst they were travelling as a family – part of what has been described as the pass-back effect – but were more frequently discussed in terms of sharing and showing digital content, especially family photographs, and in facilitating infant mediated communication with relatives abroad: they love scrolling through my photos on my iPhone …We quite often just have them [on Skype] … have the computers in there while we're having dinner … the laptop will be there, opened up at one end of the table with the family here and there will be my sister having breakfast with her family in Ireland … These forms of parental mediated communication did not, however, simply situate or construct infants as passive recipients of their parents’ desires to make media content available or their efforts to establish communication with extended family members. Instead, the research revealed that infants were often active participants in these processes, pushing for access to devices, digital content, and mediated communication. These distributed relations of agency were expressed through infants verbal requests and gestural urging; through the ways parents initiated use by, for example, unlocking a device, preparing software, or loading an application, but then handed them over to infants to play, explore or communicate; and through wider networks of relations in which others including siblings, acted as proxies or had a say in the kinds of media infants used: she can do it, once I've unlocked … even, even with iView, once I'm on iView she can pick her own show and then go to the channel she wants to go to.We had my son’s birthday and there were some photos, some footage of us singing happy birthday and the little one just wants to watch it over and over again. She thinks it's fantastic watching herself.He [sibling] becomes like a proxy user … with the second one … they don't even need the agency because of their sibling. Similarly, the assisted communication emerging from the analysis of #babyselfie images on Instagram revealed that parents were not simply determining infant media use, but often acting as proxies on their behalf. #Selfie obsessed baby. Seriously though. He won't stop. Insists on pressing the button and everything. He sees my phone and points and says "Pic? Pic?" I've created a monster lol. In sharing this digital content on social networks, parents were acting as intermediaries in the communication of their children’s digital images. Clearly they were determining the platforms and networks where these images were published online, yet the production of these images was more uncertain, with accidental self-portraits taken by infants suggesting they played a key role in the circuits of digital photography distribution (van Dijck). Automated Media Use The production, archiving, circulation and reception of these images speaks to larger assemblages of media in which software protocols and algorithms are increasingly embedded in and help to configure everyday life (e.g. Chun; Gillespie), including young children’s media lives (Ito). Here, software automates process of sorting and shaping information, and in doing so both empowers and governs forms of infant media conduct. The final theme emerging from the research, then, is the identification of automated forms of infant mobile media use enabled through software applications and algorithmic operations. Automated techniques of interaction emerged as part of the repertoire of infant mobile mediality and communication through observations and discussions during the family research, and through surveying commercial software applications. Within family discussions, parents spoke about the ways digital databases and applications facilitated infant exploration and navigation. These included photo galleries stored on mobile devices, as well as children’s Internet television services such as the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s catch-up online TV service, iView, which are visually organised and easily scrollable. In addition, algorithmic functions for sorting, recommending and autoplay on the video-sharing platform YouTube meant that infants were often automatically delivered an ongoing stream of content: They just keep watching it [YouTube]. So it leads on form the other thing. Which is pretty amazing, that's pretty interactive.Yeah, but the kids like, like if they've watched a YouTube clip now, they'll know to look down the next column to see what they want to play next … you get suggestions there so. Forms of automated communication specifically addressing infants was also located in examples of children’s software products from mobile app stores: the My Baby Selfie app from the iTunes App Store and the Baby Selfie app from the Google Play store. These applications are designed to support baby image capture and sharing, promising to “allow your baby to take a photo of him himself [sic]” (Giudicelli), based on automated software features that use sounds and images to capture a babies attention and touch sensors to activate image capture and storage. In one sense, these applications may appear to empower infants to participate in the production of digital content, namely selfies, yet they also clearly distribute this agency with and through mobile media and digital software. Moreover, they imply forms of conduct, expectations and imperatives around the possibilities of infant presence in a participatory digital culture. Immanent Ethic and Critique Digital participation typically assumes a degree of individual agency in deciding what to share, post, or communicate that is not typically available to infants. The emerging communicative practices of infants detailed above suggests that infants are increasingly connecting, however this communicative agency is distributed amongst a network of ambient devices, user-friendly interfaces, proxy users, and software sorting. Such distributions reflect conditions Deuze has noted, that we do not live with but in media. He argues this ubiquity, habituation, and embodiment of media and communication technologies pervade and constitute our lives becoming effectively invisible, negating the possibility of an outside from which resistance can be mounted. Whilst, resistance remains a solution promoted in medical discourses and paediatric advice proposing no ‘screen time’ for children aged below two (Strasburger and Hogan), Deuze’s thesis suggests this is ontologically futile and instead we should strive for a more immanent relation that seeks to modulate choices and actions from within our media life: finding “creative ways to wield the awesome communication power of media both ethically and aesthetically” ("Unseen" 367). An immanent ethics and a critical aesthetics of infant mediated life can be located in examples of cultural production and everyday parental practice addressing the arrangements of infant mobile media and communication discussed above. For example, an article in the Guardian, ‘Toddlers pose a serious risk to smartphones and tablets’ parodies moral panics around children’s exposure to media by noting that media devices are at greater risk of physical damage from children handling them, whilst a design project from the Eindhoven Academy – called New Born Fame – built from soft toys shaped like social media logos, motion and touch sensors that activate image capture (much like babyselfie apps), but with automated social media sharing, critically interrogates the ways infants are increasingly bound-up with the networked and algorithmic regimes of our computational culture. Finally, parents in this research revealed that they carefully considered the ethics of media in their children’s lives by organising everyday media practices that balanced dwelling with new, old, and non media forms, and by curating their digitally mediated interactions and archives with an awareness they were custodians of their children’s digital memories (Garde-Hansen et al.). I suggest these examples work from an immanent ethical and critical position in order to make visible and operate from within the conditions of infant media life. Rather than seeking to deny or avoid the diversity of encounters infants have with and through mobile media in their everyday lives, this analysis has explored the ways infants are increasingly configured as users of mobile media and communication technologies, identifying an emerging repertoire of infant mobile communication techniques. The emerging practices of infant mobile communication outlined here are intertwined with contemporary household media environments, and assembled through accidental, assisted, and automated relations of living with mobile media. Moreover, such entanglements of use are both represented and discursively reconfigured through multiple channels, contexts, and networks of public mediation. Together, these diverse contexts and forms of conduct have implications for both studying and understanding the ways babies are emerging as active participants and interpellated subjects within a continually expanding digital culture. Acknowledgments This research was supported with funding from the Australian Research Council (ARC) Discovery Early Career Researcher Award (DE130100735). I would like to express my appreciation to the children and families involved in this study for their generous contribution of time and experiences. References Buckingham, David. After the Death of Childhood: Growing Up in the Age of Electronic Media. Polity Press: Oxford, 2000. Buckleitner, Warren. “A Taxonomy of Multi-Touch Interaction Styles, by Stage.” Children's Technology Review 18.11 (2011): 10-11. Chun, Wendy. Programmed Visions: Software and Memory. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2011. Deuze, Mark. “Media Life.” Media, Culture and Society 33.1 (2011): 137-148. Deuze, Mark. “The Unseen Disappearance of Invisible Media: A Response to Sebastian Kubitschko and Daniel Knapp.” Media, Culture and Society 34.3 (2012): 365-368. Garde-Hansen, Joanne, Andrew Hoskins and Anna Reading. Save as … Digital Memories. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. Giddings, Seth. Gameworlds: Virtual Media and Children’s Everyday Play. New York: Bloomsbury, 2014. Gillespie, Tarleton. “The Relevance of Algorithms.” Media Technologies: Essays on Communication, Materiality, and Society. Eds. Tarelton Gillespie, Pablo Boczkowski and Kirsten Foot. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2014. Giudicelli, Patrick. "My Baby Selfie." iTunes App Store. Apple Inc., 2015. Highfield, Tim, and Tama Leaver. “A Methodology for Mapping Instagram Hashtags.” First Monday 20.1 (2015). Hourcade, Juan Pablo, Sarah Mascher, David Wu, and Luiza Pantoja. “Look, My Baby Is Using an iPad! An Analysis of Youtube Videos of Infants and Toddlers Using Tablets.” Proceedings of CHI 15. New York: ACM Press, 2015. 1915–1924. Ito, Mizuko. Engineering Play: A Cultural History of Children’s Software. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2009. Jayemanne, Darshana, Bjorn Nansen and Thomas Apperley. “Post-Digital Play and the Aesthetics of Recruitment.” Proceedings of Digital Games Research Association (DiGRA) 2015. Lüneburg, 14-17 May 2015. Kumar, Priya, and Sarita Schoenebeck. “The Modern Day Baby Book: Enacting Good Mothering and Stewarding Privacy on Facebook.” Proceedings of CSCW 2015. Vancouver, 14-18 March 2015. Mackay, Hugh, and Darren Ivey. Modern Media in the Home: An Ethnographic Study. Rome: John Libbey, 2004. Morris, Meredith. “Social Networking Site Use by Mothers of Young Children.” Proceedings of CSCW 2014. 1272-1282. OfCom. Children and Parents: Media Use and Attitudes Report. London: OfCom, 2013. McPake, Joanna, Lydia Plowman and Christine Stephen. "The Technologisation of Childhood? Young Children and Technology in The Home.” Children and Society 24.1 (2010): 63–74. Postman, Neil. Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology. New York: Vintage, 1993. Rideout, Victoria. Zero to Eight: Children’s Media Use in America 2013. Common Sense Media, 2013. Rogers, Richard. Digital Methods. Boston. MIT Press, 2013. Silverstone, Roger, and Eric Hirsch (eds). Consuming Technologies: Media and Information in Domestic Spaces. London: Routledge, 1992. Shuler, Carly. iLearn: A Content Analysis of the iTunes App Store’s Education Section. New York: The Joan Ganz Cooney Center at Sesame Workshop, 2009. Star, Susan Leigh. “The Ethnography of Infrastructure.” American Behavioral Scientist 43.3 (1999): 377–391. Strasburger, Victor, and Marjorie Hogan. “Policy Statement from the American Academy of Pediatrics: Children, Adolescents, and the Media.” Pediatrics 132 (2013): 958-961. Van Dijck, José. “Digital Photography: Digital Photography: Communication, Identity, Memory.” Visual Communication 7.1 (2008): 57-76. Wartella, Ellen, and Michael Robb. “Historical and Recurring Concerns about Children’s Use of the Mass Media.” The Handbook of Children, Media, and Development. Eds. Sandra Calvert and Barbara Wilson. Malden: Blackwell, 2008.

Abstract STUDY QUESTION Are children conceived by ART or born to subfertile parents more susceptible to upper or lower respiratory tract infections (URTI, LRTI)? SUMMARY ANSWER ART-conceived children had a higher frequency of and risk of hospitalization for respiratory infections up to age 3, which was only partly explained by parental subfertility. WHAT IS KNOWN ALREADY Some studies report increased risks of infections in children conceived by ART. Results for URTIs and LRTIs are inconclusive, and the contribution of underlying parental subfertility remains unclear. STUDY DESIGN, SIZE, DURATION We included 84 102 singletons of the Norwegian Mother, Father and Child Cohort Study (MoBa) born between 1999 and 2009. Mothers reported time-to-pregnancy at recruitment and child history of, frequency of and hospitalization for, respiratory infections when the child was 6, 18 and 36 months old by questionnaires. Subfertility was defined as having taken 12 or more months to conceive. The Medical Birth Registry of Norway (MBRN) provided information on ART. URTI included throat and ear infections, while LRTI included bronchitis, bronchiolitis, respiratory syncytial virus and pneumonia. PARTICIPANTS/MATERIALS, SETTING, METHODS We used log-binomial regression to estimate risk ratios (RR) and 95% CI of any respiratory tract infection and hospitalization, and negative-binomial regression to calculate incidence rate ratios (IRR) and 95% CI for number of infections. We compared children conceived by ART, and naturally conceived children of subfertile parents, to children of fertile parents (&lt;12 months to conceive) while adjusting for maternal age, education, BMI and smoking during pregnancy and previous livebirths. We accounted for dependency between children born to the same mother. MAIN RESULTS AND THE ROLE OF CHANCE A total of 7334 (8.7%) singletons were naturally conceived by subfertile parents and 1901 (2.3%) were conceived by ART. Between age 0 and 36 months, 41 609 (49.5%) of children experienced any URTI, 15 542 (18.5%) any LRTI and 4134 (4.9%) were hospitalized due to LRTI. Up to age 3, children conceived by ART had higher frequencies of URTI (adjusted IRR (aIRR) 1.16; 95% CI 1.05–1.28) and hospitalizations due to LRTI (adjusted RR (aRR) 1.25; 95% CI 1.02–1.53), which was not seen for children of subfertile parents. Children conceived by ART were not at higher risks of respiratory infections up to age 18 months; only at age 19–36 months, they had increased risk of any LRTI (aRR 1.16; 95% CI 1.01–1.33), increased frequency of LRTIs (IRR 1.22; 95% CI 1.02–1.47) and a higher risk of hospitalization for LRTI (aRR 1.35; 95% CI 1.01–1.80). They also had an increased frequency of URTIs (aIRR; 1.19; 95% CI 1.07–1.33). Children of subfertile parents only had a higher risk of LRTIs (aRR 1.09; 95% CI 1.01–1.17) at age 19–36 months. LIMITATIONS, REASONS FOR CAUTION Self-reported time-to-pregnancy and respiratory tract infections by parents could lead to misclassification. Both the initial participation rate and loss to follow up in the MoBa limits generalizability to the general Norwegian population. WIDER IMPLICATIONS OF THE FINDINGS ART-conceived children might be more susceptible to respiratory tract infections in early childhood. This appears to be only partly explained by underlying parental subfertility. Exactly what aspects related to the ART procedure might be reflected in these associations need to be further investigated. STUDY FUNDING/COMPETING INTEREST(S) Funding was received from the Swiss National Science Foundation (P2BEP3_191798), the Research Council of Norway (no. 262700), and the European Research Council (no. 947684). All authors declare no conflict of interest. TRIAL REGISTRATION NUMBER N/A.

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

Frank Young was born in the London Borough of Clerkenwell at 2 Bond Street, Holford Square, an area of fine Georgian Houses destroyed in the 1939-45 war. His parents were Frank Edgar Young and Jessie Eleanor Young (formerly Pinkney). His father was a solicitor’s clerk and a fastidious and somewhat severe man. Frank had a younger brother Eric, born in 1912, and a sister Margaret, born in 1925. Eric was educated at Jesus College, Oxford, made a career in the Diplomatic Service and as a recreation studied and published on art and history becoming an authority on Spanish painting. In 1912 the family moved to Dulwich where Frank and Eric were educated at Alleyn’s School. As a schoolboy Frank became interested in chemistry through reading about the subject in the Encyclopaedia Brittanica . He comments that at this stage his interest owed more to fascination than to understanding. He extended his knowledge by reading the standard Victorian textbooks, given to him by neighbours who had been school science teachers. He also became interested in archaeology and Egyptology through articles in the encyclopedia and elsewhere; and later through a friend in Dulwich (Gerald Lankester Harding) who had been appointed to assist Flinders Petrie in his archaeological researches in Egypt. Frank was to retain this interest as an undergraduate at University College because Flinders Petrie and Lankester Harding were based there when in England.

Stand-up is a global phenomenon. It is Australia’s most significant form of advocatorial theatre and a major platform for challenging stigma and prejudice. In the twenty-first century, Australian stand-up is transforming into a more culturally diverse form and extending the spectrum of material addressing human rights. Since the 1980s Australian stand-up routines have moved beyond the old colonial targets of England and America, and Indigenous comics such as Kevin Kopinyeri, Andy Saunders, and Shiralee Hood have gained an established following. Additionally, the turn to Asia is evident not just in trade agreements and the higher education market but also in cultural exchange and in the billing of emerging Asian stand-ups at mainstream events. The major cultural driver for stand-up is the Melbourne International Comedy Festival (MICF), Australia’s largest cultural event, now over 30 years old, and an important site for dissecting constructs of democracy and nationhood. As John McCallum has observed, popular humour in post-World War II Australia drew on widespread feelings of “displacement, migration and otherness—resonant topics in a country of transplanted people and a dispossessed indigenous population arguing over a distinct Australian identity” (205–06). This essay considers the traditional comic strategies of first and second generation immigrant stand-ups in Australia and compares them with the new wave of post 9/11 Asian-Australian and Middle-Eastern-Australian stand-ups whose personas and interrogations are shifting the paradigm. Self-identifying Muslim stand-ups challenge myths of dominant Australian identity in ways which many still find confronting. Furthermore, the theories of incongruity, superiority, and psychological release re-rehearsed in traditional humour studies, by figures such as Palmer (1994) and Morreall (2009), are predicated on models of humour which do not always serve live performance, especially stand-up with its relational dependence on audience interaction.Stand-ups who immigrated to Australia as children or whose parents immigrated and struggled against adversity are important symbols both of the Australian comedy industry and of a national self-understanding of migrant resilience and making good. Szubanski and Berger hail from earlier waves of European migrants in the 1950s and 1960s. Szubanski has written eloquently of her complex Irish-Polish heritage and documented how the “hand-me-down trinkets of family and trauma” and “the culture clash of competing responses to calamity” have been integral to the development of her comic success and the making of her Aussie characters (347). Rachel Berger, the child of Polish holocaust survivors, advertises and connects both identities on her LinkedIn page: “After 23 years as a stand-up comedian, growing up with Jewish guilt and refugee parents, Rachel Berger knows more about survival than any idiot attending tribal council on reality TV.”Anh Do, among Australia’s most famous immigrant stand-ups, identifies as one of the Vietnamese “boat people” and arrived as a toddler in 1976. Do’s tale of his family’s survival against the odds and his creation of a persona which constructs the grateful, happy immigrant clown is the staple of his very successful routine and increasingly problematic. It is a testament to the power of Do’s stand-up that many did not perceive the toll of the loss of his birth country; the grinding poverty; and the pain of his father’s alcoholism, violence, and survivor guilt until the publication of Do’s ironically titled memoir The Happiest Refugee. In fact, the memoir draws on many of the trauma narratives that are still part of his set. One of Do’s most legendary routines is the story of his family’s sea journey to Australia, told here on ABC1’s Talking Heads:There were forty of us on a nine metre fishing boat. On day four of the journey we spot another boat. As the boat gets closer we realise it’s a boatload of Thai pirates. Seven men with knives, machetes and guns get on our boat and they take everything. One of the pirates picks up the smallest child, he lifts up the baby and rips open the baby’s nappy and dollars fall out. And the pirate decides to spare the kid’s life. And that’s a good thing cos that’s my little brother Khoa Do who in 2005 became Young Australian of the Year. And we were saved on the fifth day by a big German merchant ship which took us to a refugee camp in Malaysia and we were there for around three months before Australia says, come to Australia. And we’re very glad that happened. So often we heard Mum and Dad say—what a great country. How good is this place? And the other thing—kids, as you grow up, do as much as you can to give back to this great country and to give back to others less fortunate.Do’s strategy is apparently one of genuflection and gratitude, an adoption of what McCallum refers to as an Australian post-war tradition of the comedy of inadequacy and embarrassment (210–14). Journalists certainly like to bill Do as the happy clown, framing articles about him with headlines like Rosemary Neill’s “Laughing through Adversity.” In fact, Do is direct about his gallows humour and his propensity to darkness: his humour, he says, is a means of countering racism, of “being able to win people over who might have been averse to being friends with an Asian bloke,” but Neill does not linger on this, nor on the revelation that Do felt stigmatised by his refugee origins and terrified and shamed by the crippling poverty of his childhood in Australia. In The Happiest Refugee, Do reveals that, for him, the credibility of his routines with predominantly white Australian audiences lies in the crafting of himself as an “Aussie comedian up there talking about his working-class childhood” (182). This is not the official narrative that is retold even if it is how Do has endeared himself to Australians, and ridding himself of the happy refugee label may yet prove difficult. Suren Jayemanne is well known for his subtle mockery of multiculturalist rhetoric. In his 2016 MICF show, Wu-Tang Clan Name Generator, Jayemanne played on the supposed contradiction of his Sri Lankan-Malaysian heritage against his teenage years in the wealthy suburb of Malvern in Melbourne, his private schooling, and his obsession with hip hop and black American culture. Jayemanne’s strategy is to gently confound his audiences, leading them slowly up a blind alley. He builds up a picture of how to identify Sri Lankan parents, supposedly Sri Lankan qualities such as an exceptional ability at maths, and Sri Lankan employment ambitions which he argues he fulfilled in becoming an accountant. He then undercuts his story by saying he has recently realised that his suburban background, his numerical abilities, his love of black music, and his rejection of accountancy in favour of comedy, in fact prove conclusively that he has, all along, been white. He also confesses that this is a bruising disappointment. Jayemanne exposes the emptiness of the conceits of white, brown, and black and of invented identity markers and plays on his audiences’ preconceptions through an old storyteller’s device, the shaggy dog story. The different constituencies in his audiences enjoy his trick equally, from quite different perspectives.Diana Nguyen, a second generation Vietnamese stand-up, was both traumatised and politicised by Pauline Hanson when she was a teenager. Hanson described Nguyen’s community in Dandenong as “yellow Asian people” (Filmer). Nguyen’s career as a community development worker combating racism relates directly to her activity as a stand-up: migrant stories are integral to Australian history and Nguyen hypothesises that the “Australian psyche of being invaded or taken over” has reignited over the question of Islamic fundamentalism and expresses her concern to Filmer about the Muslim youths under her care.Nguyen’s alarm about the elision of Islamic radicalism with Muslim culture drives an agenda that has led the new generation of self-identified Muslim stand-ups since 9/11. This post 9/11 world is described by Wajahat as gorged with “exaggerated fear, hatred, and hostility toward Islam and Muslim [. . . ] and perpetuated by negative discrimination and the marginalisation and exclusion of Muslims from social, political, and civic life in western societies.” In Australia, Aamer Rahman, Muhamed Elleissi, Khaled Khalafalla, and Nazeem Hussain typify this newer, more assertive form of second generation immigrant stand-up—they identify as Muslim (whether religious or not), as brown, and as Australian. They might be said to symbolise a logical response to Ghassan Hage’s famous White Nation (1998), which argues that a white supremacism underlies the mindset of the white elite in Australia. Their positioning is more nuanced than previous generations of stand-up. Nazeem Hussain’s routines mark a transformation in Australian stand-up, as Waleed Aly has argued: “ethnic comedy” has hitherto been about the parading of stereotypes for comfortable, mainstream consumption, about “minstrel characters” [. . .] but Hussain interrogates his audiences in every direction—and aggravates Muslims too. Hussain’s is the world of post 9/11 Australian Muslims. It’s about more than ethnic stereotyping. It’s about being a consistent target of political opportunism, where everyone from the Prime Minister to the Foreign Minister to an otherwise washed-up backbencher with a view on burqas has you in their sights, where bombs detonate in Western capitals and unrelated nations are invaded.Understandably, a prevalent theme among the new wave of Muslim comics, and not just in Australia, is the focus on the reading of Muslims as manifestly linked with Islamic State (IS). Jokes about mistaken identity, plane crashes, suicide bombing, and the Koran feature prominently. English-Pakistani Muslim, Shazia Mirza, gained comedy notoriety in the UK in the wake of 9/11 by introducing her routine with the words: “My name’s Shazia Mirza. At least that’s what it says on my pilot’s licence” (Bedell). Stand-ups Negin Farsad, Ahmed Ahmed, and Dean Obeidalla are all also activists challenging prevailing myths about Islam, skin colour and terrorism in America. Egyptian-American Ahmed Ahmed acquired prominence for telling audiences in the infamous Axis of Evil Comedy Tour about how his life had changed much for the worse since 9/11. Ahmed Ahmed was the alias used by one of Osama Bin Laden’s devotees and his life became on ongoing struggle with anti-terrorism officials doing security checks (he was once incarcerated) and with the FBI who were certain that the comedian was among their most wanted terrorists. Similarly, Obeidalla, an Italian-Palestinian-Muslim, notes in his TEDx talk that “If you have a Muslim name, you are probably immune to identity theft.” His narration of a very sudden experience of becoming an object of persecution and of others’ paranoia is symptomatic of a shared understanding of a post 9/11 world among many Muslim comics: “On September 10th 2001 I went to bed as a white American and I woke up an Arab,” says Obeidalla, still dazed from the seismic shift in his life.Hussain and Khalafalla demonstrate a new sophistication and directness in their stand-up, and tackle their majority white audiences head-on. There is no hint of the apologetic or deferential stance performed by Anh Do. Many of the jokes in their routines target controversial or taboo issues, which up until recently were shunned in Australian political debate, or are absent or misrepresented in mainstream media. An Egyptian-Australian born in Saudi Arabia, Khaled Khalafalla arrived on the comedy scene in 2011, was runner-up in RAW, Australia’s most prestigious open mic competition, and in 2013 won the best of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival for Devious. Khalafalla’s shows focus on racist stereotypes and identity and he uses a range of Middle Eastern and Indian accents to broach IS recruitment, Muslim cousin marriages, and plane crashes. His 2016 MICF show, Jerk, was a confident and abrasive routine exploring relationships, drug use, the extreme racism of Reclaim Australia rallies, controversial visa checks by Border Force’s Operation Fortitude, and Islamophobia. Within the first minute of his routine, he criticises white people in the audience for their woeful refusal to master Middle Eastern names, calling out to the “brown woman” in the audience for support, before lining up a series of jokes about the (mis)pronunciation of his name. Khalafalla derives his power on stage by what Oliver Double calls “uncovering.” Double contends that “one of the most subversive things stand-up can do is to uncover the unmentionable,” subjects which are difficult or impossible to discuss in everyday conversation or the broadcast media (292). For instance, in Jerk Khalafalla discusses the “whole hating halal movement” in Australia as a metaphor for exposing brutal prejudice: Let me break it down for you. Halal is not voodoo. It’s just a blessing that Muslims do for some things, food amongst other things. But, it’s also a magical spell that turns some people into fuckwits when they see it. Sometimes people think it’s a thing that can get stuck to your t-shirt . . . like ‘Oh fuck, I got halal on me’ [Australian accent]. I saw a guy the other day and he was like Fuck halal, it funds terrorism. And I was like, let me show you the true meaning of Islam. I took a lamb chop out of my pocket and threw it in his face. And, he was like Ah, what was that? A lamb chop. Oh, I fucking love lamb chops. And, I say you fool, it’s halal and he burst into flames.In effect, Khalafalla delivers a contemptuous attack on the white members of his audience, but at the same time his joke relies on those same audience members presuming that they are morally and intellectually superior to the individual who is the butt of the joke. Khalafalla’s considerable charm is a help in this tricky send-up. In 2015 the Australian Department of Defence recognised his symbolic power and invited him to join the Afghanistan Task Force to entertain the troops by providing what Doran describes as “home-grown Australian laughs” (7). On stage in Australia, Khalafalla constructs a persona which is an outsider to the dominant majority and challenges the persecution of Muslim communities. Ironically, on the NATO base, Khalafalla’s act was perceived as representing a diverse but united Australia. McCallum has pointed to such contradictions, moments where white Australia has shown itself to be a “culture which at first authenticates emigrant experience and later abrogates it in times of defiant nationalism” (207). Nazeem Hussain, born in Australia to Sri Lankan parents, is even more confrontational. His stand-up is born of his belief that “comedy protects us from the world around us” and is “an evolutionary defence mechanism” (8–9). His ground-breaking comedy career is embedded in his work as an anti-racism activist and asylum seeker supporter and shaped by his second-generation migrant experiences, law studies, community youth work, and early mentorship by American Muslim comic trio Allah Made Me Funny. He is well-known for his pioneering television successes Legally Brown and Salam Café. In his stand-up, Hussain often dwells witheringly on the failings and peculiarities of white people’s attempts to interact with him. Like all his routines, his sell-out show Fear of the Brown Planet, performed with Aamer Rahman from 2004–2008, explored casual, pathologised racism. Hussain deliberately over-uses the term “white people” in his routines as a provocation and deploys a reverse racism against his majority white audiences, knowing that many will be squirming. “White people ask me how can Muslims have fun if they don’t drink? Muslims have fun! Of course we have fun! You’ve seen us on the news.” For Hussain stand-up is “fundamentally an art of protest,” to be used as “a tool by communities and people with ideas that challenge and provoke the status quo with a spirit of counterculture” (Low 1–3). His larger project is to humanise Muslims to white Australians so that “they see us firstly as human beings” (1–3). Hussain’s 2016 MICF show, Hussain in the Membrane, both satirised media hype and hysterical racism and pushed for a better understanding of the complex problems Muslim communities face in Australia. His show also connected issues to older colonial traditions of racism. In a memorable and beautifully crafted tirade, Hussain inveighed against the 2015 Bendigo riots which occurred after local Muslims lodged an application to Bendigo council to build a mosque in the sleepy Victorian town. [YELLING in an exaggerated Australian accent] No we don’t want Muslims! NO we don’t want Muslims—to come invade Bendigo by application to the local council! That is the most bureaucratic invasion of all times. No place in history has been invaded by lodging an application to a local council. Can you see ISIS running around chasing town planners? Of course not, Muslims like to wait 6–8 months to invade! That’s a polite way to invade. What if white people invaded that way? What a better world we’d be living in. If white people invaded Australia that way, we’d be able to celebrate Australia Day on the same day without so much blood on our hands. What if Captain Cook came to Australia and said [in a British accent] Awe we would like to apply to invade this great land and here is our application. [In an Australian accent] Awe sorry, mate, rejected, but we’ll give you Bendigo.As Waleed Aly sees it, the Australian cultural majority is still “unused to hearing minorities speak with such assertiveness.” Hussain exposes “a binary world where there’s whiteness, and then otherness. Where white people are individuals and non-white people (a singular group) are not” (Aly). Hussain certainly speaks as an insider and goes so far as recognising his coloniser’s guilt in relation to indigenous Australians (Tan). Aly well remembers the hate mail he and Hussain received when they worked on Salam Café: “The message was clear. We were outsiders and should behave as such. We were not real Australians. We should know our place, as supplicants, celebrating the nation’s unblemished virtue.” Khalafalla, Rahman, Elleissi, and Hussain make clear that the new wave of comics identify as Muslim and Australian (which they would argue many in the audiences receive as a provocation). They have zero tolerance of racism, their comedy is intimately connected with their political activism, and they have an unapologetically Australian identity. No longer is it a question of whether the white cultural majority in Australia will anoint them as worthy and acceptable citizens, it is a question of whether the audiences can rise to the moral standards of the stand-ups. The power has been switched. For Hussain laughter is about connection: “that person laughs because they appreciate the point and whether or not they accept what was said was valid isn’t important. What matters is, they’ve understood” (Low 5). ReferencesAhmed, Ahmed. “When It Comes to Laughter, We Are All Alike.” TedXDoha (2010). 16 June 2016 <http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/TEDxDoha-Ahmed-Ahmed-When-it-Co>.Aly, Waleed. “Comment.” Sydney Morning Herald 24 Sep. 2013."Anh Do". Talking Heads with Peter Thompson. ABC1. 4 Oct. 2010. Radio.Bedell, Geraldine. “Veiled Humour.” The Guardian (2003). 8 Aug. 2016 <https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2003/apr/20/comedy.artsfeatures?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other>.Berger, Rachel. LinkedIn [Profile page]. 14 June 2016 <http://www.linkedin.com/company/rachel-berger>.Do, Anh. The Happiest Refugee. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010. Doran, Mark. "Service with a Smile: Entertainers Give Troops a Taste of Home.” Air Force 57.21 (2015). 12 June 2016 <http://www.defence.gov.au/Publications/NewsPapers/Raaf/editions/5721/5721.pdf>.Double, Oliver. Getting the Joke: The Inner Workings of Stand-Up Comedy. 2nd ed. London: Bloomsbury, 2014.Filmer, Natalie. "For Dandenong Comedian and Actress Diana Nguyen The Colour Yellow has a Strong Meaning.” The Herald Sun 3 Sep. 2013.Hage, Ghassan. White Nation: Fantasies of a White Supremacy in a Multicultural Age. Sydney: Pluto Press, 1998.Hussain, Nazeem. Hussain in the Membrane. Melbourne International Comedy Festival, 2016.———. "The Funny Side of 30.” Spectrum. The Age 12 Mar. 2016.Khalafalla, Khaled. Jerk. Melbourne International Comedy Festival, 2016.Low, Lian. "Fear of a Brown Planet: Fight the Power with Laughter.” Peril: Asian Australian Arts and Culture (2011). 12 June 2016 <http://peril.com.au/back-editions/edition10/fear-of-a-brown-planet-fight-the-power-with-laughter>. McCallum, John. "Cringe and Strut: Comedy and National Identity in Post-War Australia.” Because I Tell a Joke or Two: Comedy, Politics and Social Difference. Ed. Stephen Wagg. New York: Routledge, 1998. Morreall, John. Comic Relief. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009.Neill, Rosemary. "Laughing through Adversity.” The Australian 28 Aug. 2010.Obeidalla, Dean. "Using Stand-Up to Counter Islamophobia.” TedXEast (2012). 16 June 2016 <http://tedxtalks.ted.com/video/TEDxEast-Dean-Obeidalla-Using-S;TEDxEast>.Palmer, Jerry. Taking Humour Seriously. London: Routledge, 1994. Szubanski, Magda. Reckoning. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2015. Tan, Monica. "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Allahu Akbar! Nazeem Hussain's Bogan-Muslim Army.” The Guardian 29 Feb. 2016. "Uncle Sam.” Salam Café (2008). 11 June 2016 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeQPAJt6caU>.Wajahat, Ali, et al. "Fear Inc.: The Roots of the Islamophobia Network in America.” Center for American Progress (2011). 11 June 2016 <https://www.americanprogress.org/issues/religion/report/2011/08/26/10165/fear-inc>.

Greetings Everyone, It has been a surprisingly rainy summer here in Edmonton and while gardens may be water-logged, many of us have taken the extra time indoors to read—I know I have. The news for this issue includes a few events and highlights some resources for teachers and parents making plans for the fall. Upcoming Events Thin Air: The Winnipeg International Writers Festival will be held September 22-30, 2019. The festival includes a school program to highlight writing for children. For more information see the website at https://thinairwinnipeg.ca/ Kingston Writers Fest runs Sep 25-29, 2019. The program includes Youth Programming. See the website for details at: https://www.kingstonwritersfest.ca/kids-teens/festival-field-trips/ The Festival of Literary Diversity (FOLD) Kids Book Fest will be held in Brampton, Ontario on Sep 27-29, 2019. Information is available on the festival website: http://thefoldcanada.org/kids/ Canadian Children’s Book Centre to start a YouTube Channel According to the CCBC Website: “Plans are underway for a YouTube channel to showcase videos and links to resources about Canadian books for children and youth. Currently the CCBC is collecting videos for the channel. If you have ready-made videos that relate to Canadian children’s books you can email janis@bookcentre.ca with a title, video length and video description and she’ll include it in her database of prospective videos. The project is being funded by the Canadian Council for the Arts with an anticipated launch in 2020. Book Banks for Teachers and Parents With the new school year underway, I thought it would be worthwhile to highlight a couple book banks offered by the CCBC. The History Book Bank highlights children’s books by subject, and is broken down by centuries. The Social Justice Book Bank enables searching titles by wide variety of categories that include Indigenous, me too, diaspora and immigration, physical handicaps, mental health, etc. Both these book banks offer great ideas for reading based on subject matter. Some readers may enjoy this interesting article in The New Yorker about Margaret and Hans Rey, the creators of the Curious George series. To conclude, this issue of Deakin will be my last issue as the Communications Editor. For the past several years it has been a pleasure to serve on the editorial team of this journal. I have learned a great deal and I believe this journal provides great information about current children’s books and literature within the Canadian context. I wanted to thank our managing editor Robert Desmarais for his guidance and patience over the past few years. I also want to thank all the other editors on our team: Kim, Debbie, Allison, and Janice, and our reviewers and readers. I look forward to submitting book reviews in the future as my time permits. Best wishes, Hanne

PurposeThrough discussion of research about the leadership of two schools, this paper explores the complexity of school leadership and how various contextual elements interact with the work of principals in schools that are attempting to create inclusive, rich, worthwhile and unique schools. A systems thinking leadership and context model is developed to frame the exploration of the two cases, which, in turn, helps inform the veracity and development of the model.Design/methodology/approachThe research reported is broadly based on multiple-perspective case studies that have included individual and/or group interviews with school leaders, teachers, students, parents and/or school council members, observation and document analysis. The focus for this paper is on evidence from the cases that elucidate the model.FindingsA leadership and context view of schools helps to understand how school leaders work with, within and influence various contextual factors to develop schools that are both successful and unique. The cases demonstrated how individual leadership factors including career histories, personalities and values coalesced with school and broader community factors in reciprocal ways that resulted in school-specific improvements.Research limitations/implicationsThe research is limited by the nature of bounded, small number, qualitative case research. Nevertheless, the authors suggest that the school leadership and context systems model the authors presented captures much of the complexity of the successful leadership of these schools. The authors further suggest that this model provides a conceptual contribution to the study of successful school leadership that moves beyond more linear leadership views. Implications of this research and the conceptual contributions that the authors advance are that leadership and context should be considered in reciprocal and nuanced ways across a complex variety of contextual levels.Practical implicationsThese cases explore the growth and development of new school communities and capture the dynamic interactions between leadership and context within the complex arrangements of policy, system, history and community. The cases demonstrated how individual leadership factors, including career histories, personalities and values, coalesced with school and broader community factors in reciprocal ways that resulted in school-specific improvements. These findings and the system thinking leadership model help school leaders to consider their own work in developing successful and unique schools.Social implicationsSchool leadership is important for school success, and schools that meet student and community needs are important for society. The authors’ system thinking leadership model helps school leaders improve their practice in creating more interesting and successful schools that meet student and community needs.Originality/valueAt a time when international sharing of information and international testing of schools is pushing towards a uniformity of thinking about what good schools should be, the reality of leading schools is far different. This paper contributes to the knowledge about how school leaders navigate contextual complexities to create successful and unique schools that meet local needs.

The ideas put forth here do not fit perfectly or entirely into the genre and form of what has established itself as the scholarly journal article. What is put forth, instead, is a juxtaposition of lines of thinking about the scholarly and popular in publishing, past, present and future. As such it may indeed be quite appropriate to the occasion and the questions raised in the call for papers for this special issue of M/C Journal. The ideas put forth here are intended as pieces of an ever-changing puzzle of the making public of scholarship, which, I hope, may in some way fit with both the work of others in this special issue and in the discourse more broadly. The first line of thinking presented takes the form of an historical overview of publishing as context to consider a second line of thinking about the current status and future of publishing. The historical context serves as reminder (and cause for celebration) that publishing has not yet perished, contrary to continued doomsday sooth-saying that has come with each new medium since the advent of print. Instead, publishing has continued to transform and it is precisely the transformation of print, print culture and reading publics that are the focus of this article, in particular, in relation to the question of the boundaries between the scholarly and the popular. What follows is a juxtaposition that is part of an investigation in progress. Presented first, therefore, is a mapping of shifts in print culture from the time of Gutenberg to the twentieth century; second, is a contemporary snapshot of the editorial mandates of more than one hundred member journals of the Canadian Association of Learned Journals (CALJ). What such juxtaposition is able to reveal is open to interpretation, of course. And indeed, as I proceed in my investigation of publishing past, present and future, my interpretations are many. The juxtaposition raises a number of issues: of communities of readers and the cultures of reading publics; of privileged and marginalised texts (as well as their authors and their readers); of access and reach (whether in terms of what is quantifiable or in a much more subtle but equally important sense). In Canada, at present, these issues are also intertwined with changes to research funding policies and some attention is given at the end of this article to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) of Canada and its recent/current shift in funding policy. Curiously, current shifts in funding policies, considered alongside an historical overview of publishing, would suggest that although publishing continues to transform, at the same time, as they say, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Republics of Letters and Ghosts in Machines Republics of Letters that formed after the advent of the printing press can be conjured up as distant and almost mythical communities of elite literates, ghosts almost lost in a Gutenberg galaxy that today encompasses (and is embodied in) schools, bookshelves, and digital archives in many places across the globe. Conjuring up ghosts of histories past seems always to reveal ironies, and indeed some of the most interesting ironies of the Gutenberg galaxy involve McLuhanesque reversals or, if not full reversals, then in the least some notably sharp turns. There is a need to define some boundaries (and terms) in the framing of the tracing that follows. Given that the time frame in question spans more than five hundred years (from the advent of Gutenberg’s printing press in the fifteenth century to the turn of the 21st century), the tracing must necessarily be done in broad strokes. With regard to what is meant by the “making public of scholarship” in this paper, by “making public” I refer to accounts historians have given in their attempts to reconstruct a history of what was published either in the periodical press or in books. With regard to scholarship (and the making public of it), as with many things in the history of publishing (or any history), this means different things in different times and in different places. The changing meanings of what can be termed “scholarship” and where and how it historically has been made public are the cornerstones on which this article (and a history of the making public of scholarship) turn. The structure of this paper is loosely chronological and is limited to the print cultures and reading publics in France, Britain, and what would eventually be called the US and Canada, and what follows here is an overview of changes in how scholarly and popular texts and publics are variously defined over the course of history. The Construction of Reading Publics and Print Culture In any consideration of “print culture” and reading publics, historical or contemporary, there are two guiding principles that historians suggest should be kept in mind, and, though these may seem self-evident, they are worth stating explicitly (perhaps precisely because they seem self-evident). The first is a reminder from Adrian Johns that “the very identity of print itself has had to be made” (2 italics in original). Just as the identity of print cultures are made, similarly, a history of reading publics and their identities are made, by looking to and interpreting such variables as numbers and genres of titles published and circulated, dates and locations of collections, and information on readers’ experiences of texts. Elizabeth Eisenstein offers a reminder of the “widely varying circumstances” (92) of the print revolution and an explicit acknowledgement of such circumstances provides the second, seemingly self-evident guiding principle: that the construction of reading publics and print culture must not only be understood as constructed, but also that such constructions ought not be understood as uniform. The purpose of the reconstructions of print cultures and reading publics presented here, therefore, is not to arrive at final conclusions, but rather to identify patterns that prove useful in better understanding the current status (and possible future) of publishing. The Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries—Boom, then Busted by State and Church In search of what could be termed “scholarship” following the mid-fifteenth century boom of the early days of print, given the ecclesiastical and state censorship in Britain and France and the popularity of religious texts of the 15th and 16th centuries, arguably the closest to “scholarship” that we can come is through the influence of the Italian Renaissance and the revival and translation (into Latin, and to a far lesser extent, vernacular languages) of the classics and indeed the influence of the Italian Renaissance on the “print revolution” is widely recognised by historians. Historians also recognise, however, that it was not long until “the supply of unpublished texts dried up…[yet for authors] to sell the fruits of their intellect—was not yet common practice before the late 16th century” (Febvre and Martin 160). Although this reference is to the book trade in France, in Britain, and in the regions to become the US and Canada, reading of “pious texts” was similarly predominant in the early days of print. Yet, the humanist shift throughout the 16th century is evidenced by titles produced in Paris in the first century of print: in 1501, in a total of 88 works, 53 can be categorised as religious, with 25 categorised as Latin, Greek, or Humanist authors; as compared to titles produced in 1549, in a total of 332 titles, 56 can be categorised as religious with 204 categorised as Latin, Greek, or Humanist authors (Febvre and Martin 264). The Seventeenth Century—Changes in the Political and Print Landscape In the 17th century, printers discovered that their chances of profitability (and survival) could be improved by targeting and developing a popular readership through the periodical press (its very periodicity and relative low cost both contributed to its accessibility by popular publics) in Europe as well as in North America. It is worthwhile to note, however, that “to the end of the seventeenth century, both literacy and leisure were virtually confined to scholars and ‘gentlemen’” (Steinberg 119) particularly where books were concerned and although literacy rates were still low, through the “exceptionally literate villager” there formed “hearing publics” who would have printed texts read to them (Eisenstein 93). For the literate members of the public interested not only in improving their social positions through learning, but also with intellectual (or spiritual or existential) curiosity piqued by forbidden books, it is not surprising that Descartes “wrote in French to a ‘lay audience … open to new ideas’” (Jacob 41). The 17th century also saw the publication of the first scholarly journals. There is a tension that becomes evident in the seventeenth century that can be seen as a tension characteristic of print culture, past and present: on the one hand, the housing of scholarship in scholarly journals as a genre distinct from the genre of the popular periodicals can be interpreted as a continued pattern of (elitist) divide in publics (as seen earlier between the oral and the written word, between Latin and the vernacular, between classic texts and popular texts); while, on the other hand, some thinkers/scholars of the day had an interest in reaching a wider audience, as printers always had, which led to the construction and fragmentation of audiences (whether the printer’s market for his goods or the scholar’s marketplace of ideas). The Eighteenth Century—Republics of Letters Become Concrete and Visible The 18th century saw ever-increasing literacy rates, early copyright legislation (Statute of Anne in 1709), improved printing technology, and ironically (or perhaps on the contrary, quite predictably) severe censorship that in effect led to an increased demand for forbidden books and a vibrant and international underground book trade (Darnton and Roche 138). Alongside a growing book trade, “the pulpit was ultimately displaced by the periodical press” (Eisenstein 94), which had become an “established institution” (Steinberg 125). One history of the periodical press in France finds that the number of periodicals (to remain in publication for three or more years) available to the reading public in 1745 numbered 15, whereas in 1785 this increased to 82 (Censer 7). With regard to scholarly periodicals, another study shows that between 1790 and 1800 there were 640 scientific-technological periodicals being published in Europe (Kronick 1961). Across the Atlantic, earlier difficulties in cultivating intellectual life—such as haphazard transatlantic exchange and limited institutions for learning—began to give way to a “republic of letters” that was “visible and concrete” (Hall 417). The Nineteenth Century—A Second Boom and the Rise of the Periodical Press By the turn of the 19th century, visible and concrete republics of letters become evident on both sides of the Atlantic in the boom in book publishing and in the periodical press, scholarly and popular. State and church controls on printing/publishing had given way to the press as the “fourth estate” or a free press as powerful force. The legislation of public education brought increased literacy rates among members of successive generations. One study of literacy rates in Britain, for example, shows that in the period from 1840–1870 literacy rates increased by 35–70 per cent; then from 1870–1900, literacy increased by 78–261 per cent (Mitch 76). Further, with the growth and changes in universities, “history, languages and literature and, above all, the sciences, became an established part of higher education for the first time,” which translated into growing markets for book publishers (Feather 117). Similarly the periodical press reached ever-increasing and numerous reading publics: one estimate of the increase finds the publication of nine hundred journals in 1800 jumping to almost sixty thousand in 1901 (Brodman, cited in Kronick 127). Further, the important role of the periodical press in developing communities of readers was recognised by publishers, editors and authors of the time, something equally recognised by present-day historians describing the “generic mélange of the periodical … [that] particularly lent itself to the interpenetration of language and ideas…[and] the verbal and conceptual interconnectedness of science, politics, theology, and literature” (Dawson, Noakes and Topham 30). Scientists recognised popular periodicals as “important platforms for addressing a non-specialist but culturally powerful public … [they were seen as public] performances [that] fulfilled important functions in making the claims of science heard among the ruling élite” (Dawson et al. 11). By contrast, however, the scholarly journals of the time, while also increasing in number, were becoming increasingly specialised along the same disciplinary boundaries being established in the universities, fulfilling a very different function of forming scholarly and discipline-specific discourse communities through public (published) performances of a very different nature. The Twentieth Century—The Tension Between Niche Publics and Mass Publics The long-existing tension in print culture between the differentiation of reading publics on the one hand, and the reach to ever-expanding reading publics on the other, in the twentieth century becomes a tension between what have been termed “niche-marketing” and “mass marketing,” between niche publics and mass publics. What this meant for the making public of scholarship was that the divides between discipline-specific discourse communities (and their corresponding genres) became more firmly established and yet, within each discipline, there was further fragmentation and specialisation. The niche-mass tension also meant that although in earlier print culture, “the lines of demarcation between men of science, men of letters, and scientific popularizers were far from clear, and were constantly being renegotiated” (Dawson et al 28), with the increasing professionalisation of academic work (and careers), lines of demarcation became firmly drawn between scholarly and popular titles and authors, as well as readers, who were described as “men of science,” as “educated men,” or as “casual observers” (Klancher 90). The question remains, however, as one historian of science asks, “To whom did the reading public go in order to learn about the ultimate meaning of modern science, the professionals or the popularizers?” (Lightman 191). By whom and for whom, where and how scholarship has historically been made public, are questions worthy of consideration if contemporary scholars are to better understand the current status (and possible future) for the making public of scholarship. A Snapshot of Scholarly Journals in Canada and Current Changes in Funding Policies The here and now of scholarly journal publishing in Canada (a growing, but relatively modest scholarly journal community, compared to the number of scholarly journals published in Europe and the US) serves as an interesting microcosm through which to consider how scholarly journal publishing has evolved since the early days of print. What follows here is an overview of the membership of the Canadian Association of Learned Journals (CALJ), in particular: (1) their target readers as identifiable from their editorial mandates; (2) their print/online/open-access policies; and (3) their publishers (all information gathered from the CALJ website, http://www.calj-acrs.ca/). Analysis of the collected data for the 100 member journals of CALJ (English, French and bilingual journals) with available information on the CALJ website is presented in Table 1 (below). A few observations are noteworthy: (1) in terms of readers, although all 100 journals identify a scholarly audience as their target readership, more than 40% of the journal also identify practitioners, policy-makers, or general readers as members of their target audience; (2) more than 25% of the journals publish online as well as or instead of print editions; and (3) almost all journals are published either by a Canadian university or, in one case, a college (60%) or a scholarly or professional society (31%). Table 1: Target Readership, Publishing Model and Publishers, CALJ Members (N=100) Journals with identifiable scholarly target readership 100 Journals with other identifiable target readership: practitioner 35 Journals with other identifiable target readership: general readers 18 Journals with other identifiable target readership: policy-makers/government 10 Total journals with identifiable target readership other than scholarly 43 Journals publishing in print only 56 Journals publishing in print and online 24 Journals publishing in print, online and open access 16 Journals publishing online only and open access 4 Journals published through a Canadian university press, faculty or department 60 Journals published by a scholarly or professional society 31 Journals published by a research institute 5 Journals published by the private sector 4 In the context of the historical overview presented earlier, this data raises a number of questions. The number of journals with target audiences either within or beyond the academy raises issues akin to the situation in the early days of print, when published works were primarily in Latin, with only 22 per cent in vernacular languages (Febvre and Martin 256), thereby strongly limiting access and reach to diverse audiences until the 17th century when Latin declined as the international language (Febvre and Martin 275) and there is a parallel to scholarly journal publishing and their changing readership(s). Diversity in audiences gradually developed in the early days of print, as Febvre and Martin (263) show by comparing the number of churchmen and lawyers with library collections in Paris: from 1480–1500 one lawyer and 24 churchmen had library collections, compared to 1551–1600, when 71 lawyers and 21 churchmen had library collections. Although the distinctions between present-day target audiences of Canadian scholarly journals (shown in Table 1, above) and 16th-century churchmen or lawyers no doubt are considerable, again there is a parallel with regard to changes in reading audiences. Similarly, the 18th-century increase in literacy rates, education, and technological advances finds a parallel in contemporary questions of computer literacy and access to scholarship (see Willinsky, “How,” Access, “Altering,” and If Only). Print culture historians and historians of science, as noted above, recognise that historically, while scholarly periodicals have increasingly specialised and popular periodicals have served as “important platforms for addressing a non-specialist but culturally powerful public…[and] fulfill[ing] important functions in making the claims of science heard among the ruling élite” (Dawson 11), there is adrift in current policies changes (and in the CALJ data above) a blurring of boundaries that harkens back to earlier days of print culture. As Adrian John reminded us earlier, “the very identity of print itself has had to be made” (2, italics in original) and the same applies to identities or cultures of print and the members of that culture: namely, the readers, the audience. The identities of the readers of scholarship are being made and re-made, as editorial mandates extend the scope of journals beyond strict, academic disciplinary boundaries and as increasing numbers of journals publish online (and open access). In Canada, changes in scholarly journal funding by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) of Canada (as well as changes in SSHRC funding for research more generally) place increasing focus on impact factors (an international trend) as well as increased attention on the public benefits and value of social sciences and humanities research and scholarship (see SSHRC 2004, 2005, 2006). There is much debate in the scholarly community in Canada about the implications and possibilities of the direction of the changing funding policies, not least among members of the scholarly journal community. As noted in the table above, most scholarly journal publishers in Canada are independently published, which brings advantages of autonomy but also the disadvantage of very limited budgets and there is a great deal of concern about the future of the journals, about their survival amidst the current changes. Although the future is uncertain, it is perhaps worthwhile to be reminded once again that contrary to doomsday sooth-saying that has come time and time again, publishing has not perished, but rather it has continued to transform. I am inclined against making normative statements about what the future of publishing should be, but, looking at the accounts historians have given of the past and looking at the current publishing community I have come to know in my work in publishing, I am confident that the resourcefulness and commitment of the publishing community shall prevail and, indeed, there appears to be a good deal of promise in the transformation of scholarly journals in the ways they reach their audiences and in what reaches those audiences. Perhaps, as is suggested by the Canadian Centre for Studies in Publishing (CCSP), the future is one of “inventing publishing.” References Canadian Association of Learned Journals. Member Database. 10 June 2008 ‹http://www.calj-acrs.ca/>. Canadian Centre for Studies in Publishing. 10 June 2008. ‹http://www.ccsp.sfu.ca/>. Censer, Jack. The French Press in the Age of Enlightenment. London: Routledge, 1994. Darnton, Robert, Estienne Roche. Revolution in Print: The Press in France, 1775–1800. Berkeley: U of California P, 1989. Dawson, Gowan, Richard Noakes, and Jonathan Topham. Introduction. Science in the Nineteenth-century Periodical: Reading the Magazine of Nature. Ed. Geoffrey Cantor, Gowan Dawson, Richard Noakes, and Jonathan Topham. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. 1–37. Eisenstein, Elizabeth. The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1983 Feather, John. A History of British Publishing. New York: Routledge, 2006. Febvre, Lucien, and Henri-Jean Martin. The Coming of the Book: The Impact of Printing 1450–1800. London: N.L.B., 1979. Jacob, Margaret. Scientific Culture and the Making of the Industrial West. New York: Oxford UP, 1997. Johns, Adrian. The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1998. Hall, David, and Hugh Armory. The Colonial Book in the Atlantic World. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000. Klancher, Jon. The Making of English Reading Audiences. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1987. Kronick, David. A History of Scientific and Technical Periodicals: The Origins and Development of the Scientific and Technological Press, 1665–1790. New York: Scarecrow Press, 1961. ---. "Devant le deluge" and Other Essays on Early Modern Scientific Communication. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2004. Lightman, Bernard. Victorian Science in Context. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1997. Mitch, David. The Rise of Popular Literacy in Victorian England: The Influence of Private choice and Public Policy. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 1991. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Granting Council to Knowledge Council: Renewing the Social Sciences and Humanities in Canada, Volume 1, 2004. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Granting Council to Knowledge Council: Renewing the Social Sciences and Humanities in Canada, Volume 3, 2005. Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. Moving Forward As a Knowledge Council: Canada’s Place in a Competitive World. 2006. Steinberg, Sigfrid. Five Hundred Years of Printing. London: Oak Knoll Press, 1996. Willinsky, John. “How to be More of a Public Intellectual by Making your Intellectual Work More Public.” Journal of Curriculum and Pedagogy 3.1 (2006): 92–95. ---. The Access Principle: The Case for Open Access to Research and Scholarship. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006. ---. “Altering the Material Conditions of Access to the Humanities.” Ed. Peter Trifonas and Michael Peters. Deconstructing Derrida: Tasks for the New Humanities. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. 118–36. ---. If Only We Knew: Increasing the Public Value of Social-Science Research. New York: Routledge, 2000.