Articles de revues sur le sujet « Borges del Camp »

Chair fluidsystemdynamics at TU Berlin investigated the cavitation behavior of a full-size single-vane sewage pump. Single-vane pumps are used for raw sewage with high content of dirt and sediments in larger sewage pumping stations. Cavitation measurement was done by using standard and the more sensitive incipient cavitation . Also, vibration and noise where observed. Contrary to very low values, very high values were measured. In a second step, the impeller was modified with special cavitation bores to reduce the cavitation effects. The values increased with cavitation bores, which underlines that this value is not a sufficient criteria describing cavitation. Using the much more sensitive , a significant reduction was obtained. Moreover, the cavitation formation was changed from a relative concentrated cloud to a distributed bubble form, which is much less aggressive in view of noise and erosion. Operational behavior improved with cavitation bores, noise and vibration levels especially came down to acceptable level. Practical experience demonstrates also avoidance of cavitation erosion.

It has been shown that the addition of a beta-adrenergic catecholamine to a trout red blood cell suspension induces a 60-100-fold increase of sodium permeability resulting from the activation of a cAMP-dependent Na+/H+ antiport. Subsequent addition of propranolol almost instantaneously reduces the intracellular cAMP concentration, and thus the Na permeability, to their basal values (Mahé et al., 1985). If glutaraldehyde (0.06-0.1%) is added when the Na+/H+ exchanger is activated after hormonal stimulation, addition of propranolol no longer inhibits Na permeability: once activated and fixed by glutaraldehyde, the cAMP dependence disappears. Glutaraldehyde alone causes a rapid decrease in the cellular cAMP concentration. In its fixed state the antiporter is fully amiloride sensitive. The switching on of the Na+/H+ exchange by cAMP is rapidly (2 min) followed by acute but progressive desensitization of the exchanger (Garcia-Romeu et al., 1988). The desensitization depends on the concentration of external sodium, being maximal at a normal Na concentration (145 mM) and nonexistent at a low Na concentration (20 mM). If glutaraldehyde is added after activation in nondesensitizing conditions (20 mM Na), transfer to a Na-rich medium induces only a very slight desensitization: thus the fixative can "freeze" the exchanger in the nondesensitizing conformation. NO3- inhibits the activity of the cAMP-dependent Na+/H+ antiporter of the trout red blood cell (Borgese et al., 1986). If glutaraldehyde is added when the cells are activated by cAMP in a chloride-containing medium, the activity of the exchanger is no longer inhibited when Cl- is replaced by NO3-. Conversely, after fixation in NO3- medium replacement of NO3- by Cl- has very little stimulatory effect. This indicates that the anion dependence is not a specific requirement for the exchange process but that the anion environment is critical for the switching on of the Na+/H+ exchanger and for the maintenance of its activated configuration.

ABSTRACT Endodontically treated teeth have necessary use of intracanal posts. Due to the constant need and search for esthetic materials with properties similar to tooth structure remaining fiberglass posts esthetic came good these shortcomings and are increasingly used as a first option for prosthetic rehabilitation. In this case report is described step by step how to perform the cementation of a nonmetallic post and core construction for making a piece prosthetic onlay in a simplified way, by choosing the self-etching cementation technique. How to cite this article Bandéca MC, Pinto SCS, Tonetto MR, Frizzera F, de Figueiredo Pereira K, Borges AH, Saad JRC, dos Santos RSS. Interactions between Restorative Dentistry and Periodontics: Luting Post Nonmetallic (Part II). World J Dent 2014;5(1):72-75.

Copper, lead and tin – an extraordinary Late Bronze Age string of beads from Borger. Around 2017, an amateur metal detectorist searching at Borger in the immediate vicinity of the base of a Middle Bronze Age barrow, which had been excavated in 1987, came across 245 metal beads: four large beads and 241 small ones. One of the four large beads is made of lead, two are of a lead/tin alloy and one is of copper; the 241 biconical and cylindrical small beads are all made of copper. XRF analysis showed that the copper is of a type known as Fahlerz or Fahlore (which includes Singen and Ösenring types of copper). Fahlerz was used mostly in the Early Bronze Age, but also into the Late Bronze Age. The known intensification in the use of lead in Western Europe between 1000 and 500 BC makes it likely that the string of beads was buried – possibly as an isolated deposit – in the Late Bronze Age, no later than the 8th century BC. Further research is planned in the near future, viz. lead-isotope analysis and a small-scale field investigation.

In this study, the influence of the diameter of round steel nails, the guiding bores, and the wood sections on the nail holding performance of Pinus massoniana and Cunninghamia lanceolata dimension lumber was explored. The results showed that the nail-holding power of round steel nails mainly came from their friction with wood fibers, while the radial and tangential sections were also affected by the shearing action of wood fibers. The tangential section reached the largest nail-holding power, followed by the radial section and cross section. Greater wood density was associated with higher nail holding power. Under a large nail diameter, however, high-density wood was prone to plastic cracking, which influenced the nail holding power greatly. Prefabricated guiding bores could prevent plastic cracking in wood to some extent and improve the nail holding power of Pinus massoniana and Cunninghamia lanceolata dimension lumber when diameter of round steel nails was more than 3.0 mm. For Cunninghamia lanceolata characterized by low density and rigidity, the wood fiber was in close contact with the round steel nail and internal cracking could not be easily generated under a large diameter of round steel nails.

This research is discusses about Buginese pandeling in east Borneo at sea as a location for transaction. Pandeling are used legally as well as economically to refer the activities that provided some guarantee of someone to another as a duty to get something. This transaction was one of economic interactions that based on social ties and traditions. Pandeling is a trade commodity in business and monetary transaction among the traders and capital investors. Pandeling came into the system without prediction to be transferred and even had to separate from his family, if the new owner came from far away. According the formal regulation on this transaction, pandeling had to subordinate except he could pay off his debt with all rents. After his debt and rent was paid off by himself, pandeling did not often return to his original place but lived in his new settlement, place where he got his freedom. Therefore, this group will begin as a part of local community or build a new community as a free person.

Abstract Background: The phase IB/II clinical trial of tucatinib, palbociclib and letrozole (NCT03054363) showed activity in heavily pretreated patients (pts) with HR+/HER2+ metastatic breast cancer (Shagisultanova et. al, Cancer Res 2021:81(4), PS10-03). Here we report an exploratory analysis of intracranial efficacy in enrolled pts with central nervous system metastases (CNS MTS). Methods: Pts with HR+/HER2+ metastatic breast cancer previously treated with at least 2 HER2-targeted agents were enrolled in this phase IB/II clinical trial. Pts with untreated asymptomatic or treated stable CNS MTS were allowed. Efficacy was assessed using RANO-BM and RECIST1.1 criteria based on investigator assessment. CNS progression free survival (CNS-PFS), defined as intracranial progression or death, and bi-compartmental PFS (CNS and/or non-CNS progression or death) were evaluated; best confirmed CNS responses were summarized. Results: The study enrolled 15 pts with CNS MTS: 2 pts had untreated asymptomatic CNS MTS; 12 patients had treated stable CNS MTS; 1 pt had resection of a solitary CNS MTS prior to initiation of study treatment; this pt subsequently had no evidence of CNS disease for 24 months on study. Among 14 pts with evaluable disease, 13 had stable disease (SD) - 6 for ≥6 months, 7 for <6 months, and 1 pt who had stereotactic radiation to 1.8cm cerebellar lesion prior to enrollment achieved complete response in the CNS after 4 months on study. Among 2pts with untreated CNS lesions, 1pt with non-measurable disease had SD for 5 months on study, and 1pt with measurable disease had SD for 8 months on study. At 6.31.2021 data cutoff and median follow up time of 15 months, median CNS-PFS was 8 months, with 3 out of 15 pts (20%) achieving CNS-PFS of 1 year or greater. Bi-compartmental PFS was 9 months. Among 10 pts who came off study because of PD, 5 had PD in the CNS, 3 had systemic and CNS PD, and 2 had systemic PD. Two pts came off study for reasons other than PD. Three patients are remaining on study with a follow up time of 15, 16 and 28 months. Conclusion: Because the majority of patients had treated (non-target) CNS lesions, evaluation of CNS response was limited and biased towards SD. However, the prolonged CNS-PFS in this small patient subset suggests anti-tumor activity of this non-chemotherapy based targeted regimen in the CNS. Citation Format: Elena Shagisultanova, William Gradishar, Ursa Brown-Glaberman, Pavani Chalasani, Andrew Brenner, Alison Stopeck, Jose Mayordomo, Jennifer Diamond, Peter Kabos, Virginia F. Borges. Intracranial efficacy of tucatinib, palbociclib and letrozole combination in patients with HR+/HER2+ breast cancer and brain metastases [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the 2021 San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium; 2021 Dec 7-10; San Antonio, TX. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2022;82(4 Suppl):Abstract nr P1-18-26.

The literary topic of Siamese twins is not unfamiliar. American literary history tells us of the genealogy from Mark Twain’s pseudo-antebellum story The Tragedy of Pudd’nhead Wilson and the Comedy Those Extraordinary Twins (1894), Karen Tei Yamashita’s postmodern metafiction “Siamese Twins and Mongoloids: Cultural Appropriation and the Deconstruction of Stereotype via the Absurdity of Metaphor” (1999), down to Shelley Jackson’s James Tiptree, Jr. award winner Half-Life (2006). Rereading these works, we are easily invited to notice the political unconscious hidden deep within each plot: Twain’s selection of the Italian Siamese twins based upon Chang and Eng Bunker, antebellum stars of the Barnum Museum, cannot help but recall the ideal of the post-Civil War world uniting the North and the South; Yamashita’s figure of the conjoined twins Heco and Okada derives from Hikozo Hamada, an antebellum Japanese who made every effort to empower the bond between Japan and the United States, and John Okada, the Japanese American writer well known for his masterpiece No No Boy (1957); and Jackson’s characterization of the female conjoined twins Nora and Blanche Olney represents a new civil rights movement in the post-Cold War age in the near future, establishing a close friendship between the humans and the post-humans. This literary and cultural context should convince us that Yamashita’s short story “Siamese Twins and Mongoloids” serves as a kind of singularity point between realist twins and magic realist twins. Influenced by Twain’s twins, Yamashita paves the way for the re-figuration of the conjoined twins not only as tragi-comical freaks in the Gilded Age but also as representative men of magic realist America in our Multiculturalist Age. A Close reading of this metafiction composed in a way reminiscent of Jorge Luis Borges, Stanislaw Lem and Bruce Sterling will enable us to rediscover not only the role conjoined twins played in cultural history, but also the reason why Yamashita had to feature them once again in her novel I Hotel (2010) whose plot centers around the Asian American civil rights movement between the 1960s and the 1970s. Accordingly, an Asian American magic realist perspective will clarify the way Yamashita positioned the figure of Siamese Twins as representing legal and political double standards, and the way the catachresis of Siamese Twins came to be naturalized, questioned and dismissed in American literary history from the 19th century through the 21st century.

Pyrrolizidine alkaloids (PAs) are secondary metabolites produced by over 6000 plant species worldwide. PAs enter the food chain through accidental co-harvesting of PA-containing weeds and through soil transfer from the living plant to surrounding acceptor plants. In animal studies, 1,2-unsaturated PAs have proven to be genotoxic carcinogens. According to the scientific opinion expressed by the 2017 EFSA, the foods with the highest levels of PA contamination were honey, tea, herbal infusions, and food supplements. Following the EFSA’s recommendations, data on the presence of PAs in relevant food were monitored and collected. On 1 July 2022, the Commission Regulation (EU) 2020/2040 came into force, repealed by Commission Regulation (EU) 2023/915, setting maximum levels for the sum of pyrrolizidine alkaloids in certain food. A total of 602 food samples were collected from the Italian market between 2019 and 2022 and were classified as honey, pollen, dried tea, dried herbal infusions, dried herbs, and fresh borage leaves. The food samples were analyzed for their PA content via an in-house LC-MS/MS method that can detect PAs according to Regulation 2023/915. Overall, 42% of the analyzed samples were PA-contaminated, 14% exceeded the EU limits, and the items most frequently contaminated included dried herbs and tea. In conclusion, the number of food items containing considerable amounts of PAs may cause concern because they may contribute to human exposure, especially considering vulnerable populations—most importantly, children and pregnant women.

La ciudad de México es la suma de aspiraciones, carencias, abundancias, cotidianidades y actitudes de pobla- dores que nacieron aquí o vinieron de otras partes y donde los espacios son expresión material de múltiples determinantes. No obstante, habilitar y habitar nuevas áreas para erigir una vivienda es un proceso largo y es- forzado debido a las condiciones de los terrenos adquiridos —muchos en situaciones de irregularidad y vulnera- bilidad—, por lo que, a la vez, se tienen que trazar calles y trabajar en la introducción de infraestructura. De ahí la pretensión de este trabajo de realizar algunas reflexiones respecto a las formas de vida desarrolladas entre los años cincuenta y ochenta del siglo XX en los barrios de San Miguel y Los Reyes, los cuales se extendieron en los bordes del pueblo de Iztacalco, un lugar otrora periferia de la Ciudad de México y hoy totalmente absorbido por esta. El trabajo partió del cuestionamiento: ¿cuáles fueron las determinantes que llevaron a los barrios de San Miguel y Los Reyes a desenvolverse en condiciones de irregularidad y cómo se expresaron estas en el habitar? La investigación se construyó con narraciones de habitantes y fuentes bibliográficas. Palabras clave: Periferia, autoconstrucción, irregularidad, vulnerabilidad, habitar, costumbres, solidaridad. AbstractMexico City is the sum of expectations, deficiencies, abundance, everyday life and attitudes of residents who were born here or came from elsewhere. Spaces in Mexico City are thus the material result of multiple factors. However, enabling and inhabiting new areas to build a house is a long and strenuous process due to the con- ditions of the land acquired —many in situations of irregularity and vulnerability—, so that at the same time streets have to be laid out and worked on the introduction of infrastructure. Since many of them are arid and in irregular situations, it is necessary to create streets and introduce convenient infrastructure. This work intends to reflect on certain ways of life developed between the fifties and the eighties of the twentieth century in the neighborhoods of San Miguel and Los Reyes, which extended to the edges of Iztacalco, a town that was once a periphery of Mexico City and is today totally absorbed by it. What were the factors that led the neighborhoods of San Miguel and Los Reyes to develop in conditions of irregularity and how did these conditions express themselves? The research was made with interviews of the inhabitants and bibliographic sources.Keywords: vulnerability, inhabiting, customs, solidarity.

研究目的泛華裔女性移民跨境遷移，依然受到傳統家族主義影響，在家庭與工作中擺盪與尋求平衡。本研究探討來自不同國家、不同移民類型、在家庭生命週期不同階段的泛華裔女性移民，移居澳洲後，面對家庭－工作衝突的因應及其家庭性別權力關係。 研究方法透過深度訪談法，在澳洲墨爾本訪問20位，來自台灣、香港、中國已婚女性移民，並運用主題分析法進行資料分析。 研究結果受訪者的家庭－工作共容及其策略運用，受到家庭生命週期階段及傳統與澳洲文化交織影響，透過「三角」、「四角」協商，歸納三種「階段」因應模式，而次文化團體存在「同中存異」現象。次文化團體同樣受到傳統文化影響家庭－工作共容策略，而「面子文化」與「家族主義」對於中國受訪者的「婚姻關係」與「做生意」有較多影響。澳洲是多元文化國家，教育與勞動制度設計仍未考量移民家庭需要，反而強化移民家庭內部的性別不平等。泛華裔女性移民的家庭－工作共容策略，在不同家庭生命週期階段，受到傳統家庭主義與性別文化交織影響個人到家族內外系統的協商，形成三種動態的階段因應模式。 研究建議本研究結果不僅具時代意義，亦可提供多元文化社會、移民政策、家庭社會工作實務的參考。Research Purpose: Chinese female immigrants, influenced by traditional Confucian familism, are often found to juggle between work and family, trying to seek a balance during the processes of migration and settlement. The purpose of this research was to explore the coping strategies for family-work conflict and the gender-family power relationship among Chinese female immigrants who are from different places, migrated under different types of Visa, and were in the different stages of the family life. Method: This research adopted qualitative design, using thematic analysis method. Twenty in-depth interviews were conducted with married, female immigrants from Taiwan (6 people), Hong Kong (5 people), and China (9 people) in Melbourne, Australia. Each in-depth interview took about 1.5 to 2 hours. The in-depth interview outline included: (1) participants’ migration status and post-migration life experiences; (2) post-migration work experiences, reconciliation of work and family life, and negotiating with the family; (3) the role of informal support system plays in work and family arrangements. Participants are aged between 37 and 62 years old, and the majority (16 people) holds a bachelor’s degree or higher qualifications. They came to Australia under various types of immigration visa, including, skilled immigrants (7 people), investment immigrants (4 people), spouses of international marriage (4 people), and international students (5 people). This research complies with research ethics and had been approved by a university research ethics committee (approval numbers 201705HS024). Results: The family life cycle of female immigrants in this research can be divided into four stages, including childless adults, post-migration childbearing, preschool-age children, and school-age children. For participants who never had a child, it’s evident that they didn’t experience conflict between work and family, and their work experiences were impacted by their individual social capital. Participants who had a child right after migration experienced greater challenges in work and family conflict due to lack of preparedness and adjustment. For participants who had preschool-age children at the time of migration, the majority chose to leave the job and focused on childcare. Some participants who had school-age children re-entered the workplace; however they still took childcare and household duties into consideration. is research found that reconciliation of work and family is subject to the stages of the family life cycle and determined by Chinese-speaking female immigrants’ negotiation with their husbands, informal support system (eg. extended family members), and formal support system (eg. paid childcare and parenting leave). Through the three- or four-party negotiation, three types of “stage” coping mode were adopted by participants. Female immigrant participants who adopted one-stage coping mode (short or no break in employment) were more likely to use both formal and informal resources to provide care and support to the family. They often have more equal gender division of labor in family. For participants who used two- or three-stage coping modes (not return to work or re-enter the workforce after a long break), there was a lack of family negotiation, and their male spouses were often absent from housework duties or childcare. This reached also found that Chinese-speaking female immigrants’ coping strategies were not differentiated by their places of origin. However, there were some differences within these three subcultural groups due to their informal support resources and employment experiences. This research found that participants from Taiwan and Hong Kong tend to negotiate with their husbands, while those from China were inclined to connect cross-broader resources (informal support from the extended family) to achieve family goals and personal development. This research also found that the influence of “Face culture” and “Familism” has the stronger impact on martial relationship and the choice of business investment among participants from China. Conclusion: Even though Australia is a multicultural society, this research suggested that gender inequality can be reinforced by Australian education systems and labor markets, due to its lacking consideration of the needs of immigrant family. This research, by focusing on the work and family compatibility of three Chines-speaking female communities, contributes to a better understanding of different “stage” coping modes of female immigrants. The findings of this research also provide implications for multicultural society, immigration policy, and family social work practice. Suggestion: 1.Australia and Taiwan have very different employment systems and labor markets. For people who plan to immigrate to Australia, it is a necessity that they understand local labor markets and skills required and prepare themselves for reskilling or upskilling if needed. This transition requires financial support and good mentality. 2.Taiwan is gradually becoming a multicultural society. Families from diverse cultural backgrounds bring new challenges to social work practice. When providing support to families with diverse cultural backgrounds, social workers need to be aware of challenges and needs of families have when they are in the different stages of the family life cycle. 3.The government shall actively develop a diversified and flexible immigration policy to attract professionals and skilled immigrants or encourage the international students staying in Taiwan after graduation. For immigrant family members, the government shall provide free Chinese learning courses via multiple learning channels. By organizing multicultural events and school activities, immigrant and local families can have a better understanding towards each other’s cultures and further reduce social barriers.

Abstract Background Axicabtagene ciloleucel (axi-cel) and tisagenlecleucel (tisa-cel) have both demonstrated impressive clinical activity in relapsed/refractory (R/R) diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL). In the pivotal JULIET trial, tisa-cel led to a best overall response rate (ORR) of 52% with a 40% complete response rate (CRR) and a median overall survival (OS) of 12 months. In the ZUMA-1 trial, axi-cel was associated with an 83% ORR, a 58% CRR and a median OS of 26 months. In the absence of a randomized comparison and given the large differences in trial design precluding a robust matched-adjusted indirect comparison, controversy exists as to whether there are significant differences regarding both efficacy and safety between the two products. Methods We conducted a propensity score (PS)-matched comparison of axi-cel and tisa-cel in a large cohort of R/R DLBCL patients treated outside of clinical trials. All data were collected through the French DESCAR-T registry designed by the LYSA/LYSARC which aims to collect real-life data. The PS was calculated for each patient by using multiple logistic regression analysis against treatment category (axi-cel v tisa-cel) entering the following variables (assessed at time of lymphodepletion for most): age, ferritin, time from last treatment to CAR T-cell infusion, sex, histological diagnosis, LDH level, CRP, ECOG status, stage, number of previous treatment lines, use of a bridging therapy, response to bridging therapy if any, previous stem cell transplant, diameter of the largest tumor involved (with a cut-off set up at 5 cm), time from first commercial CAR T-cell order (of any type) of the center to CAR T-cell order for the patient (as a correlate for center experience for CAR T-cell practice), and treatment center. For all categorical variables, missing values (which were marginal for most parameters and balanced between CAR T-cell subtypes) were considered as a category to reduce the number of patients not included in the analysis. Of note, patients with primary mediastinal B-cell lymphoma were not included since approval has been granted for axi-cel only. The primary endpoint was OS. The following secondary endpoints were analyzed: best ORR and CRR (according to Lugano 2014 classification), progression-free survival (PFS) and duration of response (DoR). All time-to-event analyses used time of CAR T-cell infusion as the origin. PS-matching of the two patient cohorts was then conducted using PS rounded to one decimal place. Results An initial cohort of 504 patients with DLBCL (NOS, high grade or transformed from indolent lymphoma) and treated with axi-cel (n=321) or tisa-cel (n=183) was considered. Among others, patient characteristics were imbalanced regarding ECOG, and prior transplant rate with worse prognosis for patients receiving tisa-cel. After a 1:1 ratio PS-matching, outcome was compared between 144 patients treated with axi-cel and 144 patients treated with tisa-cel with no residual significant difference in baseline patient characteristics according to CAR T-cell type. After a median follow-up of 6.6 months (95% CI, 6.1-10.4 months), OS was not significantly different between axi-cel and tisa-cel (78% v 70% at 6 months respectively, P=0.44). Best ORR and CRR were significantly higher with axi-cel compared with tisa-cel (73% v 60%, P=0.02 and 56% v 36%, P<0.001, respectively). There was no difference in DoR. PFS was significantly longer with axi-cel than tisa-cel (53% v 32% at 6 months respectively, P=0.011). Regarding toxicity, there was no significant difference in incidence of cytokine release syndrome (CRS) but axi-cel was associated with significantly more frequent and higher-grade immune effector cell-associated neurotoxicity syndrome (ICANS) (30.6% v 18.1% for grade 1-2 and 10.4% v 2.1% for grade ≥3 for axi-cel compared with tisa-cel, respectively, P< 0.001). Conclusion In this study, after stringent PS-matching on a large patient population treated with CAR T-cell in real-life, there was no OS difference between axi-cel and tisa-cel. Axi-cel yielded higher ORR and CRR and significantly prolonged PFS compared with tisa-cel. However, greater efficacy came at the cost of higher neurotoxicity with axi-cel. These data could help in refining CAR T-cell subtype choice for different patient populations, with young and/or fit patients benefiting most from axi-cel while tisa-cel being most advantageous to elderly and/or unfit patients. Figure 1 Figure 1. Disclosures Bachy: Kite, a Gilead Company: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Daiishi: Research Funding; Roche: Consultancy; Takeda: Consultancy; Incyte: Consultancy. Di Blasi: Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria; Kite, a Gilead Company: Consultancy, Honoraria; Janssen: Consultancy, Honoraria. Sesques: Chugai: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Kite, a Gilead Company: Honoraria. Cartron: Roche, Celgene-BMS: Consultancy; Danofi, Gilead, Novartis, Jansen, Roche, Celgene-BMS, Abbvie, Takeda: Honoraria. Roulin: Janssen: Other: Travel and meetings. Sylvain: Sanofi, Celegene, Roche, Abbvie, Sandoz, Janssen, Takeda: Consultancy. Bories: BMS: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Abbvie: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy; Gilead: Consultancy. Casasnovas: Roche: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Takeda: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Gilead Kite: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; MSD: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; BMS: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria; Janssen: Consultancy, Honoraria; Abbvie: Consultancy, Honoraria. Mohty: Astellas: Honoraria; Jazz: Honoraria, Research Funding; Pfizer: Honoraria; Sanofi: Honoraria, Research Funding; Novartis: Honoraria; Takeda: Honoraria; Janssen: Honoraria, Research Funding; Gilead: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria, Research Funding; Bristol Myers Squibb: Honoraria; Amgen: Honoraria; Adaptive Biotechnologies: Honoraria. Thieblemont: Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Bristol Myers Squibb/Celgene: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Roche: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses , Research Funding; Janssen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Gilead Sciences: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Kyte: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Incyte: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Abbvie: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Cellectis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses ; Hospira: Research Funding; Bayer: Honoraria; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Other: Travel, Accommodations, Expenses . Houot: Jsnssen: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Kite: Honoraria; Gilead: Honoraria; MSD: Honoraria; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria; CHU Rennes: Current Employment; Celgene: Honoraria; Roche: Honoraria. Morschhauser: Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Roche: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; AstraZenenca: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; BMS: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Novartis: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; F. Hoffmann-La Roche Ltd: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Gilead: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Genmab: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Epizyme: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Servier: Consultancy; Janssen: Honoraria; Chugai: Honoraria; AbbVie: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Genentech, Inc.: Consultancy; Incyte: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees.

OBJETIVOS Formación en maniobras de resucitación cardiopulmonar (RCP) y uso del desfibrilador externo automatizado (DEA)mediante una plataforma virtual en una red de voluntarios en el ámbito rural: estudio RECADE RURAL. MATERIAL Y MÉTODOS Diseño: estudio cuasi experimental que consta de dos fases: fase 1) evaluación de la eficacia de la formación online para adquirir conocimientos en RCP-DEA; fase 2) evaluación de la eficacia de la formación online en maniobras RCP-DEA en simulación a corto y medio plazo. Ámbito: Atención Primaria (AP). La población de referencia incluye un total de 10.256 personas atendidas en centros de AP de dos comarcas rurales del Camp de Tarragona (Les Borges del Camp y de Cornudella de Montsant). Criterios de inclusión: 1) residir en municipios de los dos centros participantes; 2) ser mayor de edad; 3) tener acceso a internet para conectar a un curso en formato virtual de RCP/DEA. Tamaño de la muestra y procedimiento de muestreo: para la fase 1, el curso de formación online es de acceso abierto. Para la fase 2, se realizará un muestreo representativo de todas las personas que hayan finalizado el curso en la fase 1, atendiendo a distintos rangos de edad y género. Determinaciones: la variable principal es la diferencia de puntuación entre el test antes y después de la formación (fase 1) y la superación (apto/no apto) de la prueba simulada en maniquíes (fase 2). Análisis estadístico: se realiza un análisis descriptivo de la diferencia de puntuación antes y después de la formación y del porcentaje de participantes aptos y no aptos en la simulación a corto y medio plazo (1 y 6 meses, respectivamente). Las variables continuas se compararán mediante la prueba t de Student o la prueba U-Man Whitney (según normalidad). Para las variables categóricas, se utilizará la prueba de chi cuadrado de Pearson. Se hará un análisis multivariado para determinar qué factores influyen de forma independiente en la variable principal. Dificultades y limitaciones del estudio: la representatividad de la población (puesto que es un estudio voluntario), los problemas de cobertura o falta de acceso a internet y la posible pérdida de participantes en la fase de evaluación presencial. APLICABILIDAD DE LOS RESULTADOS ESPERADOS Se espera que la formación online en esta población rural sea eficaz para mejorar sus conocimientos y competencias en RCP-DEA a corto y medio plazo. Esta modalidad de formación podría ser fácilmente escalable, contribuyendo así a la difusión de las maniobras básicas de RCP-DEA en la población general y especialmente en el entorno rural. ASPECTOS ÉTICO-LEGALES El estudio se desarrollará siguiendo las recomendaciones de la Declaración de Helsinki y las normas de Buena Práctica Clínica. El estudio RECADE RURAL forma parte del proyecto Smartwatch, que ha sido aprobado por el Comité de Ética de la Fundación Jordi Gol (código P17/075). FINANCIACIÓN El proyecto Smartwatch ha obtenido la financiación de las convocatorias PERIS del Departamento de Salud de la Generalitat de Cataluña de 2017 y 2019 (SLT002/16/00162 y SLT008/18/0039). CEI Código P17/075.

An oft-cited conceptualization of teacher cognition couches it as “the unobservable cognitive dimension of teaching—what teachers know, believe and think” (Borg, 2003, p. 81). While the term “unobservable” in Borg’s definition implies, or even emphatically states, that a hidden body of knowledge, beliefs, and thoughts informs teacher behavior, this hidden dimension was “un-observable” in early conceptualizations of teaching (Borg, 2019; Burns, et al., 2015). Dominated for long by the process-product interpretation (Dunkin & Biddle, 1974), teaching was primarily viewed in terms of observable instructional behaviors (e.g., wait time practices, patterns of questioning) that were judged with regard to how effectively they influenced student achievement outcomes (Verloop, et al., 2001). Language teacher education also followed suit and as posited by Gatbonton (1999), formerly a major share of the theoretical base for language teacher education came from studies of overt classroom behaviors. However, teaching was subsequently recognized as cognition-backed and knowledge-informed performance. As best reflected in Borg’s (2019, p. 2) words, although teaching involves observable behaviors, it “is not a purely behavioral enterprise; in the same way that icebergs have an exposed surface beneath which lies a significant hidden mass, teachers’ behaviors are also powerfully shaped by a complex range of unseen influences”. [First Paragraph]

Bruxism is the habit of squeezing and grinding the dental organs (ODs), with dental contacts that have no purpose. The Oral Health-Related Quality of Life (OHRQoL) is defined as a multidimensional aspect that reflects the comfort of the individual in relation to their physiological and psychological functions, of the state of oral health. To determine the relationship between probable bruxism and OHRQoL in patients who came for care at the University Unit of Social Insertion (UUIS) of the Autonomous University of Yucatán (UADY), México from September 2019 to January 2020. Observational, analytical of case controls and cross-sectional. Two instruments were applied to 70 patients: the OHIP-EE-14 (validated by Castrejón-Pérez R.C., Borges-Yañez S.A.) and a questionnaire prepared by Mendiburu-Zavala C., based on Ordoñez Plaza et al., González-Emsoto et al., and De La Hoz-Aizpurua et al for the diagnosis of probable bruxism. Descriptive and inferential statistics were used. 47.1% (n=33) did present probable bruxism (CPB) and 52.9% (n=37) did not (SPB). The most frequent age group was 18-35 years old, with 67.2% (n=47), 34.3% (n=24) CPB. The most frequent circadian manifestation was waking with 49% (n=16). Those of CPB, a mean of 20.45±7.95 was obtained in the OHIP-EE-14 for the OHRQoL and SPB score, the mean was 7.81±4.84. There are statistically significant differences between CPB and SPB patients (p<.001). The probable bruxism does affect the OHRQoL level.

When television first appeared, many educators and teachers imagined it would bring them help and assistance. It was indeed considered as the promise of valuable teaching material. But desillusion quickly came… and even rejection. This new opium of the people wouldn’t play the part it was supposed to play in the class room. The television we would have dreamed of was definitely not that one… Yet, with the help of media education, it may bring us some interesting illustration of what media products are, even if we think of TV programs like commercials, telereality or the news where information and communication are often mixed up. Analysing such products with our students can bring them to a more critical eye and independence. This trash TV is able to bring them a lot if we are ourselves able to train them to analyse these programs and to stand back from mediatic confusions and drifts. Moreover, doing so, we shall take their own mediatic culture as a starting point, which seems essential to us. So, their television might become the television we want… as educators. Cuando apareció la televisión y comenzó a imponerse en la vida cotidiana, la educación vio en ella un socio que podía proporcionarle mucha ayuda. La institución escolar, sobre todo, imaginó que la televisión iba a representar un recurso formativo de gran interés. Pero las esperanzas se transformaron muy rápidamente en desilusiones, y el nuevo medio de comunicación pasó de remedio universal a basura. Emoción fácil, divertimiento, juego, tales fueron los valores que se impusieron y convirtieron a los espectadores en receptores apáticos, aburridos por las olas de imágenes y sonidos, encerrados en sus fantasías o en las redundancias y linealidad del pensamiento único. Algunos se dieron cuenta de que la evolución del nuevo dios del hogar parecía irreversible. Pero otros pensaron que había una salida de emergencia posible, llamada: educación en medios. Esta educación, tomando la televisión como objeto de análisis o como medio de expresión, podía reconciliar la pareja, ofreciéndole oportunidades que no habían sido exploradas todavía. Por eso, la televisión que no queremos, la que rechazamos o condenamos por su necedad, puede ofrecernos actividades de interés. Tomemos tres ejemplos de programas que ilustran bien la televisión que no queremos: la publicidad televisiva, la tele realidad y el telediario. Cado uno de estos ejemplos puede ayudarnos a introducir temas de debate, fundamentos del lenguaje audiovisual, representaciones y estereotipos. Estos componentes del producto mediático nos permiten problematizar una serie de aspectos de otra pareja explosiva: la pareja información/comunicación. Lo interesante en estos tres casos (y en muchos otros) es la evidencia de un abordaje crítico, la incitación permanente al análisis, la reflexión sobre objetos mediáticos que nos conducen inevitablemente a hechos de la sociedad. Por eso, hay que hacer a veces caso omiso de nuestras propias aficiones y gustos para ir al encuentro de nuestros alumnos. Esta televisión, su televisión, aunque no sea necesariamente la nuestra, resulta importantísima porque nos conduce a una cultura y a una manera diferente de entender el mundo. Aquí ha de estar nuestro punto de partida para hacer que cambien las cosas, se mejoren quizás las perspectivas y obtengamos todos la televisión que queremos.

The aim of the present report was to describe a case of direct composite resin restoration in tooth 46, with emphasis on the importance of polishing. A 21-year-old female patient dissatisfied with the aesthetic amalgam restoration of her tooth 46 came to the our institution for correction of the situation. The procedure performed consisted of registration of occlusal contacts, selection of resin color, removal of amalgam restoration, coronal reconstruction with composite resin, occlusal adjustment, finishing and polishing, with the use of atomic force microscopy of the resin before and after polishing. A correct clinical protocol for the posterior composite resins is fundamental for the optimization of aesthetic results, for clinical performance and for consequent restorative longevity. The atomic force microscopy images of the resin used before and after polishing emphasize the necessity and clinical importance of this operative step.Descriptors: Dental Materials; Dental Restoration, Permanent; Dental Polishing; Microscopy.ReferencesFrese C, Staehle HJ, Wolff D. The assessment of dentofacial esthetics in restorative dentistry: a review of the literature. J Am Dent Assoc. 2012;143(5):461-66.Moraschini V, Fai CK, Alto RM, dos Santos GO. Amalgam and resin composite longevity of posterior restorations: A systematic review and meta-analysis. J Dent. 2015;43(9):1043-50.Kovarik RE. Restoration of posterior teeth in clinical practice: evidence base for choosing amalgam versus composite. Dent Clin North Am. 2009;53(1):71-6.Kanzow P, Wiegand A, Schwendicke F. Cost-effectiveness of repairing versus replacing composite or amalgam restorations. J Dent. 2016;54:41-7.Lynch CD, Opdam NJ, Hickel R, Brunton PA, Gurgan S, Kakaboura A, et al. Guidance on posterior resin composites: Academy of Operative Dentistry - European Section. J Dent. 2014;42(4):377-83.Fernández E, Martín J, Vildósola P, Oliveira Junior OB, Gordan V, Mjor I et al. Can repair increase the longevity of composite resins? Results of a 10-year clinical trial. J Dent. 2015;43(2):279-86.Sabbagh J, McConnell RJ, McConnell MC. Posterior composites: Update on cavities and filling techniques. J Dent. 2017;57:86-90.Constantinescu DM, Apostol DA, Picu CR, Krawczyk K, Sieberer M. Mechanical properties of epoxy nanocomposites reinforced with functionalized silica nanoparticles. Proc Struct Integ. 2017;5:647-52.Yadav RD, Raisingani D, Jindal D, Mathur R. A comparative analysis of different finishing and polishing devices on nanofilled, microfilled, and hybrid composite: a scanning electron microscopy and profilometric study. Int J Clin Pediatr Dent. 2016;9(3):201-8.Fernandes ACBCJ, Assunção IV, Borges BCD, Costa GFA. Impact of additional polishing on the roughness and surface morphology of dental composite resins. Rev Port Estomatol Med Dent Cirur Maxilofac. 2016;57(2):74-81.Antonson SA, Yazici AR, Kilinc E, Antonson DE, Hardigan PC. Comparison of different finishing/polishing systems on surface roughness and gloss of resin composites. J Dent. 2011;39(Suppl 1):e9-17.Kumari CM, Bhat KM, Bansal R. Evaluation of surface roughness of different restorative composites after polishing using atomic force microscopy. J Conserv Dent. 2016;19(1):56-62.Pimentel PEZ, Goyatá FR, Cunha LG. Influência da técnica de polimento na lisura superficial de resinas compostas. Clin int j braz dent. 2012;8(2):226-34.Chour RG, Moda A, Arora A, Arafath MY, Shetty VK, Rishal Y. Comparative evaluation of effect of different polishing systems on surface roughness of composite resin: An in vitro study. J Int Soc Prev Community Dent. 2016;6(Suppl 2):166-70.Lins FC, Ferreira RC, Silveira RR, Pereira CN, Moreira AN, Magalhaes CS. Surface roughness, microhardness, and microleakage of a silorane-based composite resin after immediate or delayed finishing/polishing. Int J Dent. 2016;2016:8346782.

When we think of United Nations (UN) peacekeepers, the first image that is conjured in our mind is of an individual sporting a blue helmet or a blue beret (fig. 1). While simple and uncomplicated, these blue accessories represent an expression and an embodiment resembling that of a warrior, sent to bring peace to conflict-torn communities. UN peacekeeping first conceptually emerged in 1948 in the wake of the Arab-Israeli war that ensued following the United Kingdom’s relinquishing of its mandate over Palestine, and the proclamation of the State of Israel. “Forged in the crucible of practical diplomacy” (Rubinstein 16), unarmed military observers were deployed to Palestine to monitor the hostilities and mediate armistice agreements between Israel and its Arab neighbours. This operation, the United Nations Truce Supervision Organization (UNTSO), significantly exemplified the diplomatic and observational capabilities of military men, in line with the UN Charter’s objectives of international peace and security, setting henceforth a basic archetype for international peacekeeping. It was only in 1956, however, that peacekeeping formally emerged when armed UN forces deployed to Egypt to supervise the withdrawal of forces occupying the Suez Canal (informally known as the ‘Second Arab-Israeli’ war). Here, the formation of UN peacekeeping represented an international pacifying mechanism comprised of multiple third-party intermediaries whereby peaceful resolution would be achieved by transcending realist instincts of violence for political attainment in favour of applying a less-destructive liberal model of persuasion, compromise, and perseverance (Howard). ‘Blue helmet’ peacekeeping operations continue to be regarded by the UN as an integral subsidiary instrument of its organisation. At present, there are 12 active peacekeeping operations led by the UN Department of Peacekeeping across the world (United Nations Peacekeeping). Fig. 1: United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS) sporting blue berets (https://www.gov.uk/government/news/uk-troops-awarded-un-medals-for-south-sudan-peacekeeping-mission) But where did the blue helmets and berets originate from? Rubinstein details a surprisingly mundane account of the origins of the political accessory that is now a widely recognised symbol for UN peacekeepers’ uniforms. Peacekeepers’ uniforms initially emerged from the ad hoc need to distinguish UN troops from those of the armed forces in a distinctive dress during the 1947 UNTSO mission by any means and material readily available, such as armbands and helmets (Henry). The era of early peacekeeping operations also saw ‘observers’ carry UN flags and paint their vehicle white with ‘UN’ written in large black letters in order to distinguish themselves. The blue helmets specifically came to be adorned during the first peacekeeping operation in 1956 during the Suez crisis. At this time, Canada supplied a large number of non-combatant troops whose uniform was the same as the belligerent British forces, party to the conflict. An effort to thus distinguish the peacekeepers was made by spray-painting surplus World War II American plastic helmet-liners, which were available in quantity in Europe, blue (Urquhart; Rubenstein). The two official colours of the UN are ‘light blue’ and ‘white’. The unique light “UN” blue colour, in particular, was approved as the background for the UN flag in the 1947 General Assembly Resolution 167(II), alongside a white emblem depicting a map of the world surrounded by two olive branches. While the UN’s use of the colour was chosen as a “practical effect of identifying the Organization in areas of trouble and conflict, to any and all parties concerned”, the colour blue was also specifically chosen at this time as “an integral part of the visual identity of the organisation” representing “peace in opposition to red, for war” (United Nations). Blue is seen to be placed in antithesis to the colour red across several fields including popular culture, and even within politics, as a way to typically indicate conflict between two warring groups. Within popular culture, for example, many films in the science fiction, fantasy, or horror genres, use a clearly demarcated, dichotomous ‘red vs. blue’ colour scheme in their posters (fig. 2). This is also commonly seen in political campaign posters, for example during the 2021 US presidential election (fig. 3). Fig. 2: Blue and red colour schemes in film posters (left to right: Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015), Captain Marvel (2019), and The Dead Don’t Die (2019)) Fig. 3: Biden (Democratic party) vs. Trump (Republican party) US presidential election (https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-10-15/us-election-political-parties-explained-democrats-vs-republicans/12708296) This dichotomy can be traced back to the high Middle Ages between the fourteenth and seventeenth century where the colour blue became a colour associated with “moral implications”, rivalling both the colours black and red which were extremely popular in clothing during the eras of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance (Pastoureau 85). This ‘moral metamorphosis’ in European society was largely influenced by the views of Christian Protestant reformers concerning the social, religious, and artistic use of the colour blue (Pastoureau). A shift in the use of blue and its symbolic connotations may also be seen, for example, in early Christian art and iconography, specifically those deriving from depictions of the Virgin Mary; according to Pastoureau (50), this provides the “clearest illustration of the social, religious, and artistic consequences of blue's new status”. Up until the eighteenth century, the colour blue, specifically ‘sky blue’ or light blue tones resemblant of the “UN” shade of blue, had minimal symbolic or aesthetic value, particularly in European culture and certainly amongst nobility and the upper levels of society. Historically, light blue was typically associated with peasants’ clothing. This was due to the fact that peasants would often dye their clothes using the pigment of the woad herb; however, the woad would poorly penetrate cloth fibres and inevitably fade under the effects of sunlight and soap, thereby resulting in a ‘bland’ colour (Pastoureau). Although the blue hues worn by the nobility and wealthy were typically denser and more solid, a “new fashion” for light blue tones gradually took hold at the courts of the wealthy and the bourgeoisie, inevitably becoming deeply anchored in Western European counties (Pastoureau). Here, the reorganisation of the colour hierarchy and reformulation of blue certainly resembles Pastoureau’s (10) assertion that “any history of colour is, above all, a social history”. Within the humanities, colour represents a social phenomenon and construction. Colour thus provides insights into the ways society assigns meaning to it, “constructs its codes and values, establishes its uses, and determines whether it is acceptable or not” (Pastoureau, 10). In this way, although colour is a naturally occurring phenomenon, it is also a complex cultural construct. That the UN and its subsidiary bodies, including the Department of Peacekeeping, deliberately assigned light blue as its official organisational colour therefore usefully illustrates a significant social process of meaning-making and cultural sociology. The historical transition of light blue’s association from one of poverty in and around the eighteenth century to one of wealth in the nineteenth century may perhaps also be indicative of the next transitional era for light blue in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, representative of the amalgamation or unity between the two classes. Representing the ambitions not only of the organisation, but rather of the 193 member-states, of attaining worldwide peace, light blue may be seen as a colour of peace, as well as one of the people, for the people. This may be traced back, according to Pastoureau, as early as the Middle Ages where the colour blue was seen a colour of ‘peace’. Colours, however, do not solely determine social and cultural relevance in a given historical event. Rather, fabrics and clothing too offer “the richest and most diverse source of artifacts” in understanding history and culture. Artifacts such as UN peacekeepers’ blue berets and helmets necessarily incorporate economic, social, ideological, aesthetic, and symbolic aspects of both colour and material into the one complete uniform (Pastoureau). While the ‘UN blue’ is associated with peace, the beret, on the other hand, has been described as “an ally in the battlefield” (Kliest). The history of the beret is largely rooted in the armed forces – institutions typically associated with conflict and violence – and it continues to be a vital aspect of military uniforms worn by personnel from countries all around the globe. Given that the large majority of UN peacekeeping forces are made up of military personnel, peacekeeping, as both an action and an institution, thus adds a layer of complexity when discussing artifact symbolism. Here, a peacekeeper’s uniform uniquely represents the embodiment of an amalgamation of two traditionally juxtaposing concepts: peace, nurture, and diplomacy (often associated with ‘feminine’ qualities) versus conflict, strength, and discipline (often associated with ‘masculine’ qualities). A peacekeeper’s uniform thus represents the UN’s institutionalisation of “soldiers for peace” (Howard) who are, as former UN Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjold proclaimed, “the front line of a moral force” (BBC cited in Howard). Aside from its association with the armed forces, the beret has also been used as a fashion symbol by political revolutionaries, such as members of the ‘Black Panther Party’ (BPP) founded in the 1960s during the US Civil Rights Movement, as well as Che Guevara, prominent Leftist figure in the Cuban Revolution (see fig. 4). For, Rosabelle Forzy, CEO of beret and headwear fashion manufacturing company ‘Laulhère’, the beret is “emblematic of non-conformism … worn by people who create, commit, militate, and resist” (Kliest). Fig. 4: Berets worn by political revolutionaries (Left to right: Black Panthers Party (BPP) protesting outside of a New York courthouse (https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2988897/Black-Panther-double-cop-killer-sues-freedom-plays-FLUTE-Murderer-demands-parole-changed-fury-victim-s-widow.html), and portrait of Che Guevara) In a way, the UN’s ‘blue beret’ too bears a ‘non-conformist’ visage as its peacekeepers neither fit categorisations as ‘revolutionaries’ nor as traditional ‘soldiers’. Peacekeepers personify a cultural phenomenon that operates in a complex environment (Rubinstein). While peacekeepers retain their national military (usually camouflage) uniforms during missions, the UN headwear is a symbol of non-conformity in response to sociological preconceptions regarding military culture. In the case of peacekeeping, the implementation and longevity of peacekeepers’ uniforms has occurred through a process of what Rubinstein (50) refers to as ‘cultural’ or ‘symbolic inversion’ wherein traditional notions of military rituals and symbolism have been appropriated or ‘inverted’ and given a new meaning by the UN. In other words, the UN promotes the image of soldiers acting without the use of force in service of peace in order to encode an image of a “world transformed” through the contribution of peacekeeping toward the “elaboration of an image of an international community acting in a neutral, consensual manner” (Rubinstein, 50). Cultural inversion therefore creates a socio-political space wherein normative representations are reconfigured and conditioned as acceptable. Rubinstein argues, however, that the UN’s need to integrate individuals with such diverse backgrounds and perceptions into a collective peacekeeper identity can be problematic. Rubinstein (72) adds that the blue beret is the “most obvious evidence” of an ordinary symbol investing ‘legitimacy’ in peacekeeping through ritual repetition which still holds its cultural relevance to the present day. Arguably, institutional uniforms are symbols which profoundly shape human experience, validating contextual action according to the symbol’s meanings relevant to those wearing it. In this way, uniform symbolism not only allows us to make sense of our daily experiences, but allows us to construct and understand our identities and our interactions with others who are also part of the symbolic culture we are situated in. Consider, for example, a police officer. A police officer’s uniform not only grants them membership to the policing institution but also necessarily grants them certain powers, privileges, and jurisdictions within society which thereby impact on the way they see the world and interact with it. Necessarily, the social and cultural identity one acquires from wearing a specific uniform only effectively functions by “investing differences”, however large or small, into these symbols that “distinguish us from others” (Rubinstein, 74). For example, a policeman’s badge is a signifier that they are, in fact, part of an exclusive group that the majority of the citizenry are not. To this extent, the use of uniforms is not without its controversies or without the capacity to be misused as a tool of discrimination in a ‘them’ versus ‘us’ scenario. Referring to case regarding the beret, for example, in 2000 then US Army Chief of Staff, General Eric Shineski, announced that the black beret – traditionally worn exclusively by specialised US Army units such as ‘Rangers’ – would become a standardised part of the US Army uniform for all soldiers and would denote a “symbol of unity”. General Shineski’s decision for the new headgear symbolised “the half-million-strong army’s transition to a lighter, more agile force that can respond more rapidly to distant trouble spots” (Borger). This was, however, met with angry backlash particularly from the Rangers who stated that they “were being robbed of a badge of pride” as “the beret is a symbol of excellence … that is not to be worn by everybody” (Borger). Responses to the proposition pointed to the problem of ‘low morale’ that the military faced, which could not be fixed just by “changing hats” (Borger). In this case, the beret was identified and isolated as a tool for coordinating perceptions (Rubinstein, 78). Here, the use of uniforms is as much about being external identifiers and designating a group from another as it is about sustaining a group by means of perpetuating what Rubinstein conceptualises as ‘self-legitimation’. This occurs in order to ensure the survival of a group and is similarly seen as occurring within UN peacekeeping (Joseph & Alex). Within peacekeeping the blue beret is an effective symbol used to perpetuate self-legitimacy across various levels of the UN which construct systems, or a ‘community’, of reinforcement largely rooted on organisational models of virtue and diplomacy. In the broadest sense, the UN promotes “a unique responsibility to set a global standard” in service to creating a unified and pacific world order (Guterres). As an integral instrument of international action, peacekeeping is, by extension, necessarily conditioned and supported by this cultural model whereby the actions of individual peacekeepers are strategically linked to the symbolic capital at the broadest levels of the organisation to manage the organisation’s power and legitimacy. The image of the peacekeeper, however, is fraught with problems and, as such, UN peacekeepers’ uniforms represent discrepancies and contradictions in the UN’s mission and organisational culture, particularly with relation to the UN’s symbolic construction of community and cooperation amongst peacekeepers. Given that peacekeeping troops are made up of individuals from different ethnic, cultural, and professional backgrounds, conditions for cultural interaction become challenging, if not problematic, and may necessarily lead to cross-cultural misunderstandings, miscommunication, and conflict. This applies to the context of peacekeeper deployment to host nations amongst local communities with whom they are also culturally unfamiliar (Rubinstein, "Intervention"). According to Rubinstein ("Intervention", 528), such operations may “create the conditions under which criminal activities or the institution of neo-colonial relationships can emerge”. Moncrief adds to this by also suggesting that a breakdown in conduct and discipline during missions may also contribute to peacekeepers engaging in violence during missions. Consequently, multiple cases of misdemeanour by UN peacekeepers have been reported across the years including peacekeeper involvement in bribery, weapons trading, and gold smuggling (Escobales). One of the most notorious acts of misconduct and violence that continues to be reported in the present day, however, is of peacekeepers perpetrating sexual exploitation and abuse against host women and children. Between 2004 and 2016, for example, “the UN received almost 2,000 allegations of sexual exploitation and abuse” (Essa). According to former chief of operations at the UN’s Emergency Co-ordination Centre, Andrew Macleod, this figure may be, however, much more disturbing, estimating in general that approximately “60,000 rapes had been carried out by UN staff in the past decade” (Zeffman). An article in the Guardian reported that a 12-year-old girl had been hiding in a bathroom during a house search in a Muslim enclave of the capital, Bangui [in the Central African Republic] … . A man allegedly wearing the blue helmet and vest of the UN peacekeeping forces took her outside and raped her behind a truck. (Smith & Lewis) In the article, the assailant’s uniform (“the blue helmet and vest”) is not only described as literal imagery to contextualise the grave crime that was committed against the child. In evoking the image of the blue helmet and vest, the author highlights the uniform as a symbolic tool of power which was misused to perpetuate harm against the vulnerable civilian ‘other’. In this scenario, like many others, rather than representing peace and hope, the blue helmet (or beret) instead illustrates the contradictions of the UN peacekeeper’s uniform. Here, the uniform has consequently come to be associated as a symbol of violence, fear, and most significantly, betrayal, for the victim(s) of the abuse, as well as for much of the victim’s community. This discrepancy was also highlighted in a speech presented by former Ambassador of the UK Mission to the UN, Matthew Rycroft, who stated that “when a girl looks up to a blue helmet, she should do so not in fear, but in hope”. For many peacekeepers perpetrating sexual exploitation and abuse, particularly transactional sex, however, they “do not see themselves as abusing women”. This is largely to do with the power and privileges peacekeepers are afforded, such as ‘immunity’ – that is, a peacekeeper is granted immunity from trial or prosecution for criminal misconduct by the host nation’s judicial system. Over the years, scholarly research regarding peacekeepers’ immunity has highlighted a plethora of organisational problems within the UN, including lack of perpetrator accountability, and internal investigation or follow-up. More so, it has undoubtedly “contributed to a culture of individuals committing sexual violence knowing that they will get away with it” (Freedman). When a peacekeeper wears their uniform, they are thus imbued with the power and charged with the responsibility to properly embody and represent the values of the UN; “if [peacekeepers] don’t understand how powerful a position they are in, they will never understand what they do is actually wrong” (Elks). As such, unlike other traditional institutional uniforms, such as that of a soldier or a police officer, a peacekeeper’s uniform stands out as an enigma. One the one hand, peacekeepers channel the peaceful and passive organisational values of the UN by wearing the blue beret or helmet, whilst at the same time, they continue to sport the national military body uniform of their home country. Questions pertaining to the peacekeeper’s uniform arise and require further exploration: how can peacekeepers disassociate from their disciplined military personas and learnt combat skills if they continue to wear military camouflage during peacekeeping missions? Is the addition of the blue beret or helmet enough to reconfigure the body of the peacekeeper from one of violence, masculinity, and offence to that of peace, nurture, and diplomacy? Certainly, a range of factors are pertinent to an understanding of peacekeepers’ behaviour and group culture. But whether these two opposing identities can cohesively create or reconstitute a third identity using the positive skills and attributes of both juxtaposing institutions remains elusive. Nonetheless, the blue beret is a symbol of international hope, not only for vulnerable populations, but also for the world population collectively, as it represents neutral third-party member states working together to rebuild the world through non-combative means. References Borger, Julian. “Elite Forces Fear the Coming of the Egalitarian Beret.” The Guardian 19 Oct. 2000. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2000/oct/19/julianborger>. Elks, Sonia. “Haitians Say Underaged Girls Were Abused by U.N. Peacekeepers.” Reuters 19 Dec. 2019. <https://www.reuters.com/article/us-haiti-women-peacekeepers-idUSKBN1YM27W>. Escobales, Roxanne. “UN Peacekeepers 'Traded Gold and Guns with Congolese rebels'.” The Guardian 28 Apr. 2008. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/apr/28/congo.unitednations>. Essa, Azad. “Why Do Some Peacekeepers Rape? The Full Report.” Al Jazeera 10 Aug. 2017. <https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2017/8/10/why-do-some-peacekeepers-rape-the-full-report>. Freedman, Rosa. “Why Do peacekeepers Have Immunity in Sex Abuse Cases?” CNN 25 May 2015. <https://edition.cnn.com/2015/05/22/opinions/freedman-un-peacekeepers-immunity/index.html>. Guterres, António. Address to High-Level Meeting on the United Nations Response to Sexual Exploitation and Abuse. United Nations. 18 Sep. 2017. <https://www.un.org/sg/en/content/sg/speeches/2017-09-18/secretary-generals-sea-address-high-level-meeting>. Henry, Charles P. Ralph Bunche: Model Negro or American Other? New York: New York UP, 1999. Howard, Lise Morjé. Power in Peacekeeping. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2019. Joseph, Nathan, and Nicholas Alex. "The Uniform: A Sociological Perspective." American Journal of Sociology 77.4 (1972): 719-730. Kliest, Nicole. “Why the Beret Never Goes Out of Style.” TZR 6 April 2021. <https://www.thezoereport.com/fashion/history-berets-hat-trend>. Rubinstein, Robert A. "Intervention and Culture: An Anthropological Approach to Peace Operations." Security Dialogue 36.4 (2005): 527-544. DOI: 10.1177/0967010605060454. ———. Peacekeeping under Fire: Culture and Intervention. Routledge, 2015. Rycroft, Matthew. "When a Girl Looks Up to a Blue Helmet, She Should Do So Not in Fear, But in Hope." 10 Mar. 2016. <https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/when-a-girl-looks-up-to-a-blue-helmet-she-should-do-so-not-in-fear-but-in-hope>. Smith, David, and Paul Lewis. "UN Peacekeepers Accused of Killing and Rape in Central African Republic." The Guardian 12 Aug. 2015. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/aug/11/un-peacekeepers-accused-killing-rape-central-african-republic>. United Nations. :United Nations Emblem and Flag." N.d. <https://www.un.org/en/about-us/un-emblem-and-flag>. United Nations Peacekeeping. “Where We Operate.” N.d. <https://peacekeeping.un.org/en/where-we-operate>. Urquhart, Brian. Ralph Bunche: An American Life. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. 1993. Zeffman, Henry. “Charity Sex Scandal: UN Staff ‘Responsible for 60,000 rapes in a Decade’.” The Times 14 Feb. 2018. <https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/un-staff-responsible-for-60-000-rapes-in-a-decade-c627rx239>.

IntroductionBushfires have taken numerous lives and destroyed communities throughout Australia over many years. Catastrophic fire weather alerts have occurred during the Australian summer of 2012–13, and long-term forecasts predict increased bushfire events throughout several areas of Australia. This article highlights how organisational and individual responses to bushfire in Australia often entail creative responses—either improvised responses at the time of bushfire emergencies or innovative (organisational, strategic, or technological) changes which help protect the community from, or mitigate against, future bushfire catastrophes. These improvised or innovative responses include emergency communications systems, practices, and devices. This article reports on findings from a research project funded by the Australian Research Council titled Using Community Engagement and Enhanced Visual Information to Promote FireWatch Satellite Communications as a Support for Collaborative Decision-making. FireWatch is a Web-based public information product based on near real time satellite data produced by the West Australian (WA) Government entity, Landgate. The project researches ways in which remote and regional publics can be engaged and mobilised through the development of a more user-friendly FireWatch site to make fire information accessible and usable, allowing a community-focused response to risk.The significance of the research project is evident both in how it addresses the important and life-threatening challenge of bushfires; and also in how Australia’s increasingly hot, dry, long summers are adding to historically-established risks. This innovative project uses an iterative, participatory design process incorporating action-research practices. This will ensure that the new Firewatch interface is redesigned, tested, observed, and reflected upon multiple times—and will incorporate the collective creativity of users, designers, and researchers.The qualitative findings reported on in this article are based on 19 interviews with community members in the town of Kununurra in the remote Kimberley region of WA. The findings are positioned within a reconceptualised framework in which creativity is viewed as an essential component of successful emergency responses. This includes, we argue, two critical aspects of creativity: improvisation during a catastrophic event; and ongoing innovation to improve future responses to catastrophes—including communication practices and technologies. This shifts the discourse within the literature in relation to the effective management and community responses to the changing phenomenon of fire catastrophes. Findings from the first round of interviews, and results of enquiries into previous bushfires in Australia, are used to highlight how these elements of creativity often entail a collective creativity on the part of emergency responders or the community in general. An additional focus is on the importance of the critical use of communication during a bushfire event.ImprovisationThe notion of "improvisation" is often associated with artistic performance. Nonetheless, improvisation is also integral to making effectual responses during natural catastrophes. “Extreme events present unforeseen conditions and problems, requiring a need for adaptation, creativity, and improvisation while demanding efficient and rapid delivery of services under extreme conditions” (Harrald 257).Catastrophes present us with unexpected scenarios and require rapid, on the spot problem solving and “even if you plan for a bushfire it is not going to go to plan. When the wind changes direction there has to be a new plan” (Jeff. Personal Interview. 2012). Jazz musicians or improvisational actors “work to build their knowledge across a range of fields, and this knowledge provides the elements for each improvisational outcome” (Kendra and Wachendorf 2). Similarly, emergency responders’ knowledge and preparation can be drawn “upon in the ambiguous and dynamic conditions of a disaster where not every need has been anticipated or accounted for” (Kendra and Wachtendorf 2). Individuals and community organisations not associated with emergency services also improvise in a creative and intuitive manner in the way they respond to catastrophes (Webb and Chevreau). For example, during the 9/11 terrorism catastrophe in the USA an assorted group of boat owners rapidly self-organised to evacuate Lower Manhattan. On their return trips, they carried emergency personnel and supplies to the area (Kendra and Wachendorf 5). An interviewee in our study also recalls bush fire incidents where creative problem solving and intuitive decision-making are called for. “It’s like in a fire, you have to be thinking fast. You need to be semi self-sufficient until help arrives. But without doing anything stupid and creating a worse situation” (Kelly. Personal Interview. 2012). Kelly then describes the rapid community response she witnessed during a recent fire on the outskirts of Kununurra, WA.Everyone had to be accounted for, moving cars, getting the tractors out, protecting the bores because you need the water. It happens really fast and it is a matter of rustling everyone up with the machinery. (2012)In this sense, the strength of communities in responding to catastrophes or disasters “results largely from the abilities of [both] individuals and organisations to adapt and improvise under conditions of uncertainty” (Webb and Chevreau 67). These improvised responses frequently involve a collective creativity—where groups of neighbours or emergency workers act in response to the unforseen, often in a unified and self-organising manner. InnovationCatastrophes also stimulate change and innovation for the future. Disasters create a new environment that must be explored, assessed, and comprehended. Disasters change the physical and social landscape, and thereby require a period of exploration, learning, and the development of new approaches. (Kendra and Wachtendorf 6)These new approaches can include organisational change, new response strategies, and technologies and communication improvements. Celebrated inventor Benjamin Franklin, for instance, facilitated the formation of the first Volunteer Fire department in the 1850s as a response to previous urban fire catastrophes in the USA (Mumford 258). This organisational innovation continues to play an instrumental part in modern fire fighting practices. Indeed, people living in rural and remote areas of Australia are heavily reliant on volunteer groups, due to the sparse population and vast distances that need to be covered.As with most inventions and innovations, new endeavours aimed at improving responses to catastrophes do not occur in a vacuum. They “are not just accidents, nor the inscrutable products of sporadic genius, but have abundant and clear causes in prior scientific and technological development” (Gifillian 61). Likewise, the development of our user-friendly and publically available FireWatch site relies on the accumulation of preceding inventions and innovations. This includes the many years spent developing the existing FireWatch site, a site dense in information of significant value to scientists, foresters, land managers, and fire experts.CommunicationsOften overlooked in discussions regarding emergency communications is the microgeographical exchanges that occur in response to the threat of natural disasters. This is where neighbours fill the critical period before emergency service responders can appear on site. In this situation, it is often local knowledge that underpins improvised grassroots communication networks that inform and organise the neighbourhood. During a recent bushfire on peri-rural blocks on the outskirts of Kununurra, neighbours went into action before emergency services volunteers could respond.We phoned around and someone would phone and call in. Instead of 000 being rung ten times, make sure that one person rang it in. 40 channel [CB Radio] was handy – two-way communication, four wheelers – knocking on doors making sure everyone is out of the house, just in case. (Jane. Personal Interview. 2012) Similarly, individuals and community groups have been able to inform and assist each other on a larger scale via social network technologies (SNTs). This creative application of SNTs began after the 9/11 terror attacks in 2001 when individuals created wikis in order to find missing persons (Palen and Lui). Twitter has experienced considerable growth and was used freely during the 2009 Black Saturday fires in Australia. Studies of tweeting activity during these fires indicate that “tweets made during Black Saturday are laden with actionable factual information which contrasts with earlier claims that tweets are of no value made of mere random personal notes” (Sinnappan et al. n.p.).Traditionally, official alerts and warnings have been provided to the public via television and radio. However, several inquiries into the recent bushfires within Australia show concern “with the way in which fire agencies deliver information to community members during a bushfire...[and in order to] improve community safety from bushfire, systems need to be implemented that enable community members to communicate information to fire agencies, making use of local knowledge” (Elsworth et al. 8).Technological and social developments over the last decade mean the public no longer relies on a single source of official information (Sorensen and Sorensen). Therefore, SNTs such as Twitter and Facebook are being used by the media and emergency authorities to make information available to the public. These SNTs are dynamic, in that there can be a two-way flow of information between the public and emergency organisations. Nonetheless, there has been limited use of SNTs by emergency agencies to source information posted by in situ residents, in order to help in decision-making (Freeman). Organisational use of multiple communication channels and platforms to inform citizens about bushfire emergencies ensures a greater degree of coverage—in case of communication systems breakdowns or difficulties—as in the telephone alert system breakdown in Kelmscott-Roleystone, WA or a recent fire in Warrnambool, Victoria which took out the regional telephone exchange making telephone calls, mobiles, landlines, and the Internet non-operational (Johnson). The new FireWatch site will provide an additional information option for rural and remote Australians who, often rely on visual sightings and on word-of-mouth to be informed about fires in their region. “The neighbour came over and said - there is a fire, we’d better get our act together because it is going to hit us. No sooner than I turned around, I thought shit, here it comes” (Richard. Personal Interview. 2012). The FireWatch ProjectThe FireWatch project involves the redevelopment of an existing FireWatch website to extend the usability of the product from experts to ordinary users in order to facilitate community-based decision-making and action both before and during bushfire emergencies. To this purpose, the project has been broken down to two distinct, yet interdependent, strands. The community strand involves collaboration within a community (in this case the Kununurra community) in order to carry out a community-centred approach to further development of the site. The design strand involves the development of an intuitive and accessible Web presentation of complex information in clear, unambiguous ways to inform action in stressful circumstances. At this stage, a first round of 19 semi-structured interviews with stakeholders has been conducted in Kununurra to determine fire-related information-seeking behaviours, attitudes to mediated information services in the region, as well as user feedback on a prototype website developed in the design strand of the project. Stakeholders included emergency services personnel (payed and volunteer), shire representatives, tourism operators, small business operators (including tourism operators), a forest manager, a mango farmer, an Indigenous ranger team manager as well as general community members. Interviewees reported dissatisfaction with current information systems. They gave positive feedback about the website prototype. “It’s very much, very easy to follow” (David. Personal Interview. 2012). “It looks so much better than [the old site]. You couldn’t get in that close on [the other site]. It is fantastic” (Lance. Personal Interview. 2012). They also added thought-provoking contributions to the design of the website (to be discussed later).Residents of Kununurra who were interviewed for this research project found bushfire warning communications unsatisfactory, especially during a recent fire on the outskirts of town. People who called 000 had difficulties passing the information on, having to explain exactly where Kununurra was and the location of fires to operators not familiar with the area. When asked how the Kununurra community gets their fire information a Shire representative explained: That is not very good at the moment. The only other way we can think about it is perhaps more updates on things like Facebook, perhaps on a website, but with this current fire there really wasn’t a lot of information and a lot of people didn’t know what was going on. We [the shire] knew because we were talking to the [fire] brigades and to FESA [Fire and Emergency Services Authority] but most residents didn’t have any idea and it looks pretty bad. (Ginny. Personal Interview. 2012) All being well, the new user-friendly FireWatch site will add another platform through which fire information messages are transmitted. Community members will be offered continuously streamed bushfire location information, which is independent of any emergency services communication systems. In particular, rural and remote areas of Australia will have fire information at the ready.The participatory methodology used in the design of the new FireWatch website makes use of collaborative creativity, whereby users’ vision of the website and context are incorporated. This iterative process “creates an equal evolving participatory process between user and designer towards sharing values and knowledge and creating new domains of collective creativity” (Park 2012). The rich and sometimes contradictory suggestions made by interviewees in this project often reflected individual visions of the tasks and information required, and individual preferences regarding the delivery of this information. “I have been thinking about how could this really work for me? I can give you feedback on what has happened in the past but how could it work for me in the future?” (Keith. Personal Interview. 2012). Keith and other community members interviewed in Kununurra indicated a variety of extra functions on the site not expected by the product designers. Some of these unexpected functions were common to most interviewees such as the great importance placed on the inclusion of a satellite view option on the site map (example shown in Figure 1). Jeremy, a member of an Indigenous ranger unit in the Kununurra area, was very keen to incorporate the satellite view options on the site. He explained that some of the older rangers:can’t use GPSs and don’t know time zones or what zones to put in, so they’ll use a satellite-style view. We’ll have Google Earth up on one [screen], and also our [own] imagery up on another [screen] and go that way. Be scrolling in and see – we’ve got a huge fire scar for 2011 around here; another guy will be on another computer zoning in and say, I think it is here. It’s quite simplistic but it works. (Personal Interview. 2012) In the case above, where rangers are already switching between computer screens to incorporate a satellite view into their planning, the importance of a satellite view layer on the FireWatch website makes user context an essential part of the design process. Incorporating many layers on one screen, as recommended by participants also ensures a more elegant solution to an existing problem.Figure 1: Satellite view in the Kununurra area showing features such as gorges, rivers, escarpments and dry riverbedsThis research project will involve further consultation with participants (both online and offline) regarding bushfire safety communications in their region, as well as the further design of the site. The website will be available over multiple devices (for example desktops, smart phones, and hand held tablet devices) and will be launched late this year. Further work will also be carried out to determine if social media is appropriate for this community of users in order to build awareness and share information regarding the site.Conclusion Community members improvise and self-organise when communicating fire information and organising help for each other. This can happen at a microgeographical (neighbourhood) level or on a wider level via social networking sites. Organisations also develop innovative communication systems or devices as a response to the threat of bushfires. Communication innovations, such as the use of Twitter and Facebook by fire emergency services, have been appropriated and fine-tuned by these organisations. Other innovations such as the user-friendly Firewatch site rely on previous technological developments in satellite-delivered imagery—as well as community input regarding the design and use of the site.Our early research into community members’ fire-related information-seeking behaviours and attitudes to mediated information services in the region of Kununurra has found unexpectedly creative responses, which range from collective creativity on the part of emergency responders or the community in general during events to creative use of existing information and communication networks. We intend to utilise this creativity in re-purposing FireWatch alongside the creative work of the designers in the project.Although it is commonplace to think of graphic design and new technology as incorporating creativity, it is rarely acknowledged how frequently these innovations harness everyday perspectives from non-professionals. In the case of the FireWatch developments, the creativity of designers and technologists has been informed by the creative responses of members of the public who are best placed to understand the challenges posed by restricted information flows on the ground in times of crisis. In these situations, people respond not only with new ideas for the future but with innovative responses in the present as they communicate with each other to deal with the challenge of a fast-moving and unpredictable situation. Such improvisation, honed through close awareness of the contours and parameters of both community and communication, are one of the ways through which people help keep themselves and each other safe in the face of dramatic developments.ReferencesElsworth, G., and K. Stevens, J. Gilbert, H. Goodman, A Rhodes. "Evaluating the Community Safety Approach to Bushfires in Australia: Towards an Assessment of What Works and How." Biennial Conference of the Eupopean Evaluation Society, Lisbon, Oct. 2008. Freeman, Mark. "Fire, Wind and Water: Social Networks in Natural Disasters." Journal of Cases on Information Technology (JCIT) 13.2 (2011): 69–79.Gilfillan, S. Colum. The Sociology of Invention. Chicago: Follett Publishing, 1935.Harrald, John R. "Agility and Discipline: Critical Success Factors for Disaster Response." The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 604.1 (2006): 256–72.Johnson, Peter. "Australia Unprepared for Bushfire”. Australian Broadcasting Corporation 17 Dec. 2012. 3 Jan. 2013 ‹http://www.abc.net.au/environment/articles/2012/12/17/3654075.htm›.Keelty, Mick J. "A Shared Responsibility: the Report of the Perth Hills Bushfires February 2011". Department of Premier and Cabinet, Government of Western Australia, Perth.Kendra, James, and Tricia Wachtendorf. "Improvisation, Creativity, and the Art of Emergency Management." NATO Advanced Research Workshop on Understanding and Responding to Terrorism: A Multi-Dimensional Approach. Washington, DC, 8-9 Sep. 2006.———. "Creativity in Emergency Response after the World Trade Centre Attack". Amud Conference of the International Emergency Management Society. University of Delaware. 14-17 May 2002. Mumford, Michael D. "Social Innovation: Ten Cases from Benjamin Franklin." Creativity Research Journal 14.2 (2002): 253–66.Palen, Leysia, and Sophia.B. Liu. "Citizen Communications in Crisis: Anticipating a Future of ICT-Supported Public Participation." Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. San Jose, 28 Apr. - 3 May 2007.Park, Ji Yong. "Design Process Excludes Users: The Co-Creation Activities between User and Designer." Digital Creativity 23.1 (2012): 79–92. Sinnappan, Suku, Cathy Farrell, and Elizabeth Stewart. "Priceless Tweets! A Study on Twitter Messages Posted During Crisis: Black Saturday." Proceedings of 21st Australasian Conference on Information Systems (ACIS 2010). Brisbane, Australia, 1-3 Dec 2010.Sorensen, John H., and Barbara Vogt Sorensen. "Community Processes: Warning and Evacuation." Handbook of Disaster Research. Eds. Havidán Rodríguez, Enrico Louis Quarantelli, and Russell Rowe Dynes. New York: Springer, 2007. 183–99.Webb, Gary R., and Francois-Regis Chevreau. "Planning to Improvise: The Importance of Creativity and Flexibility in Crisis Response." International Journal of Emergency Management 3.1 (2006): 66–72.

The labyrinth is probably the most universal trope of complexity. Deriving from pre-Greek labyrinthos, a word denoting “maze, large building with intricate underground passages”, and possibly related to Lydian labrys, which signifies “double-edged axe,” symbol of royal power, the notion of the labyrinth primarily evokes the Minoan Palace in Crete and the myth of the Minotaur. According to this myth, the Minotaur, a monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull, was born to Pesiphae, king Minos’s wife, who mated with a bull when the king of Crete was besieging Athens. Upon his return, Minos commanded the artist Daedalus to construct a monumental building of inter-connected rooms and passages, at the center of which the King sought to imprison the monstrous sign of his disgrace. The Minotaur required human sacrifice every couple of years, until it was defeated by the Athenian prince Theuseus, who managed to extricate himself from the maze by means of a clue of thread, given to him by Minos’s enamored daughter, Ariadne (Parandowski 238-43). If the Cretan myth establishes the labyrinth as a trope of complexity, this very complexity associates labyrinthine design not only with disorientation but also with superb artistry. As pointed out by Penelope Reed Doob, the labyrinth is an inherently ambiguous construct (39-63). It presumes a double perspective: those imprisoned inside, whose vision ahead and behind is severely constricted, are disoriented and terrified; whereas those who view it from outside or from above – as a diagram – admire its structural sophistication. Labyrinths thus simultaneously embody order and chaos, clarity and confusion, unity (a single structure) and multiplicity (many paths). Whereas the modern, reductive view equates the maze with confusion and disorientation, the labyrinth is actually a signifier with two contradictory signifieds. Not only are all labyrinths intrinsically double, they also fall into two distinct, though related, types. The paradigm represented by the Cretan maze is mainly derived from literature and myth. It is a multicursal model, consisting of a series of forking paths, each bifurcation requiring new choice. The second type is the unicursal maze. Found mainly in the visual arts, such as rock carvings or coin ornamentation, its structural basis is a single path, twisting and turning, but entailing no bifurcations. Although not equally bewildering, both paradigms are equally threatening: in the multicursal construct the maze-walker may be entrapped in a repetitious pattern of wrong choices, whereas in the unicursal model the traveler may die of exhaustion before reaching the desired end, the heart of the labyrinth. In spite of their differences, the basic similarities between the two paradigms may explain why they were both included in the same linguistic category. The labyrinth represents a road-model, and as such it is essentially teleological. Most labyrinths of antiquity and of the Middle Ages were designed with the thought of reaching the center. But the fact that each labyrinth has a center does not necessarily mean that the maze-walker is aware of its existence. Moreover, reaching the center is not always to be desired (in case it conceals a lurking Minotaur), and once the center is reached, the maze-walker may never find the way back. Besides signifying complexity and ambiguity, labyrinths thus also symbolically evoke the danger of eternal imprisonment, of inextricability. This sinister aspect is intensified by the recursive aspect of labyrinthine design, by the mirroring effect of the paths. In reflecting on the etymology of the word ‘maze’ (rather than the Greek/Latin labyrinthos/labyrinthus), Irwin observes that it derives from the Swedish masa, signifying “to dream, to muse,” and suggests that the inherent recursion of labyrinthine design offers an apt metaphor for the uniquely human faculty of self-reflexitivity, of thought turning upon itself (95). Because of its intriguing aspect and wealth of potential implications, the labyrinth has become a category that is not only formal, but also conceptual and symbolic. The ambiguity of the maze, its conflation of overt complexity with underlying order and simplicity, was explored in ideological systems rooted in a dualistic world-view. In the early Christian era, the labyrinth was traditionally presented as a metaphor for the universe: divine creation based on a perfect design, perceived as chaotic due to the shortcomings of human comprehension. In the Middle-Ages, the labyrinthine attributes of imprisonment and limited perception were reflected in the view of life as a journey inside a moral maze, in which man’s vision was constricted because of his fallen nature (Cazenave 348-350). The maze was equally conceptualized in dynamic terms and used as a metaphor for mental processes. More specifically, the labyrinth has come to signify intellectual confusion, and has therefore become most pertinent in literary contexts that valorize rational thought. And the rationalistic genre par excellence is detective fiction. The labyrinth may serve as an apt metaphor for the world of detective fiction because it accurately conveys the tacit assumptions of the genre – the belief in the existence of order, causality and reason underneath the chaos of perceived phenomena. Such optimistic belief is ardently espoused by the putative detective in Paul Auster’s metafictional novella City of Glass: He had always imagined that the key to good detective work was a close observation of details. The more accurate the scrutiny, the more successful the results. The implication was that human behavior could be understood, that beneath the infinite façade of gestures, tics and silences there was finally a coherence, an order, a source of motivation. (67) In this brief but eloquent passage Auster conveys, through the mind of his sleuth, the central tenets of classical detective fiction. These tenets are both ontological and epistemological. The ontological aspect is subsumed in man’s hopeful reliance on “a coherence, an order, a source of motivation” underlying the messiness and blood of the violent deed. The epistemological aspect is aptly formulated by Michael Holquist, who argues that the fictional world of detective stories is rooted in the Scholastic principle of adequatio rei et intellectus, the adequation of mind to things (157). And if both human reality and phenomenal reality are governed by reason, the mind, given enough time, can understand everything. The mind’s representative is the detective. He is the embodiment of inquisitive intellect, and his superior powers of observation and deduction transform an apparent mystery into an incontestable solution. The detective sifts through the evidence, assesses the relevance of data and the reliability of witnesses. But, first of foremost, he follows clues – and the clue, the most salient element of the detective story, links the genre with the myth of the Cretan labyrinth. For in its now obsolete spelling, the word ‘clew’ denotes a ball of thread, and thus foregrounds the similarity between the mental process of unraveling a crime mystery and the traveler’s progress inside the maze (Irwin 179). The chief attributes of the maze – circuitousness, enclosure, and inextricability – associate it with another convention of detective fiction, the trope of the locked room. This convention, introduced in Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” a text traditionally regarded as the first analytic detective story, establishes the locked room as the ultimate affront to reason: a hermetically sealed space which no one could have penetrated or exited and in which a brutal crime has nevertheless been committed. But the affront to reason is only apparent. In Poe’s ur-text of the genre, the violent deed is committed by an orangutan, a brutal and abused beast that enters and escapes from the seemingly locked room through a half-closed window. As accurately observed by Holquist, in the world of detective fiction “there are no mysteries, there is only incorrect reasoning” (157). And the correct reasoning, dubbed by Poe “ratiocination”, is the process of logical deduction. Deduction is an enchainment of syllogisms, in which a conclusion inevitably follows from two valid premises; as Dupin elegantly puts it, “the deductions are the sole proper ones and … the suspicion arises inevitably from them as a single result” (Poe 89). Applying this rigorous mental process, the detective re-arranges the pieces of the puzzle into a coherent and meaningful sequence of events. In other words – he creates a narrative. This brings us back to Irwin’s observation about the recursive aspect of the maze. Like the labyrinth, detective fiction is self-reflexive. It is a narrative form which foregrounds narrativity, for the construction of a meaningful narrative is the protagonist’s and the reader’s principal task. Logical deduction, the main activity of the fictional sleuth, does not allow for ambiguity. In classical detective fiction, the labyrinth is associated with the messiness and violence of crime and contrasted with the clarity of the solution (the inverse is true of postmodernist detective mysteries). The heart of the labyrinth is the solution, the vision of truth. This is perhaps the most important aspect of the detective genre: the premise that truth exists and that it can be known. In “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” the initially insoluble puzzle is eventually transformed into a coherent narrative, in which a frantic orangutan runs into the street escaping the abuse of its master, climbs a rod and seeks refuge in a room inhabited by two women, brutally slashes them in confusion, and then flees the room in the same way he penetrated it. The sequence of events reconstructed by Dupin is linear, unequivocal, and logically satisfying. This is not the case with the ‘hard boiled’, American variant of the detective genre, which influenced the inception of film noir. Although the novels of Hammett, Chandler or Cain are structured around crime mysteries, these works problematize most of the tacit premises of analytic detective fiction and re-define its narrative form. For one, ‘hard boiled’ fiction obliterates the dualism between overt chaos and underlying order, between the perceived messiness of crime and its underlying logic. Chaos becomes all-encompassing, engulfing the sleuth as well as the reader. No longer the epitome of a superior, detached intellect, the detective becomes implicated in the mystery he investigates, enmeshed in a labyrinthine sequence of events whose unraveling does not necessarily produce meaning. As accurately observed by Telotte, “whether [the] characters are trying to manipulate others, or simply hoping to figure out how their plans went wrong, they invariably find that things do not make sense” (7). Both ‘hard-boiled’ fiction and its cinematic progeny implicitly portray the dissolution of social order. In film noir, this thematic pursuit finds a formal equivalent in the disruption of traditional narrative paradigm. As noted by Bordwell and Telotte, among others, the paradigm underpinning classical Hollywood cinema in the years 1917-1960 is characterized by a seemingly objective point of view, adherence to cause-effect logic, use of goal-oriented characters and a progression toward narrative closure (Bordwell 157, Telotte 3). In noir films, on the other hand, the devices of flashback and voice-over implicitly challenge conventionally linear narratives, while the use of the subjective camera shatters the illusion of objective truth (Telotte 3, 20). To revert to the central concern of the present paper, in noir cinema the form coincides with the content. The fictional worlds projected by the ‘hard boiled’ genre and its noir cinematic descendent offer no hidden realm of meaning underneath the chaos of perceived phenomena, and the trope of the labyrinth is stripped of its transcendental, comforting dimension. The labyrinth is the controlling visual metaphor of the Coen Brothers’ neo-noir film The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001). The film’s title refers to its main protagonist: a poker-faced, taciturn barber, by the name of Ed Crane. The entire film is narrated by Ed, incarcerated in a prison cell. He is writing his life story, at the commission of a men’s magazine whose editor wants to probe the feelings of a convict facing death. Ed says he is not unhappy to die. Exonerated of a crime he committed and convicted of a crime he did not, Ed feels his life is a labyrinth. He does not understand it, but he hopes that death will provide the answer. Ed’s final vision of life as a bewildering maze, and his hope of seeing the master-plan after death, ostensibly refer to the inherent dualism of the labyrinth, the notion of underlying order manifest through overt chaos. They offer the flicker of an optimistic closure, which subscribes to the traditional Christian view of the universe as a perfect design, perceived as chaos due to the shortcomings of human comprehension. But this interpretation is belied by the film’s final scene. Shot in blindingly white light, suggesting the protagonist’s revelation, the screen is perfectly empty, except for the electric chair in the center. And when Ed slowly walks towards the site of his execution, he has a sudden fantasy of the overhead lights as the round saucers of UFOs. The film’s visual metaphors ironically subvert Ed’s metaphysical optimism. They cast a view of human life as a maze of emptiness, to borrow the title of one of Borges’s best-known stories. The only center of this maze is death, the electric chair; the only transcendence, faith in God and in after life, makes as much sense as the belief in flying saucers. The Coen Brothers thus simultaneously construct and deconstruct the traditional symbolism of the labyrinth, evoking (through Ed’s innocent hope) its promise of underlying order, and subverting this promise through the images that dominate the screen. The transcendental dimension of the trope of the labyrinth, its promise of a hidden realm of meaning and value, is consistently subverted throughout the film. On the level of plot, the film presents a crisscrossed pattern of misguided intentions and tragi-comic misinterpretations. The film’s protagonist, Ed Crane, is estranged from his own life; neither content nor unhappy, he is passive, taking things as they come. Thus he condones Doris’s, his wife’s, affair with her employer, Big Dave, reacting only when he perceives an opportunity to profit from their liason. This opportunity presents itself in the form of Creighton Tolliver, a garrulous client, who shares with Ed his fail-proof scheme of making big money from the new invention of dry cleaning. All he needs to carry out his plan, confesses Creighton, is an investment of ten thousand dollars. The barber decides to take advantage of this accidental encounter in order to change his life. He writes an anonymous extortion letter to Big Dave, threatening to expose his romance with Doris and wreck his marriage and his financial position (Dave’s wife, a rich heiress, owns the store that Dave runs). Dave confides in Ed about the letter; he suspects the blackmailer is a con man that tried to engage him in a dry-cleaning scheme. Although reluctant to part with the money, which he has been saving to open a new store to be managed by Doris, Big Dave eventually gives in. Obviously, although unbeknownst to Big Dave, it is Ed who collects the money and passes it to Creighton, so as to become a silent partner in the dry cleaning enterprise. But things do not work out as planned. Big Dave, who believes Creighton to be his blackmailer, follows him to his apartment in an effort to retrieve the ten thousand dollars. A fight ensues, in which Creighton gets killed, not before revealing to Dave Ed’s implication in his dry-cleaning scheme. Furious, Dave summons Ed, confronts him with Creighton’s story and physically attacks him. Ed grabs a knife that is lying about and accidentally kills Big Dave. The following day, two policemen arrive at the barbershop. Ed is certain they came to arrest him, but they have come to arrest Doris. The police have discovered that she has been embezzling from Dave’s store (Doris is an accountant), and they suspect her of Dave’s murder. Ed hires Freddy Riedenschneider, the best and most expensive criminal attorney, to defend his wife. The attorney is not interested in truth; he is looking for a version that will introduce a reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. At some point, Ed confesses that it is he who killed Dave, but Riedenschneider dismisses his confession as an inadequate attempt to save Doris’s neck. He concocts a version of his own, but does not get the chance to win the trial; the case is dismissed, as Doris is found hanged in her cell. After his wife’s death, Ed gets lonely. He takes interest in Birdy, the young daughter of the town lawyer (whom he initially approached for Doris’s defense). Birdy plays the piano; Ed believes she is a prodigy, and wants to become her agent. He takes her for an audition to a French master pianist, who decides that the girl is nothing special. Disenchanted, they drive back home. Birdy tells Ed, not for the first time, that she doesn’t really want to be a pianist. She hasn’t been thinking of a career; if at all, she would like to be a vet. But she is very grateful. As a token of her gratitude, she tries to perform oral sex on Ed. The car veers; they have an accident. When he comes to, Ed faces two policemen, who tell him he is arrested for the murder of Creighton Tolliver. The philosophical purport of the labyrinth metaphor is suggested in a scene preceding Doris’s trial, in which her cocky attorney justifies his defense strategy. To support his argument, he has recourse to the theory of some German scientist, called either Fritz or Werner, who claimed that truth changes with the eye of the beholder. Science has determined that there is no objective truth, says Riedenschneider; consequently, the question of what really happened is irrelevant. All a good attorney can do, he concludes, is present a plausible narrative to the jury. Freddy Riedenschneider’s seemingly nonchalant exposition is a tongue-in-cheek reference to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Succinctly put, the principle postulates that the more precisely the position of a subatomic particle is determined, the less precisely its momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa. What follows is that concepts such as orbits of electrons do not exist in nature unless and until we measure them; or, in Heisenberg’s words, “the ‘path’ comes into existence only when we observe it” (qtd. in Cassidy). Heisenberg’s discovery had momentous scientific and philosophical implications. For one, it challenged the notion of causality in nature. The law of causality assumes that if we know the present exactly, we can calculate the future; in this formulation, suggests Heisenberg, “it is not the conclusion that is wrong, but the premises” (qtd. in Cassidy). In other words, we can never know the present exactly, and on the basis of this exact knowledge, predict the future. More importantly, the uncertainty principle seems to collapse the distinction between subjective and objective reality, between consciousness and the world of phenomena, suggesting that the act of perception changes the reality perceived (Hofstadter 239). In spite of its light tone, the attorney’s confused allusion to quantum theory conveys the film’s central theme: the precarious nature of truth. In terms of plot, this theme is suggested by the characters’ constant misinterpretation: Big Dave believes he is blackmailed by Creighton Tolliver; Ed thinks Birdy is a genius, Birdy thinks that Ed expects sex from her, and Ann, Dave’s wife, puts her faith in UFOs. When the characters do not misjudge their reality, they lie about it: Big Dave bluffs about his war exploits, Doris cheats on Ed and Big Dave cheats on his wife and embezzles from her. And when the characters are honest and tell the truth, they are neither believed nor rewarded: Ed confesses his crime, but his confession is impatiently dismissed, Doris keeps her accounts straight but is framed for fraud and murder; Ed’s brother in law and partner loyally supports him, and as a result, goes bankrupt. If truth cannot be known, or does not exist, neither does justice. Throughout the film, the wires of innocence and guilt are constantly crossed; the innocent are punished (Doris, Creighton Tolliver), the guilty are exonerated of crimes they committed (Ed of killing Dave) and convicted of crimes they did not (Ed of killing Tolliver). In this world devoid of a metaphysical dimension, the mindless processes of nature constitute the only reality. They are represented by the incessant, pointless growth of hair. Ed is a barber; he deals with hair and is fascinated by hair. He wonders how hair is a part of us and we throw it to dust; he is amazed by the fact that hair continues to grow even after death. At the beginning of the film we see him docilely shave his wife’s legs. In a mirroring scene towards the end, the camera zooms in on Ed’s own legs, shaved before his electrocution. The leitmotif of hair, the image of the electric chair, the recurring motif of UFOs – all these metaphoric elements convey the Coen Brothers’ view of the human condition and build up to Ed’s final vision of life as a labyrinth. Life is a labyrinth because there is no necessary connection between cause and effect; because crime is dissociated from accountability and punishment; because what happened can never be ascertained and human knowledge consists only of a maze of conflicting, or overlapping, versions. The center of the existential labyrinth is death, and the exit, the belief in an after-life, is no more real than the belief in aliens. The labyrinth is an inherently ambiguous construct. Its structural attributes of doubling, recursion and inextricability yield a wealth of ontological and epistemological implications. Traditionally used as an emblem of overt complexity concealing underlying order and symmetry, the maze may aptly illustrate the tacit premises of the analytic detective genre. But this purport of the maze symbolism is ironically inverted in noir and neo-noir films. As suggested by its title, the Coen Brothers’ movie is marked by absence, and the absence of the man who wasn’t there evokes a more disturbing void. That void is the center of the existential labyrinth. References Auster, Paul. City of Glass. The New York Trilogy. London and Boston: Faber and Faber, 1990. 1-132. Bordwell, David. Narration in the Fiction Film. Madison: Wisconsin UP, 1985. 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London: Chancellor Press, 1994. 103-114. Telotte, J.P. Voices in the Dark: The Narrative Patterns of Film Noir. Urbana: Illinois UP, 1989. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Shiloh, Ilana. "A Vision of Complex Symmetry: The Labyrinth in The Man Who Wasn’t There." M/C Journal 10.3 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/09-shiloh.php>. APA Style Shiloh, I. (Jun. 2007) "A Vision of Complex Symmetry: The Labyrinth in The Man Who Wasn’t There," M/C Journal, 10(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/09-shiloh.php>.