Articles de revues sur le sujet « WWII Canada »

This paper investigates the mediating role that technologies of classification and identification have on individual performances and subsequent identity construction. During WWII in Canada, ID surveillance technologies were developed to govern the behaviours of individuals conscripted into the Armed Forces. Legislation, however, limited how these conscripted soldiers could be deployed. Due to a cultural perception of a lack of patriotism associated with these conscript “Zombies,” the Army consciously developed policy to have conscripts adopt additional performances to identify them as Zombies in order to shame them into “volunteering” for General Service. This paper argues that as a result of implemented governing technologies, conscripted individuals took up new and undesired performances as Zombie soldiers, and furthermore, that these performances impacted how they were perceived culturally and worked to medi-ate their

Abstract Studies of extraterrestrial radio noise became world wide after WWII, and were rapidly separated into a number of disciplines. Solar radio astronomy, at a wavelength of 10.7 cm, was initiated in 1946 at the Radio Field Station of the National Research Council. Its development at the Goth Hill Radio Observatory outside Ottawa is outlined until 1962, when the work was transferred to the Algonquin Radio Observatory.

AbstractThough described as the first milestone towards securing Canada’s critical infrastructure (CI), the 2009 National Strategy for Critical Infrastructure is the most recent effort in decades of federal engagement with the problem of how to secure the material elements that underpin state, economy, and society. In this article, we show how a little-known civil defence program initiated after WWII to protect important industrial facilities from military enemies has transformed in the contemporary period into the monitoring of a range of political and social movements as perceived dangers to what is understood today as CI. We view these changes as indicative of transformations in the exercise of police power through which the contemporary colonial-liberal order is enacted.

Many of Canada’s aging immigrants were displaced persons in Europe post-WWII and have internalized psychological effects of their traumatic past within a society that tends to marginalize or pathologize them. While early collective trauma literature focuses on individualized, psychotherapeutic approaches, more recent literature demonstrates the importance of externalizing and contextualizing trauma and fostering validating dialogue within families and community systems to facilitate transformation on many levels. My research is an autoethnographic exploration of lifespan and intergenerational effects of trauma perceived by Russian Mennonite women who fled Stalinist Russia to Germany during WWII and migrated to Winnipeg, Canada, and adult sons or daughters of this generation of women. Sixteen individual life narratives, including my own, generated a collective narrative for each generation. Most participants lost male family members during Stalin’s Great Terror, verschleppt, or disappeared in a vehicle dubbed the Black Raven. Survivors tended to privilege stories of resilience – marginalizing emotions and mental weakness. The signature story of many adult children involved their mother’s resilience, suppressed psychological issues, and emotional unavailability. Results underline the importance of narrative exchange that validates marginalized storylines and promotes individual, intergenerational, and cultural story reconstruction within safe social and/or professional environments, thus supporting healthy attachments.

“Middle powers,” variously defined, have served relevant and significant roles in the post-WWII regional and global orders, facilitated by structural conditions of “long peace” among great powers and proactive leadership by and among creative middle powers. Within the complex Asia-Pacific security order, “middle powers” such as Australia, Canada, and South Korea have had the “space” to engage the non-like minded and advance multilateralism with security guarantees from the US. However, Beijing and Washington today are eliminating this space and its associated choices for middle-power diplomacy by increasingly characterizing their rivalry as a confrontation of “existential threats” between incompatible “civilizations” and securitizing trade and technology. China and the US are each selectively ignoring or purposely eroding key aspects of a rules-based international order. This paper highlights the dilemmas of South Korea, Australia, and Canada, middle powers who have found themselves individually and collectively “stuck” facing contradictory global and regional policy choices.

In December of 1934 the Society for American Archaeology was officially constituted. In 1935, in an effort to grow the membership, professional archaeologists were asked to propose members who they endorsed to become affiliated with the SAA. The two professional archaeologists in Canada at that time, Diamond Jenness and William J. Wintemberg of the Dominion Museum, Ottawa, proposed names of individuals across Canada who were collectors, museum curators, and historians. A small number suggested for membership joined, but most did not. This was an interesting period in North American archaeology as professionals worked in committees to establish cultural and temporal frameworks of the archaeological past, establish excavation guidelines, and lobby against the sale of antiquities. Some Canadian avocationals who joined were positively impacted by their association with American archaeologists and their legacies continue through to today. The bottom line is that there were very few professional archaeologists in Canada following Wintemberg’s death in 1941, and that lack coupled with WWII, meant that Canadians looking for professional support and guidance looked to the south of the border. The Society for American Archaeology was important for the growth and development of Canadian archaeology during this time.

Despite its beginning in the 1850’s and being first in Canada to purchase a tile drainage trencher, subsurface drainage of agricultural lands in Quebec is poorly documented, which the present paper will try to document from 1850 to 1970. In Quebec, Catholic priests and monks played an important role in educating rural communities by establishing French agricultural schools throughout the province. For the English rural communities, Macdonald College (Macdonald Campus of McGill University) played a major role especially in preparing plans, besides promoting the technology. The Quebec Ministry of Agriculture encouraged subsurface drainage early in 1912 but would prefer investing in land clearing and watercourse deepening to establish more farms, from the employment needs created by WWI, the great 1930 depression and WWII. This work mostly completed in the early 1960’s, the Quebec Government would then initiate a major subsurface drainage program, allowing private enterprises to take over shortly after 1967. Although the Ministry changed names several times even after 1967, the term ‘Ministry of Agriculture’ will be used throughout this article. To compare trencher performance, a 15 m average spacing is presumed. This paper is limited to the main events and persons involved, without being able to cover them all.

This paper provides an historic analysis of the crises that have faced the Canadian professoriate since the 1950’s. Historic periodization is used to identify the eras, defined by broader societal movements, in which the nature of academic work in Canada has changed. Key narratives of crisis are identified including the post-WWII focus on professors’ mundanity, the 1970’s emphasis on poor working conditions and unionization, and the 1990’s emphasis on diversity and inequity. The paper concludes by examining the current crisis in which a fragmented professoriate is facing market-driven working conditions, exacerbated by the uncertainties of the COVID-19 Pandemic. The findings suggest crises emerge when there is tension between society’s expectations of professors and professors’ self-perception of their role and contributions.

Acts of domination are not always easy to identify, and in hindsight, the best intentions of post WWII rezoning and “arden city”high-rise developments have not served poor, racialized immigrants well. While the poor in the Downtown East Side of Toronto did not benefit from postwar urban renewal, the middle classes did, but only because they mustered resources in order to block zoning that would allow high rises. As a result, one area of the DTES is one of the most condensed stocks of beautifully preserved Victorian-style homes in Canada. This article interrogates the postwar rationalization of the DTES and the claim, and the resistance to it, that it is “ot the right for 3000 poor people to live downtown”.

This article examines the humanitarian internationalism of the Jewish Labour Committee of Canada (JLC) between 1938 and 1952. Throughout WWII, the JLC sent aid to European resistance movements, and in its aftermath participated in the “garment workers’ schemes,” a series of immigration projects that resettled thousands of displaced persons in Canada. Undertaken independently by the Jewish-Canadian community, with the assistance of trade unions, the projects worked to overcome tight border restrictions and early Cold War realpolitik. In doing so, the JLC united Jewish institutions, trade unionists, social democrats, and anti-fascists across Europe and North America. It also acted in a pivotal moment in the evolution of Canada’s refugee system and domestic attitudes toward racism. As such, the JLC’s history is a microcosm for the shifting nature of relations between Jews, Canada, and the left writ large. Cet article examine l’internationalisme humanitaire du Jewish Labour Committee du Canada (JLC) entre 1938 et 1952. Tout au long de la Deuxième Guerre mondiale, le JLC a envoyé de l’aide aux mouvements de résistance européens et a participé, après l’armistice, aux « garment workers’ schemes », une série de projets d’immigration qui ont permis de réinstaller des milliers de personnes déplacées au Canada. Entrepris indépendamment par la communauté juive canadienne et avec l’aide de syndicats, ces projets ont permis de surmonter les restrictions frontalières et la realpolitik du début de la guerre froide. Ce faisant, le JLC a réuni des institutions juives, des syndicalistes, des sociaux-démocrates et des antifascistes de toute l’Europe et de l’Amérique du Nord. Il a également agi à un moment charnière de l’évolution du système canadien d’octroi de l’asile et des attitudes de la population à l’égard du racisme. En tant que telle, l’histoire du JLC est un microcosme de la nature changeante des relations entre les Juifs, le Canada et la gauche au sens large.

hrough Julia Kristiva's intertextuality, this study explores the diasporic version of identity in Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient - the text that is based on Ondaatje's inspiration from other literary and non-literary texts: Rudyard Kipling's Kim, Herodotus' The History, James Fenimore Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans and the story of Gyges and the Queen. This theoretical inscription locates the source of the expression of the meaning of the text: either the author or the text per se. It argues the intertextual narration of Ondaatje, a Sri Lankan living in Canada, about the fragmented identities of the diasporas in the post-World War II milieu. This intertextual approach highlights the politics working behind the location of the characters, their (dis)placement from/to their origin and their identity in the post-WWII time. The framing of these intertextual discourses helps understand the contexts of diaspora characters as well as diaspora writers.

The writers contributing their researaches to this book deal with anare8 that has not yet been adequately studied. Most of the litemhue onMuslims is historically or politically oriented and views immigrant Muslimsin North America as extensions of their homelands, in particular theMiddle East. This book discusses Muslim families as part of the pluralsticand ever-changjng social fabric of the United States and Canada. Thefamilies of African-American Muslims and Muslim converts are notstudied. We are going to present our critique chapter by chapter.Muslim Normative 'I).aditions and the North American Environment(Sharon Mclrvin Abu-Laban).The clear and workable typology of Muslim immigrant families presentedhere points out major social patterns and links to Islam. They aredivided into three cohorts based on "the dynamic interaction between socialconditions and group characteristics" @. 7): pioneer (nineteenth centuryto WWII); transitional (post-WWII to 1967); and differential (1968to ptesent). Different generations within each cohort are exarnined.African-American Muslims are excluded, as their case is unique.The fitst cohort lived in an era of total conformity to a socioculturalmilieu dominated by the English language and Christianity. This cohort'ssecond generation assumed a more conformist role due to its disadvantagedsocial status, distance from its original home and culture, and lackof financial resou~easn d ethnic institutions. Intermarriagew ith the widersociety was high. Ironically, all of this "generated the particular disdainof the newest Muslim immigrants," who arrived after 1976 @. 18).The transitional cohort consists mainly of foreign students from wellestablishedindigenous elite families who had been Europeanized beforetheir arrival. As a postcolonial generation, they saw nationalism, not religion,as a valuable means for development and social change. They intermarriedwith North Americans at a higher rate than their predecessors.The second generation of this cohort, along with the third generation ofthe pioneers, experienced the most discrimination and media stereotyping ...

This paper demonstrates the relationship between specific surveillance technologies and state actors’ capacity to assert governmentally ascribed social categories, and their associated performances, onto individuals and populations. During the Second World War in Canada, the government passed legislation to conscript individuals into the Armed Forces. The program commenced in 1940, mandating a registration of all those over the age of sixteen. The conscription of men classified to be “mobilized” began soon after, however, the effectiveness of the National Registration and mobilization system to conscript these identified individuals increased dramatically with the adoption of a new set of surveillance technologies in March 1942. These changes led to significant increases in the number of men that were conscripted per month after 1942, pointing to the capacity of these new policies and technologies to assert greater statistical oversight over system staff and its targeted populations. These surveillant practices and technologies also prompted the development of a form of reactive path dependence. Together, these two points served as key factors which worked to alter the observable performances of individuals classified for conscription.

Abstract In her I Was a Child of Holocaust Survivors published in Canada in 2006, Bernice Eistenstein undertakes an attempt to cope with the inherited memories of the Holocaust. As a child of the Holocaust survivors, she tries to deal with the trauma her parents kept experiencing years after WWII had finished. Eisenstein became infected with the suffering and felt it inescapable. Eisenstein’s text, which is one of the first Jewish-Canadian graphic memoirs, appears to represent the voice of the children of Holocaust survivors not only owing to its verbal dimension, but also due to the drawings incorporated into the text. Therefore, the text becomes a combination of a memoir, a family story, a philosophical treatise and a comic strip, which all prove unique and enrich the discussion on the Holocaust in literature. For these reasons, the aim of this article is to analyze the ways in which Eisenstein deals with her postmemory, to use Marianne Hirsch’s term (1997 [2002]), as well as her addiction to the Holocaust memories. As a result of this addiction, the legacy of her postmemory is both unwanted and desired and constitutes Bernice Eisenstein’s identity as the eponymous child of Holocaust survivors.

The aim of the present article, based on the vast archive of the writer Indra Gubiņa’s (1927–2017) kept in several repositories, like the University of Latvia Academic Library named after Jānis Misiņš, Museum of Literature and Music, and the National Archive of Latvia, was to select the appropriate data and create a map of the Gubiņa’s places of residence and her travels. Such a map was created using the mapping method of the digital humanities, it is available at the site www.literatura.lv – within Gubiņa’s profile. The writer Gubiņa belongs to the generation of writers who left Latvia at the end of WWII, having to leave unfinished studies, then trying to complete their education while at the camps of the displaced persons in Germany, but later – in the countries of their exile. Gubiņa started her literary activities while living in England, later continued them in Canada. Her literary works show everyday life and situation of the Latvian exiles in England and Canada, the impressions of the foreign environment, relationships of people, family and the problems of married life, complications of a woman’s inner world, as well as the relationships between generations, search for the meaning of life, as well as problems of art. The author reflects on life and culture of her age, trying to show the surrounding people as seen through her own eyes, that is the people of that particular age with their characteristic problems. The works follow the tradition of the psychological realistic prose; her poetry is characterized by a romantic, restrained mood, and personal experience. Gubiņa’s literary heritage is quite voluminous, consisting of twenty-seven books – novels, short prose, poetry, and travelogues (Europe, Mexico, Australia). Her writings in general are characterised by strong autobiographical or biographical features and aspects. Several of her works have been reissued in Latvia. She also wrote reviews of art and exhibitions. Gubiņa believed that a person is formed by one’s age, society, and geographical surroundings. The article provides an insight into the personality and work of Gubiņa from the location or geography aspect. It reveals that the most significant locations in the life of the author have been the following seemingly unlikely list: Līvbērze, Jelgava, Lübeck, Bradford, and Toronto. Arriving in Canada provided to Gubiņa her liberty, opportunity to travel and see the world, provided her with new creative impulses, or sometimes simply an occasion to relax, while the way home – to Latvia – was closed. In 1975 Gubiņa visited Soviet Latvia for the first time, then returning more frequently after 1990, though she never found a true feeling of belonging there. For the life geography of Gubiņa, Jelgava is of particularly great importance, though the town was virtually destroyed at the end of WWII. For Gubiņa, this town meant home, now completely lost; all that was left was a dream of home. She lived in Toronto, Canada, for 65 years, always viewing it as a mere place of residence. “This is anxiety, and longing for peace, that makes one time and time again to pack up the belongings and leave for the world in search of happiness somewhere else,” Gubiņa wrote. The memories of home and the town of Jelgava hold her in their power, while she admits in her poetry: “The road is grown over with nettles, / the ditches full of willows, / and the eyes – of recollections.” Work with the aforementioned digital tools and creat of the map of Gubiņa’s life space allows to visualise the vastness of this space while providing a compact view of it. Such mapping of movements or travels also provides the basis for a better understanding of the writer’s literary works. The experiences, travels and transcultural memories of Gubiņa reveal themselves in the travelogues and the moods and the depicted landscapes of her poetry, thus also enriching the ‘geography’ of the literary texts.

This article critiques the arbitral tribunal’s decision in Glamis Gold, Ltd. v. The United States of America on the basis of its interpretation of the fair and equitable treatment standard (FET) owed by state parties to foreign investors under NAFTA article 1105. Part I outlines the post-WWII development of the FET standard in relation to the restrictive, customary international law of minimum standard of treatment (MST). The author traces the expansive treatment of the FET standard by tribunals in both bilateral investment treaty and NAFTA disputes. Despite a binding Free Trade Commission Note of Interpretation limiting the scope of article 1105, NAFTA tribunals had consistently interpreted the FET standard more broadly until the award in Glamis. Part II evaluates the tribunal’s reasoning in Glamis, arguing that it departs from a growing body of jurisprudence on the FET standard under NAFTA without sufficient justification. The author also criticizes the tribunal’s decision to place an unprecedented evidentiary burden on the claimant by requiring proof of both state practice and opinio juris of the FET standard. The conclusion suggests that the decision of the tribunal in Merrill & Ring Forestry L.P. v. Canada may provide a better approach to balancing governments’ legitimate regulatory objectives and foreign investors’ treaty rights.

The Post-War Diaspora: Some Remarks on the Depiction of Serbian and Croatian Emigrants in Recent LiteratureThe essay aims to show how modern literature of both Serbia and Croatia depicts the early South Slavic emigration of the post-World War II period. Describing historical conditions before and during WWII, the author depicts Serbian and Croatian emigration groups which differ one from the other in their mental backgrounds. But the books analysed in the essay show that, when abroad, both Serbs and Croats present identical attitudes and are involved in the same rituals, exclusion and stigmatisa­tion. The analysis is based on two texts: one written by Vladimir Tasić, a Serb emigrant to Canada, the other by Daša Drndić, a Croatian woman of many years’ emigrant experience. In their books the two authors describe members of both nations who form strongly consolidated groups abroad and exhibit nationalistic viewpoints. Both Tasić and Drndić are modern literary writers, open to novelty in art. Furthermore, they openly reject the nationally oriented state models which originated after the collapse of Yugoslavia. They also criticise representatives of the post-war emigration. The author of the essay thus concludes that, after years of silence about the post-war diaspora, the contempo­rary emigrant communities emerge in two contrasting ways in Serbian and Croatian literature and in scholarly discourse. One is represented by politically and aesthetically conservative artists and schol­ars, and has a clearly apologetic character. The other, represented by Drndić and Tasić, expresses a critical approach.

Kenneth Gray, an attorney as well as a psychiatrist, was the leader in the development of law and psychiatry in Canada prior to his death in 1970. He lived during the post WWII years which saw a phenomenal growth of psychiatry as well as the beginnings of the modern era of a renewed concern for human rights. This later concern has caused the belegalment of many areas of psychiatric practice. Kenneth Gray would have to learn a new set of rules for commitment, the use of ECT and informed consent. He would discover that a patient has a right to treatment that must be buttressed by an individual treatment plan. He would discover that a committed patient has a right to refuse treatment and that some courts in the United States have said that anti-psychotic medications are mind-altering and thus an invasion of the patients 1st amendment rights. He would see untreated refusing patients languishing in the hospital or the homeless mentally ill on the streets because of restrictive commitment laws. As an attorney he would also be concerned about the proposed solution to the homeless, outpatient commitment. He certainly would have been impressed with some of the recent decisions in the United States on our duty to warn or protect known and unknown victims. Seeing patients’ advocates on the hospital wards would be a real surprise to him. These controls on the practice of psychiatry for the protection of our patients cut both ways. Dr. Gray's medical/legal education would be tested to its full.

During the First World War, many Canadian women served on the front lines as nurses, both as working professionals and volunteers. Although the experiences of Canadian women during WWI have been addressed by historians more frequently in recent decades, the experience of professional nurses has been overshadowed by that of Volunteer Aid Detachment nurses (VADs) and women on the home front and of course by studies on soldiers’ experiences. Many historians have found the personal narrative, diary, or journal to be an invaluable source to understanding the First World War. However, there is a gap in the study of the personal narratives, diaries, and journals of Canadian professional nurses specifically. This paper seeks to bridge this gap in WWI history through a specific focus on a selection of the surviving personal papers of Canadian professional nurses. Their personal writings reveal new insights into nursing experience on the front, nursing work, and how Canadian professional nurses sought and found meaning in extraordinary and violent circumstances. They made sense of the war through sociability, relationality, and through recording their time overseas both to cope with the experience itself, and to remember it upon their return home.

This paper looks at the coverage of women’s civil labour during WWI in two magazines, Maclean’s in Canada and L’Illustration in France, supplemented with material from war museums and academic works. Our concern is media representations of the indispensible participation of these women, not as victims and passive entities in the conflict, but as individuals who have significantly contributed to the war effort. We contend that the magazines’ content did not reflect the magnitude of women’s civil labour during WWI and the importance they had not only in sustaining the war effort, maintaining a general level of production that would allow their countries to remain significantly involved in the war, but also in their contribution to the modernisation of society.

Tomato Brown Rugose Fruit Virus (ToBRFV) is a plant pathogen that infects important Solanaceae crop species and can dramatically reduce tomato crop yields. The ToBRFV has rapidly spread around the globe due to its ability to escape detection by antiviral host genes which confer resistance to other tobamoviruses in tomato plants. The development of robust and reproducible methods for detecting viruses in the environment aids in the tracking and reduction of pathogen transmission. We detected ToBRFV in municipal wastewater influent (WWI) samples, likely due to its presence in human waste, demonstrating a widespread distribution of ToBRFV in WWI throughout Ontario, Canada. To aid in global ToBRFV surveillance efforts, we developed a tiled amplicon approach to sequence and track the evolution of ToBRFV genomes in municipal WWI. Our assay recovers 95.7% of the 6393 bp ToBRFV RefSeq genome, omitting the terminal 5′ and 3′ ends. We demonstrate that our sequencing assay is a robust, sensitive, and highly specific method for recovering ToBRFV genomes. Our ToBRFV assay was developed using existing ARTIC Network resources, including primer design, sequencing library prep, and read analysis. Additionally, we adapted our lineage abundance estimation tool, Alcov, to estimate the abundance of ToBRFV clades in samples.

This article compares the Small Holdings Colonies Acts (1916 and 1918) for demobilized WWI soldiers in Britain upon which the Land Settlement (Scotland) Act of 1919 was established; and similar small holdings colonies for demobilized soldiers in Canada with a particular focus on provisions for the state to engage in compulsory acquisition of land for this purpose. My research shows in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, colonies and compulsory acquisition of land under the 1919 Act were part of a larger land reform movement (breaking up large estates) and represent progressive advances for traditional occupants – the crofters and tenant farmers – to have rights over their own lands. In Canada, on the other hand, domestic colonies for British soldiers served to displace indigenous peoples from their reserves already vastly diminished compared to traditional territories. The compulsory acquisition of land through surrenders from reserves compounded the problem. As such colonies in Canada had negative impacts on indigenous peoples as part of an ongoing settler colonization process. Thus I show that small holdings colonies particularly when combined with compulsory acquisition of land work in opposite directions normatively and materially in each country.

The First World War has had an indelible impact on Newfoundland, shaping not only its relationship with Britain and empire, but also its union with Canada in 1949. For some, the Battle of the Somme was a powerful display of Newfoundland's identity as a British dominion and its loyalty to the mother country. Many Newfoundlanders, however, lament the tragic economic and political consequences of Newfoundland's war service that many believe led to its loss of independence and its union with Canada decades later. Edward Riche's 2017 play Dedication explores the legacy of the First World War on Newfoundland identity and the province's continued positive association with Sir Douglas Haig through the dramatisation of a grieving female journalist interviewing Haig in St. John's in 1924, just before the unveiling of the national war memorial. The play grapples with themes of colonisation, patriotism, and duty as the playwright seeks to challenge the prevailing myth of identity grounded in glorious sacrifice. While the interview in the play raises questions about the war's legacy through its focus on the dedication of the WWI monument by Haig himself, Riche interrogates Newfoundland's established memory of the war, as well as the value of monuments as historical markers of memory and identity.

Living in Alberta for 25 years, I have travelled in and through the stunning Canadian Rockies countless times. Only recently did I learn that some of the infrastructure that helps us enjoy the mountain parks was built by the forced labour of Ukrainian Canadian men interned during WWI. A few years earlier, Canada had actively encouraged these immigrants (often referred to as “Galicians”) as muchneeded industrial workers, particularly in railway construction. However, in the face of war with the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1914, the government decided that these “enemy aliens”, now unemployed by the pre-war recession, were a potential menace to the community and should be detained in remote camps. Food, clothing and living conditions were poor, and on top of their expected work time, the internees often had to march many hours from the camp to their place of work.

This study examines the post-WWII matrimonial emigration between Italy and Canada through the oral history of Clara, a woman who emigrated from San Stino di Livenza in 1960, following her husband. Clara’s narrative, derived from an interview, challenges the traditional historiographic category of women who emigrate following their husbands. Her story reveals complexities beyond this category, highlighting her unique experiences working abroad and her motivations for emigrating. The study demonstrates that gender is a valuable lens for interpreting marital emigration dynamics, family roles, and work experiences.

With the end of the WWII, the Western Allies and the Soviet Union's wartime coordination became dysfunctional. In 1949, the United States and its allies Canada, along with many Western European states established the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) to guarantee collective defense against the Soviet Union. With the fall of the Soviet Union, the world became unipolar when prior opponents were no longer remained to challenge Western supremacy. Hence, the political analysts started to believe that NATO was no longer required. But, for nearly three decades, The NATO Alliance avoided defining its long-term purpose, still welcoming for an eastward expansion. NATO has expanded five times since 1990.

Hyper forms of globalization have contributed to the diffusion and de-institutionalization of state power (Chin and Mittelman, 1997) and to growing populism, nationalism, and authoritarianism in Europe thathave questioned the liberal international order’s effectiveness, legitimacy and authority. What has come under threat is not only the order itself, but the economic prosperity, security, peace, and normative foundations that has nurtured it. In this context of a emerging world order we examine what function so-called middle powers on both sides of the Atlantic could play?While often overseen in recent years, middle powers are important units of analysis to study because during the times of the ‘old’ order in the aftermath of WWII they had benefitted most of the stable liberal international order, and as a result they have the most to lose today in case that order changes dramatically or even disappears. In looking back at middle power’s presence at creation of the liberal international world order in the aftermath of WWII, we suggest, helps us to comprehend what function middle powers could play in this current wave of changing transatlantic orders. Especially their intraalliance bridgebuilding function is important in this regard that in the past helped to balance the interests of the major powers. Canada is discussed as a case study.

Over the last two decades, a variety of reports have suggested that watermains in Canada are deteriorating, and break rates are increasing. However, these reports are often limited as the years of break records being utilized are brief; this paper revisits those assessments using over forty-five years of break records and shows that three of the five utilities investigated are experiencing significant decreases in break rates over the past 10 years while the two other utilities are maintaining consistent break rates. These results indicate that these utilities are effectively managing their watermain infrastructure, and suggest watermain infrastructure throughout Canada may be performing better than suggested by cross-sectional survey results. Analyses indicate that on average, 22% of the watermains analysed have exceeded the 0.125 brk/km/yr break rate threshold and may be considered for pipe replacement / rehabilitation. In particular 50% of cast iron pipes installed post-WWII have exceeded a break rate threshold of 0.125 brks/km/yr, suggesting large pipe replacement/rehabilitation of this pipe cohort is required.

ABSTRACTObjectiveA thorough understanding of the health status of Canadians must take into account their ethnicity, given the genetic and social effects of race and ethnicity on health. Our objective is to describe Canadian data sources that collect ethnicity data and the degree of granularity that exists for ethnic classifications within these sources. We contextualize changes to the collection of ethnic data by considering their historical, social, and political circumstances. ApproachOur methods are informed by environmental scan and history methodology. We searched publicly available government documents, peer-reviewed literature, and contacted key informants to gain a comprehensive understanding of the Canadian sources available for collecting nationally representative ethnicity data. Two investigators, using qualitative content analysis, analyzed these sources independently. We extracted information form sources relating to the ethnic classifications (e.g., race, ethnic origins, colour, ancestry) and constructed a historical timeline of key changes. We mapped these to Canada’s changing social and political landscape and drew on contemporary literature to consider the implications of these changes for population health. The study team met to discuss findings, interpretations, and themes that emerged from these sources. ResultsThere are four main sources of ethnicity data in Canada used for health research: 1) Provincial health insurance registries, 2) Canadian Health Measures Survey, 3) Canadian Community Health Survey, 4) Census. Of these, ethnicity data are most limited in the provincial health insurance registries, flagging only Aboriginal status. The other three data sources are nationally administered, with all asking individuals to select, out of 11 categories, self-identified racial or ethnic groups. Historically, Canada’s changing policies on multiculturalism and immigration have influenced the collection of ethnic data to become more inclusive and granular. Important periods include early attempts at nation-building during the late 19th century, social changes post-WWII and the introduction of multiculturalism into federal policy, and present-day efforts in ethnic classifications for research purposes and preserving cultural diversity. ConclusionsThere is a need for greater granularity in ethnic classifications to reflect the diversity of the Canadian population. Consideration should be made to capture ethnicity as a social, cultural, and historical concept concept, especially in large data sources that influence health decision-making, such as the census. For example, questions on ethnic classification may consider incorporating questions about sense of belonging with the identified ethnic ancestry, rather than relying solely on reported ethnic origin and race.

America entered WWII on 8 Dec 1941, the day after Japanese Naval aviators attacked the US Fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaiian Territory. Three days later, Germany declared war on America. The next month (4–26 Jan 1942), the Committee on Aviation Medicine (CAM) undertook a 2nd survey of America's growing aero medical research programs (NAS Archives: CAM Bulletin, pp. 423–442; CAM Report No. 38, pp. 1–20, 26 Jan 1942). They visited 12 military and academic labs across America. The survey team consisted of the CAM [Drs. E.F. DuBois (Cornell), D. Bronk (U Penn), J.F. Fulton (Yale), E.M. Landis (U Va), W.R. Miles (Yale) & E.C. Andrus (Johns Hopkins)] and 6 liaison officers [Dr. C.H. Bazett (Natl Res Council, Canada), Maj. L.E. Griffis (Office of the Chief of Air Corps), Dr. A.B. Hastings (Comm Med Res), Cdr. E. Liljencrantz (Bureau of Aeronautics, Med & Surg), T.C. Macdonald (Wing Cdr., Royal Air Force), and Dr. C.F. Schmidt (U Penn)]. Special reports were made in the following areas; a partial listing of their recommendations follows: 1) Visual Problems—continue studies of depth perception in flying & tests for night vision adaptation; 2) Decompression Chambers—increase number of chambers on West Coast; 3) O2 Equipment—the Bulbulian No. 14 mask is suitable for immediate use, collaborate with the RCAF on further O2 mask development, develop liquid O2 systems, integrate O2 equipment better with flying clothing; 4) Air Embolism—develop tests for revealing the susceptibility of bends in flying personnel, explore collateral factors that influence the occurrence of bends in susceptible personnel; 5) Pressure‐cabins—continue debating the a) role of O2 equipment in pressurized flight and b) the medical dangers of explosive decompression; 6) Pressure Suits—good up to 53,000 ft but concerns over pilot fatigue; 7) Pilot Fatigue—develop psycho‐motor tests to assess fatigue in flight, drug development for mitigating fatigue, establish conservative limits of flying time/month; 8) Physical Fitness; 9) Acceleration Problems & Centrifuges—2 centrifuges and eventually 3 for “g” tolerance research on man at Toronto, Rochester, and soon Wright Field; initiate objective studies in planes and develop observational methods for recording the response of subjects under flight conditions producing high “g”; 10) Selection, Training & Indoctrination—use of psychological and personality qualifications in pilot selection to reduce attrition rate; increase number of indoctrination programs on use of O2 equipment and the physiological adjustment for altitude flying; include other tests, e.g., visual perception, tolerance for high acceleration and susceptibility to bends; 11) Drugs & Adrenal Cortex in Aviation—expand efforts to synthesize physiologically active steroids of the suprarenal cortex (compound E), determine if compound E and cortical extracts improve animal tolerance to anoxia; 12) Clothing—that clothing should be considered a subject of medical importance & a subcommittee be formed to work on problems of flight clothing (needs to be light, not bulky, flame‐proof, capable of prolonged flotation, easy to remove in case of fire); 13) Crashes & Safety of Flying Personnel; and 14) Library Facilities.Support or Funding InformationUSF

Seose säilitamine päritolumaa ja -kultuuriga on diasporaaühiskondadele üldomane tunnusjoon, kuid eri etnilise ja poliitilise taustaga diasporaad realiseerivad seda erinevalt. Võõrsil elavate eestlaste kokkukuuluvustunnet on aidanud süvendada kultuurifestivalid. Artikkel analüüsib festivaliformaati, mida nimetatakse eesti päevadeks. Fookuses on 1983. aastal Göteborgis Estivali nimemärgi all toimunud eesti päevade idee ja selle teostamisega seotud probleemid. Sündmus oli eriline, kuna esmakordselt pärast Teise maailmasõda püüti festivali raames kokku tuua kodu- ja eksiileestlasi. Uurimus põhineb Hain Rebase poolt Eesti Kultuuriloolisele Arhiivile annetatud dokumentidel ning ajakirjandusel. Maintaining of relations with the country of origin is generally characteristic to diaspora societies. However, diasporas of different ethnic and political backgrounds may carry these relations out in different ways.Estonians who live outside Estonia have a long-standing tradition of organising cultural festivals—this ensures the cultural continuity for different diaspora generations and unites new immigrants with the exiles from WWII. My article gives a short overview of such festivals, which are called Estonian Days, focussing on the idea and organisational problems of the Estonian Days held in Gothenburg in 1983 under the title of Estival. This was a special event as the organisers attempted, for the first time after WWII, to bring together the Estonians from the homeland and from the diaspora. My research is based on the collection of Hain Rebas’ materials held at the Estonian Cultural History Archive and on the materials published in the press.The Estonian Days have a long history. They were first held on the West Coast of the USA in 1953, then in Australia in 1954. In Canada, the tradition was launched in 1957 and in Sweden, in 1968. Modelled on the regional festivals, the global format was soon created in North America—the Worldwide Estonian Days were held in Toronto in 1972; later, the global festival was called Esto. The traditions of both the regional Estonian Days and the Estos are still alive and now, they draw together the diaspora and resident Estonians.Prior to Estonia’s regaining of independence, the Estonian Days were a cultural and political event of the Estonian diaspora society and both of these aspects were of equal importance. The program of Estonian Days contains micro song festivals, sports competitions, art exhibitions, literary events as well as discussion evenings and conferences on political themes. A manifestation was held in the public city space where well-known politicians gave speeches demanding the recognition of the Estonians’ right for self-determination and the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Estonia.At the Estonian Days in Sweden in 1968, the discussion about communicating on the institutional level with the Estonians in the homeland became heated, opinions fell to both pro and contra. Organisers of Estival ‘83 decided to take a step forward from the discussions and to invite the Mixed Choir of the Estonian Radio Broadcasting to participate in the festival. Estonian choral singing tradition was a highly appreciated component of national culture both at home and in exile. The organisers of Estival saw choral singing as a potential for uniting all the Estonians. At a meeting of exile Estonian organisations, the chairman of the Estival board Hain Rebas explained that the Estonians in Sweden should manifest national solidarity with the Estonians in the home country, who make up 90% of all the Estonians. Inviting of an Estonian choir to the Estival should have a positive effect on the identity of all Estonians.The organisers wished to have the former president of the USA, Jimmy Carter, as the keynote speaker at the political manifestation, and in case if he refused to come, there should be some other spokesman of democratic values (e.g., the member of the European Parliament Otto von Habsburg, the Chief Secretary of the Amnesty International Thomas Hammerberg or the Prime Minister of Sweden Olaf Palme).The organisers of the Estival planned to have at one and the same event a singing choir from Soviet Estonia and a top politician representing some democratic state. If this plan had been realised, it would have meant the public opposition of two different ideologies. In archival documents and print media, it emerged that this idea caused criticism and controversy in the exile society. Some exile politicians were sure that the festival would cause a scandal. Despite criticism, the organisers sent invitations to both the politicians and the mixed choir of Estonian Radio. None of the politicians was able to come to the Estival for different reasons. However, several of them recognised the cultural achievements and political aspirations of the exile Estonians and wished them success for the future. The mixed choir of Estonian Radio also did not arrive at the festival, but they did not clarify the reasons that had made them turn down the invitation.The Estonian State Academic Male Choir (RAM) was, in 1967, the first Estonian choir to visit Sweden after WWII. The exile society was not engaged in organising the RAM’s concerts but according to newspapers, they made up a large part of the audience. The concerts took place under the supervision of the Union for Developing Cultural Relations with Estonians Abroad (VEKSA, active from 1960–1991) in the framework of the Swedish and Soviet Union’s joint project. Cultural communication of the Soviet Estonia with the Estonians abroad was allowed only through this organisation. Performance of the mixed choir of Estonian Radio in the way as the organisers of the Estival ‘83 had planned would have created an entirely new situation in the cultural communication. It would have meant the establishing of direct contacts between the exile society and the Soviet Estonian choir (the organisers did not contact VEKSA). The real-life political situation actually ruled the plan out already at the very beginning. If we look at it from the side of Soviet Estonia, it was clear that no musician could tour abroad without the support of VEKSA. If we look at it from the viewpoint of the exile society, it was known that a number of influential exile figures did not favour the development of relations on the institutional level with the occupied homeland because it could indicate the political recognition of the occupation. The mixed choir of Estonian Radio, which belonged to the state broadcasting company and was financed by the state, could be treated as an institution. Thus, the plans of the organisers of the Estival faced all at once a number of problems which could not be solved in the political context of the early 1980s.A breakthrough in the direct cultural communication between the resident and exile Estonians occurred at the Worldwide Estonian Days in Melbourne in 1988 where 150 people from Estonia participated in the festival. The RAM Boys’ Choir was among the participants. The Australian Estonian newspapers wrote about the lessening of the gulf between the two halves and stressed the task of the Estonians of the Free World of supporting cultural communication and the striving for freedom of the Estonians in the homeland.The importance of the Estival ‘83 in the long process of uniting the Estonians of the diaspora and the homeland has been overshadowed by Esto ‘88. Despite the attempts at achieving a more global dimension through the political manifestation and at strengthening the Estonians’ feeling of unity through choir music, Estival still remained a regional event of the Estonians in Sweden. However, both of these festivals clearly demonstrate that, first, culture and politics are closely intertwined and second, the exile society purposefully applied the symbiosis of culture and politics in the restoration of such kind of Estonia with which the Estonians all over the world would be able to identify without any conflicts.

I love memory. It reminds me of who I am and how to get home, whether there's bread in the freezer and if I've already seen a movie. It's less helpful on whether I've already met someone and utterly useless in reminding me if I owe money. Overall, though, I'd rather have it than not. Psychologists and philosophers tell us that memory is one of the ways in which we maintain the integrity of the self. I've never met anyone who's lost his memory, but we've all seen movies in which it happens. First, you lose your memory, then you're accused of a crime you can't remember committing. I forget how it turns out but I did once see a documentary about a man who'd lost his memory. It was horrible. It was driving him insane. He could remember his wife, but couldn't remember when he'd last seen her. He thought it was years ago although it had only been 5 minutes. Every time she entered the room, he traversed paroxysms of agony as though seeing her again after an eternity of waiting. The experience was overwhelming for both of them. Of course, psychoanalysts are unequivocal about the importance of memory: repressed memories are the very stuff of the unconscious and analysis helps us remember. When memories are repressed, bad things happen. As Breuer and Freud stated in 1893, "hysterics suffer mainly from reminiscences". History has also long been concerned to discover a true memory, or at least an official one. And history has become one of the main cultural battlegrounds over the right way to remember. But lately, memory has become big business. Entire industries are devoted to selling it back to us. Not private memories, but the likely memories of a group. For example, my newsagent carries at least 3 "nostalgia" magazines, replete with loving photographs of old toys, reprints of old ads, interviews with old personalities, and so on. Fortunately, they're all just a bit too old and the absence of my personal nostalgia reassures me that I'm not quite as decrepit as Generation Xers claim. Nonetheless, amongst my 200-odd TV channels, there is one devoted exclusively to old shows, TVLand. It broadcasts nothing later than 1981 and, though its policies are clearly guided by contractual availability and cost, specialises in TV of the mid-1960s. Now that is getting dangerously close to home. And I confess that, after 30 years, re-viewing episodes of Julia or Petticoat Junction or The Mod Squad ("one's white, one's black, one's blond") is an experience both compelling and embarrassing. And again, this summer, as for the past 15 years, movie screens were awash in retro-films. Not films with old-fashioned plots or deliberately nostalgic styles -- such as Raiders of the Lost Ark -- but films based on cultural artefacts of the near past: The Avengers, Lost in Space, Sergeant Bilko, McHale's Navy, another Batman, The Mask of Zorro, etc. Indeed, now that we've lived through roughly six Star Treks, Mission Impossible, The Flintstones, The Twilight Zone, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Jetsons, and in view of the fact that even now -- even as I write these very lines -- locations are being scouted for Gilligan's Island: The Movie, it seems appropriate to ask if there is a single TV show of the 1960s which will NOT become a major Hollywood movie? That's not all. I have access to approximately 10 "golden oldies" music stations, some specialising solely in "PowerHits of the '70s" or "Yesterday's Country" or "Hits of the Big Band Era". In fact, I think Big Band is making a comeback on the pop charts. Maybe everything old is new again. On the other hand, memory has also become highly political. Much more that I ever remembered. All over the world, governments and institutions are rushing to remember the wrongs of the past and issue sincere apologies. President Clinton apologised to Japanese Americans, some Australian state and local governments to Aborigines, Canada to the displaced Inuit, Tony Blair to the Irish, Swiss banks to the victims of Nazi gold. The return of the repressed is apparently highly therapeutic and certainly very virtuous. Strangely, though, the institutional process of memory recovery is happening at precisely the time that the same recovered memory theory is under attack in the courts. After having been a potent argument in the 1980s, especially in cases involving a sexual component, recovered memory is now widely discredited. Indeed, even movies-of-the-week which at one time preached recovered memory as unassailable truth now regularly use it as the cover of false accusations and gross miscarriages of justice. Even the Canadian Minister of Justice is under pressure to review the cases of all persons jailed as a result of its use. It would seem that after having been private for so many years, memory has gone public. It's a political tool, a legal argument, a business. The opposite of hysteria: we suffer from too much memory. Which leads me to my problem. I can't remember Princess Diana. This is no doubt because I avoided all mention of her when she was alive. And when she died, I was away. Not far away but conceptually away. Away from the media. I didn't follow the news till days later, when it was all over and TV had moved on to something else. Her exit, of course, was rather nasty. Not the sort of thing I'd want to witness, but certainly the sort of thing I'd like to know about. And it didn't exactly happen away from the public eye. There was, it is said, a crush of paparazzi in hot pursuit. And there are allegedly tons of photographs. So how come we haven't seen any? How have the authorities managed to control all those pictures? Supremely concerned with her image in life, Diana is fortunate that others are concerned with it in death. At least the absence of photographs allows us to preserve an unblemished memory of Diana, beautiful, beneficent, almost a people's princess. It does seem though that her memory, like her fame, is largely a by-product of media exposure. If you're in it, everyone knows about you. You're everywhere, inescapable. Your smiling face beams down on millions, your every thought reported. And it's not just the excessive, tabloid press, the fake news programmes, and the tawdry scandal sheets that indulge in this oversaturation -- although they do indulge quite a bit -- but all media. Obviously, competitive pressures are to blame. And probably also a cultivated appetite for the sordid and the scandalous. The upside of so much attention, of course, is that, once you're gone, there will be lots of images and sound bites to remember you by. These will be recycled again and again and again. Today's fragments of time are tomorrow's memories. Consequently, if you must be a public figure, try to have a good exit. Consider perhaps James Dean's advice to "live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse." Especially a good looking corpse. Of course, if you're out of it -- out of the media system, that is -- then, you're just out of it. Nobody will remember you anyway. This is why Elvis will never die and John Kennedy will never stop dying. Except perhaps for his heavy Las Vegas phase, virtually all of the images of the King show him as magnetic, powerful, and exciting. Colonel Parker was careful about that. Elvis constantly exudes energy, an all-too-palpable physicality, forever re-energised and re-distributed by the film images of him. And the posters, and the sound of his voice, and the myth of his wildness. Fortunately, though, Elvis had the good grace to expire privately, beyond the public eye. In this, he resembled Marilyn, Rock Hudson, and Walt Disney. Of that event, he left no record. Indeed, the absence of such a record has allowed the remaining images to fuel a new myth. Endlessly re-circulated in a media sub-system, the images prove that Elvis lives! Consequently, people -- usually those first contacted by aliens -- keep spotting him at 7-Elevens, supermarket checkouts, and isolated gas stations. Apparently, he just wanted to live life normally. The fame had become too intrusive. And who could begrudge him that? So he faked his death, left no trace, and wandered off into the wilderness. To this extent, Elvis shares the fate of Hitler and the Romanovs whose deaths were deliberately obscured. As a result, Hitler lives on, at times on a desert island, sometimes in a bunker deep beneath the earth. And wasn't that Alexis, the tsarevitch? And over there, Anastasia? Aren't they having lunch with Amelia Earhardt? Kennedy, though, left a bad image, the queasy head shot. Too public, too visible, too shocking. It wasn't what James Dean meant. And that one image has absorbed all the others. This is ironic because Kennedy was the first president to look and behave like an actor whereas it would be years before an actor could look and behave like the president. Kennedy loved the camera and the camera, as they say, loved him. He had a permanent staff photographer who generated thousands of shots. He embraced television as no president had before, dominating the televised debates, holding live press conferences, opening the White House to TV tours. He invited Robert Drew to film his 1959 nomination campaign in Primary, giving him, as is always said in these cases, "unprecedented access". But the only pictures we remember come from Dallas. Gloria Steinem called it "the day the future died". Then, if we think really hard, we remember the funeral. But we can hardly remember anything else. Pictures of Jack campaigning, playing with the kids, receiving Marilyn's birthday greetings, are almost surprising. They're so fresh, as though we'd never seen them before. Kennedy should have died like Elvis, he would have lived longer in the imagination. As it is, he only ever dies and the very publicness of his death seems to have authorised its endless restaging. Has any film ever been more publicly scrutinised, examined, and re-created than the Zapruder film? The incident has littered the culture with such stock phrases as 'lone gunman' and 'grassy knoll'. It's also the birthplace of every crazy conspiracy theory. And everyone from the Warren Commission to Oliver Stone and Jerry Seinfeld has used the phrase "Back, and to the left". It's not surprising that our memory of public events should be bound up with images of those events. Most of us, most of the time, have no other access to them. This knowledge, combined with the pervasiveness of the media system, has led clever marketers of all sorts, to attempt to stage what Daniel Boorstin in 1961 called "pseudo-events". Events which exist for the benefit of the camera, with no real substance of their own. Their purpose is precisely to create an image, a feeling, a mood. Of course, every propagandist of any skill understood these facts long before Boorstin. How many photographs were doctored on Stalin's orders? How often was the mole on Mao's chin repainted? How often was Lenin's face itself repainted with embalming fluid? And didn't Adolf Hitler surround himself with the most exquisite filmmakers, photographers, and image-makers available? You just can't dictate without a firm grasp of your image. And that's the other side of modern times. Increasingly, we all have a firm grasp of image. We are no longer the media dupes which moralists frequently presume. The media have made us all rather sophisticated in the ways of the media. Everyone understands that politicians manage their images and stage events. Everyone knows that advertising is only creatively truthful. No one believes that what happens in a film really happens. We all realise that most of what's seen on TV is spin doctoring. We're hardened. And this is no doubt why the creamy sincerity of the eager tears which now attend public disclosures, the touchy-feely goodness of anyone who can "feel our pain" are so much in demand. No matter how fake, how contrived, how manipulative, they at least look like the real thing. At one time, popular culture merely suggested shock and violence. It did not show them directly. The Kennedy assassination marked the end of that time as people turned away from the screen in horror, asking "Did they have to show us that?" We're now in a time when popular culture suggests nothing and shows everything, in as much detail as possible. This is the moment of Diana's death and we turn to our screens demanding to see more, shouting "We have a right to know!" But a slippage may be happening. We know so much about media operations -- or believe that we do -- that the media may be losing their ability to define events and construct memory. This appears to be one of the lessons of the Diana coverage: the paparazzi in particular, and the media in general, were at fault. Public anger was directed not at her driver, her companions or her lifestyle, but at the media. That the behaviour of the paparazzi remains to be fully elucidated, and that Diana had the weight of accumulated prestige and exposure on her side, make meaningful commentary more difficult, but there is a clear sense in which the public sided with perceived sincerity and genuineness and against perceived exploitation. Clearly, these matters are always open to revision, but the anger directed against the media in this affair spoke of pent-up rage, of long nursed grudges, of a generalised judgment that the media have done more harm than good. Something similar is happening in the Clinton-Lewinsky affair. The US media are apparently obsessed with this event and greatly agitated by the necessity of further coverage. Public opinion, however, has indicated just as firmly that it doesn't care and wants the whole thing to go away. There's a split between the definitional power of the media and public opinion, a drifting apart that wasn't supposed to happen. Media commentators of both the left and the right, both those who believe in media effects and those who decry the concentration of ownership, have long agreed on one thing: the media have too much power to tell us what to think. And yet, in this case, it's not happening. Indeed, 10 years from now, what will we remember? That Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky had an affair or that the media were very agitated about it? The way in which media images are linked to popular memory may be changing. We are less concerned with whether the media got the event right than with how they approached it at all. Already, concern over the Gulf War centres as much on the manner of coverage as on the legitimacy of the war's objectives. And the old complaint that the media cover elections as strategic horse races, thereby ignoring substantive issues, presumes the naivety of the audience. Everyone can tell exactly what the media are doing. So what will we remember? How will we feel in 40 years examining old footage of today's newscasts? Memory fades and images are about emotion. Will we experience the diffuse grimness of the WWII veteran watching Saving Private Ryan, identifying less with specific acts than with the general feeling of the moment? Probably. But perhaps we'll also carry with us a second layer of meaning, an equally diffuse recognition that the moment was constructed. I was watching a documentary last night about Hitler's last days. I'm sure everyone's seen it or something like it. The very fact I can be sure of this is the measure of the media's ability to shape popular memory. Hitler, visibly ailing, emerges from his bunker to acknowledge his last line of defence, a string of soldiers who are really only children. He stops as though to speak to one and pats the boy on the cheek. It's a profoundly creepy moment. One feels discomfort and distaste at being so close, one is acutely aware of the distance between the image's intention and the reality of which we have knowledge. Then, suddenly and imperceptibly, the camera shifts angles and follows Hitler down the line of soldiers, a standard travelling shot. It's invisible because that's the way military reviews are always shown. It works because we want a good view. It's compelling because it draws us into the scene. It looks so real and is plainly read that way, as historical actuality footage. But it's also plainly constructed. And that's increasingly what we see nowadays. We see the way in which images intend to connect to emotions. Maybe it's the future of all memory, to be disjointed and creepy. To acknowledge simultaneously the reality of the event and its fakeness. Rather like the performance of Hollywood actors or US presidents or publicly proffered sentiment. Clearly, we won't be dealing with the return of the repressed as we'll remember everything. We'll just have too much memory. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Paul Attallah. "Too Much Memory." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.2 (1998). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php>. Chicago style: Paul Attallah, "Too Much Memory," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1, no. 2 (1998), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Paul Attallah. (1998) Too much memory. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1(2). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9808/memory.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction The counterculture that arose during the 1960s and 1970s left lasting social and political reverberations in developed nations. This was a time of increasing affluence and liberalisation which opened up remarkable political opportunities for social change. Within this context, an array of new social movements were a vital ingredient of the ferment that saw existing norms challenged and the establishment of new rights for many oppressed groups. An expanding arena of concerns included the environmental damage caused by 200 years of industrial capitalism. This article examines one aspect of a current environment movement in Australia, the anti-Coal Seam Gas (CSG) movement, and the part played by participants. In particular, the focus is upon one action that emerged during the recent Bentley Blockade, which was a regional mobilisation against proposed unconventional gas mining (UGM) near Lismore, NSW. Over the course of the blockade, the conventional ritual of waving at passers-by was transformed into a mechanism for garnering broad community support. Arguably, this was a crucial factor in the eventual outcome. In this case, we contend that the wave, rather than a countercultural artefact being appropriated by the mainstream, represents an everyday behaviour that builds social solidarity, which is subverted to become an effective part of the repertoire of the movement. At a more general level, this article examines how counterculture and mainstream interact via the subversion of “ordinary” citizens and the role of certain cultural understandings for that purpose. We will begin by examining the nature of the counterculture and its relationship to social movements before discussing the character of the anti-CSG movement in general and the Bentley Blockade in particular, using the personal experience of one of the writers. We will then be able to explore our thesis in detail and make some concluding remarks. The Counterculture and Social Movements In this article, we follow Cox’s understanding of the counterculture as a kind of meta-movement within which specific social movements are situated. For Cox (105), the counterculture that flourished during the 1960s and 1970s was an overarching movement in which existing social relations—in particular the family—were rejected by a younger generation, who succeeded in effectively fusing previously separate political and cultural spheres of dissent into one. Cox (103-04) points out that the precondition for such a phenomenon is “free space”—conditions under which counter-hegemonic activity can occur—for example, being liberated from the constraints of working to subsist, something which the unprecedented prosperity of the post WWII years allowed. Hence, in the 1960s and 1970s, as the counterculture emerged, a wave of activism arose in the western world which later came to be referred to as new social movements. These included the civil rights movement, women’s liberation, pacifism and the anti-nuclear and environment movements. The new movements rejected established power and organisational structures and tended, some scholars argued, to cross class lines, basing their claims on non-material issues. Della Porta and Diani claim this wave of movements is characterised by: a critical ideology in relation to modernism and progress; decentralized and participatory organizational structures; defense of interpersonal solidarity against the great bureaucracies; and the reclamation of autonomous spaces, rather than material advantages. (9) This depiction clearly announces the countercultural nature of the new social movements. As Carter (91) avers, these movements attempted to bypass the state and instead mobilise civil society, employing a range of innovative tactics and strategies—the repertoire of action—which may involve breaking laws. It should be noted that over time, some of these movements did shift towards accommodation of existing power structures and became more reformist in nature, to the point of forming political parties in the case of the Greens. However, inasmuch as the counterculture represented a merging of distinctively non-mainstream ways of life with the practice of actively challenging social arrangements at a political level (Cox 18–19; Grossberg 15–18;), the tactic of mobilising civil society to join social movements demonstrates in fact a reverse direction: large numbers of people are transfigured in radical ways by their involvement in social movements. One important principle underlying much of the repertoire of action of these new movements was non-violence. Again, this signals countercultural norms of the period. As Sharp (583–86) wrote at the time, non-violence is crucial in that it denies the aggressor their rationale for violent repression. This principle is founded on the liberal notion, whose legacy goes back to Locke, that the legitimacy of the government rests upon the consent of the governed—that is, the people can withdraw their consent (Locke in Ball & Dagger 92). Ghandi also relied upon this idea when formulating his non-violent approach to conflict, satyagraha (Sharp 83–84). Thus an idea that upholds the modern state is adopted by the counterculture in order to undermine it (the state), again demonstrating an instance of counterflow from the mainstream. Non-violence does not mean non-resistance. In fact, it usually involves non-compliance with a government or other authority and when practised in large numbers, can be very effective, as Ghandi and those in the civil rights movement showed. The result will be either that the government enters into negotiation with the protestors, or they can engage in violence to suppress them, which generally alienates the wider population, leading to a loss of support (Finley & Soifer 104–105). Tarrow (88) makes the important point that the less threatening an action, the harder it is to repress. As a result, democratic states have generally modified their response towards the “strategic weapon of nonviolent protest and even moved towards accommodation and recognition of this tactic as legitimate” (Tarrow 172). Nevertheless, the potential for state violence remains, and the freedom to protest is proscribed by various laws. One of the key figures to emerge from the new social movements that formed an integral part of the counterculture was Bill Moyer, who, in conjunction with colleagues produced a seminal text for theorising and organising social movements (Moyer et al.). Many contemporary social movements have been significantly influenced by Moyer’s Movement Action Plan (MAP), which describes not only key theoretical concepts but is also a practical guide to movement building and achieving aims. Moyer’s model was utilised in training the Northern Rivers community in the anti-CSG movement in conjunction with the non-violent direct action (NVDA) model developed by the North-East Forest Alliance (NEFA) that resisted logging in the forests of north-eastern NSW during the late 1980s and 1990s (Ricketts 138–40). Indeed, the Northern Rivers region of NSW—dubbed the Rainbow Region—is celebrated, as a “‘meeting place’ of countercultures and for the articulation of social and environmental ideals that challenge mainstream practice” (Ward and van Vuuren 63). As Bible (6–7) outlines, the Northern Rivers’ place in countercultural history is cemented by the holding of the Aquarius Festival in Nimbin in 1973 and the consequent decision of many attendees to stay on and settle in the region. They formed new kinds of communities based on an alternative ethics that eschewed a consumerist, individualist agenda in favour of modes of existence that emphasised living in harmony with the environment. The Terania Creek campaign of the late 1970s made the region famous for its environmental activism, when the new settlers resisted the logging of Nightcap National Park using nonviolent methods (Bible 5). It was also instrumental in developing an array of ingenious actions that were used in subsequent campaigns such as the Franklin Dam blockade in Tasmania in the early 1980s (Kelly 116). Indeed, many of these earlier activists were key figures in the anti-CSG movement that has developed in the Rainbow Region over the last few years. The Anti-CSG Movement Despite opposition to other forms of UGM, such as tight sands and shale oil extraction techniques, the term anti-CSG is used here, as it still seems to attract wide recognition. Unconventional gas extraction usually involves a process called fracking, which is the injection at high pressure of water, sand and a number of highly toxic chemicals underground to release the gas that is trapped in rock formations. Among the risks attributed to fracking are contamination of aquifers, air pollution from fugitive emissions and exposure to radioactive particles with resultant threats to human and animal health, as well as an increased risk of earthquakes (Ellsworth; Hand 13; Sovacool 254–260). Additionally, the vast amount of water that is extracted in the fracking process is saline and may contain residues of the fracking chemicals, heavy metals and radioactive matter. This produced water must either be stored or treated (Howarth 273–73; Sovacool 255). Further, there is potential for accidents and incidents and there are many reports—particularly in the United States where the practice is well established—of adverse events such as compressors exploding, leaks and spills, and water from taps catching fire (Sovacool 255–257). Despite an abundance of anecdotal evidence, until recently authorities and academics believed there was not enough “rigorous evidence” to make a definitive judgment of harm to animal and human health as a result of fracking (Mitka 2135). For example, in Australia, the Queensland Government was unable to find a clear link between fracking and health complaints in the Tara gasfield (Thompson 56), even though it is known that there are fugitive emissions from these gasfields (Tait et al. 3099-103). It is within this context that grassroots opposition to UGM began in Australia. The largest and most sustained challenge has come from the Northern Rivers of New South Wales, where a company called Metgasco has been attempting to engage in UGM for a number of years. Stiff community opposition has developed over this time, with activists training, co-ordinating and organising using the principles of Moyer’s MAP and NEFA’s NVDA. Numerous community and affinity groups opposing UGM sprang up including the Lock the Gate Alliance (LTG), a grassroots organisation opposing coal and gas mining, which formed in 2010 (Lock the Gate Alliance online). The movement put up sustained resistance to Metgasco’s attempts to establish wells at Glenugie, near Grafton and Doubtful Creek, near Kyogle in 2012 and 2013, despite the use of a substantial police presence at both locations. In the event, neither site was used for production despite exploratory wells being sunk (ABC News; Dobney). Metgasco announced it would be withdrawing its operations following new Federal and State government regulations at the time of the Doubtful Creek blockade. However it returned to the fray with a formal announcement in February 2014 (Metgasco), that it would drill at Bentley, 12 kilometres west of Lismore. It was widely believed this would occur with a view to production on an industrial scale should initial exploration prove fruitful. The Bentley Blockade It was known well before the formal announcement that Metgasco planned to drill at Bentley and community actions such as flash mobs, media releases and planning meetings were part of the build-up to direct action at the site. One of the authors of this article was actively involved in the movement and participated in a variety of these actions. By the end of January 2014 it was decided to hold an ongoing vigil at the site, which was still entirely undeveloped. Participants, including one author, volunteered for four-hour shifts which began at 5 a.m. each day and before long, were lasting into the night. The purpose of a vigil is to bear witness, maintain a presence and express a point of view. It thus accords well with the principle of non-violence. Eventually the site mushroomed into a tent village with three gates being blockaded. The main gate, Gate A, sprouted a variety of poles, tripods and other installations together with colourful tents and shelters, peopled by protesters on a 24-hour basis. The vigils persisted on all three gates for the duration of the blockade. As the number of blockaders swelled, popular support grew, lending weight to the notion that countercultural ideas and practices were spreading throughout the community. In response, Metgasco called on the State Government to provide police to coincide with the arrival of equipment. It was rumoured that 200 police would be drafted to defend the site in late April. When alerts were sent out to the community warning of imminent police action, an estimated crowd of 2000 people attended in the early hours of the morning and the police called off their operation (Feliu). As the weeks wore on, training was stepped up, attendees were educated in non-violent resistance and protestors willing to act as police liaison persons were placed on a rotating roster. In May, the State Government was preparing to send up to 800 police and the Riot Squad to break the blockade (NSW Hansard in Buckingham). Local farmers (now a part of the movement) and activist leaders had gone to Sydney in an effort to find a political solution in order to avoid what threatened to be a clash that would involve police violence. A confluence of events, such as: the sudden resignation of the Premier; revelations via the Independent Commission against Corruption about nefarious dealings and undue influence of the coal industry upon the government; a radio interview with locals by a popular broadcaster in Sydney; and the reputed hesitation of the police themselves in engaging with a group of possibly 7,000 to 10,000 protestors, resulted in the Office for Coal Seam Gas suspending Metgasco’s drilling licence on 15 May (NSW Department of Resources & Energy). The grounds were that the company had not adequately fulfilled its obligations to consult with the community. At the date of writing, the suspension still holds. The Wave The repertoire of contention at the Bentley Blockade was expansive, comprising most of the standard actions and strategies developed in earlier environmental struggles. These included direct blocking tactics in addition to the use of more carnivalesque actions like music and theatre, as well as the use of various media to reach a broader public. Non-violence was at the core of all actions, but we would tentatively suggest that Bentley may have provided a novel addition to the repertoire, stemming originally from the vigil, which brought the first protestors to the site. At the beginning of the vigil, which was initially held near the entrance to the proposed drilling site atop a cutting, occupants of passing vehicles below would demonstrate their support by sounding their horns and/or waving to the vigil-keepers, who at first were few in number. There was a precedent for this behaviour in the campaign leading up to the blockade. Activist groups such as the Knitting Nannas against Gas had encouraged vehicles to show support by sounding their horns. So when the motorists tooted spontaneously at Bentley, we waved back. Occupants of other vehicles would show disapproval by means of rude gestures and/or yelling and we would wave to them as well. After some weeks, as a presence began to be established at the site, it became routine for vigil keepers to smile and wave at all passing vehicles. This often elicited a positive response. After the first mass call-out discussed above, a number of us migrated to another gate, where numbers were much sparser and there was a perceived need for a greater presence. At this point, the participating writer had begun to act as a police liaison person, but the practice of waving routinely was continued. Those protecting this gate usually included protestors ready to block access, the police liaison person, a legal observer, vigil-keepers and a passing parade of visitors. Because this location was directly on the road, it was possible to see the drivers of vehicles and make eye contact more easily. Certain vehicles became familiar, passing at regular times, on the way to work or school, for example. As time passed, most of those protecting the gate also joined the waving ritual to the point where it became like a game to try to prise a signal of acknowledgement from the passing motorists, or even to win over a disapprover. Police vehicles, some of which passed at set intervals, were included in this game. Mostly they waved cheerfully. There were some we never managed to win over, but waving and making direct eye contact with regular motorists over time created a sense of community and an acknowledgement of the work we were doing, as they increasingly responded in kind. Motorists could hardly feel threatened when they encountered smiling, waving protestors. By including the disapprovers, we acted inclusively and our determined good humour seemed to de-escalate demonstrated hostility. Locals who did not want drilling to go ahead but who were nevertheless unwilling to join a direct action were thus able to participate in the resistance in a way that may have felt safe for them. Some of them even stopped and visited the site, voicing their support. Standing on the side of the road and waving to passers-by may seem peripheral to the “real” action, even trivial. But we would argue it is a valuable adjunct to a blockade (which is situated near a road) when one of the strategies of the overall campaign is to win popular backing. Hence waving, whilst not a completely new part of the repertoire, constitutes what Tilly (41–45) would call innovation at the margins, something he asserts is necessary to maintain the effectiveness and vitality of contentious action. In this case, it is arguable that the sheer size of community support probably helped to concentrate the minds of the state government politicians in Sydney, particularly as they contemplated initiating a massive, taxpayer-funded police action against the people for the benefit of a commercial operation. Waving is a symbolic gesture indicating acknowledgement and goodwill. It fits well within a repertoire based on the principle of non-violence. Moreover, it is a conventional social norm and everyday behaviour that is so innocuous that it is difficult to see how it could be suppressed by police or other authorities. Therein lies its subversiveness. For in communicating our common humanity in a spirit of friendliness, we drew attention to the fact that we were without rancour and tacitly invited others to join us and to explore our concerns. In this way, the counterculture drew upon a mainstream custom to develop and extend upon a new form of dissent. This constitutes a reversal of the more usual phenomenon of countercultural artefacts—such as “hippie clothing”—being appropriated or co-opted by the prevailing culture (see Reading). But it also fits with the more general phenomenon that we have argued was occurring; that of enticing ordinary residents into joining together in countercultural activity, via the pathway of a social movement. Conclusion The anti-CSG movement in the Northern Rivers was developed and organised by countercultural participants of previous contentious challenges. It was highly effective in building popular support whilst at the same time forging a loose coalition of various activist groups. We have surveyed one practice—the wave—that evolved out of mainstream culture over the course of the Bentley Blockade and suggested it may come to be seen as part of the repertoire of actions that can be beneficially employed under suitable conditions. Waving to passers-by invites them to become part of the movement in a non-threatening and inclusive way. It thus envelops supporters and non-supporters alike, and its very innocuousness makes it difficult to suppress. We have argued that this instance can be referenced to a similar reverse movement at a broader level—that of co-opting liberal notions and involving the general populace in new practices and activities that undermine the status quo. The ability of the counterculture in general and environment movements in particular to innovate in the quest to challenge and change what it perceives as damaging or unethical practices demonstrates its ingenuity and spirit. This movement is testament to its dynamic nature. References ABC News. Metgasco Has No CSG Extraction Plans for Glenugie. 2013. 30 July 2014 ‹http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-01-22/metgasco-says-no-csg-extraction-planned-for-glenugie/4477652›. Bible, Vanessa. 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Introduction Daffodil Day, usually held in spring, raises funds for cancer awareness and research using this symbol of hope. On that day, people who donate money to this good cause are usually given a yellow daffodil pin to wear. When I lived in Auckland, New Zealand, on the last Friday in August most people walking around the city centre proudly wore a cheerful yellow flower. So many people generously participated in this initiative that one almost felt obliged to join the cause in order to wear the ‘uniform’ – the daffodil pin – as everyone else did on that day. To donate and to wear a daffodil is the social expectation, and operating in social environment people often endeavour to meet the expectation by doing the ‘appropriate things’ defined by societies or communities. After all, who does not like to receive a beam of acceptance and appreciation from a fellow daffodil bearer in Auckland’s Queen Street? States in international society are no different. In some ways, states wear ‘uniforms’ while executing domestic and foreign affairs just as human beings do within their social groups. States develop the understandings of desirable behaviour from the international community with which they interact and identify. They are ‘socialised’ to act in line with the expectations of international community. These expectations are expressed in the form of international norms, a prescriptive set of ideas about the ‘appropriate behaviour for actors with a given identity’ (Finnemore and Sikkink 891). Motivated by this logic of appropriateness, states that comply with certain international norms in world politics justify and undertake actions that are considered appropriate for their identities. This essay starts with examining how international norms can be spread to different countries through the process of ‘state socialisation’ (how the countries are ‘talked into’ wearing the ‘uniform’). Second, the essay investigates the idea of ‘cultural match’: how domestic actors comply with an international norm by interpreting and manipulating it according to their local political and legal practices (how the countries wear the ‘uniform’ differently). Lastly, the essay probes the current international normative community and the liberal values embedded in major international norms (whether states would continue wearing the ‘uniform’). International Norms and State Socialisation: Why Do States Wear the ‘Uniforms’? Norm diffusion is related to the efforts of ‘norm entrepreneurs’ using various platforms to convince a critical mass of states to embrace new norms (Finnemore and Sikkink 895-896). Early studies of norm diffusion tend to emphasise nongovernmental organisations (NGOs) as norm entrepreneurs and advocates, such as Oxfam and its goal of reducing poverty and hunger worldwide (Capie 638). In other empirical research, intergovernmental organisations (IGOs) were shown to serve as ‘norm teachers,’ such as UNESCO educating developing countries the value of science policy organisations (Finnemore 581-586). Additionally, states and other international actors can also play important roles in norm diffusion. Powerful states with more communication resources sometimes enjoy advantages in creating and promoting new norms (Florini 375). For example, the United States and Western European countries have often been considered as the major proponents of free trade. Norm emergence and state socialisation in a normative community often occurs during critical historical periods, such as wars and major economic downturns, when international changes and domestic crises often coincide with each other (Ikenberry and Kupchan 292). For instance, the norm entrepreneurs of ‘responsible power/state’ can be traced back to the great powers (mainly the United States, Great Britain, and the Soviet Union) and their management of international order at the end of WWII (see Bull). With their negotiations and series of international agreements at the Cairo, Tehran, Yalta, and Potsdam Conference in the 1940s, these great powers established a post-World War international society based on the key liberal values of international peace and security, free trade, human rights, and democracy. Human beings are not born to know what appropriate behaviour is; we learn social norms from parents, schools, peers, and other community members. International norms are collective expectations and understanding of how state governments should approach their domestic and foreign affairs. States ‘learn’ international norms while socialising with a normative community. From a sociological perspective, socialisation summarises ‘how and to what extent diverse individuals are meshed with the requirement of collective life’ at the societal level (Long and Hadden 39). It mainly consists of the process of training and shaping newcomers by the group members and the social adjustment of novices to the normative framework and the logic of appropriateness (Long and Hadden 39). Similarly, social psychology defines socialisation as the process in which ‘social organisations influence the action and experience of individuals’ (Gold and Douvan 145). Inspired by sociology and psychology, political scientists consider socialisation to be the mechanism through which norm entrepreneurs persuade other actors (usually a norm novice) to adhere to a particular prescriptive standard (Johnston, “Social State” 16). Norm entrepreneurs can change novices’ behaviour by the methods of persuasion and social influence (Johnston, “Treating International Institutions” 496-506). Socialisation sometimes demands that individual actors should comply with organisational norms by changing their interests or preferences (persuasion). Norm entrepreneurs often attempt to construct an appealing cognitive frame in order to persuade the novices (either individuals or states) to change their normative preferences or adopt new norms. They tend to use language that can ‘name, interpret and dramatise’ the issues related to the emerging norm (Finnemore and Sikkink 987). As a main persuasive device, ‘framing’ can provide a singular interpretation and appropriate behavioural response for a particular situation (Payne 39). Cognitive consistency theory found in psychology has suggested the mechanism of ‘analogy’, which indicates that actors are more likely to accept new ideas that share some similarities to the extant belief or ideas that they have already accepted (see Hybel, ch. 2). Based on this understanding, norm entrepreneurs usually frame issues in a way that can associate and resonate with the shared value of the targeted novices (Payne 43). For example, Finnemore’s research shows that when it promoted the creation of state science bureaucracies in the 1960s, UNESCO associated professional science policy-making with the appropriate role of a modern state, which was well received by the post-war developing countries in Latin America, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia (Finnemore 565-597). Socialisation can also emanate actors’ pro-norm behaviour through a cost-benefit calculation made with social rewards and punishments (social influence). A normative community can use the mechanism of back-patting and opprobrium to distribute social reward and punishment. Back-patting – ‘recognition, praise and normative support’ – is offered for a novice’s or member’s cooperative and pro-norm behaviour (Johnston, “Treating International Institutions” 503). In contrast, opprobrium associated with status denial and identity rejection can create social and psychological costs (Johnston 504). Both the reward and punishment grow in intensity with the number of co-operators (Johnston 504). A larger community can often create more criticism towards rule-breakers, and thus greatly increase the cost of disobedience. For instance, the lack of full commitment from major powers, such as China, the United States, and some other OECD countries, has arguably made global collective action towards mitigating climate change more difficult, as the cost of non-compliance is relatively low. While being in a normative environment, novice or emerging states that have not yet been socialised into the international community can respond to persuasion and social influence through the processes of identification and mimicking. Social psychology indicates that when one actor accepts persuasion or social influence based on its desire to build or maintain a ‘satisfying self-defining relationship’ to another actor, the mechanism of identification starts to work (Kelman 53). Identification among a social group can generate ‘obligatory’ behaviour, where individual states make decisions by attempting to match their perceptions of ‘who they are’ (national identity) with the expectation of the normative community (Glodgeier and Tetlock 82). After identifying with the normative community, a novice state would then mimic peer states’ pro-norm behaviour in order to be considered as a qualified member of the social group. For example, when the Chinese government was deliberating over its ratification of the Cartagena Protocol on Biosafety in 2003, a Ministry of Environmental Protection brief noted that China should ratify the Protocol as soon as possible because China had always been a country ‘keeping its word’ in international society, and non-ratification would largely ‘undermine China’s international image and reputation’ (Ministry of Environmental Protection of PRC). Despite the domestic industry’s disagreement with entering into the Protocol, the Chinese government’s self-identification as a ‘responsible state’ that performs its international promises and duties played an important role in China’s adoption of the international norm of biosafety. Domestic Salience of International Norms: How Do States Wear the ‘Uniforms’ Differently? Individual states do not accept international norms passively; instead, state governments often negotiate and interact with domestic actors, such as major industries and interest groups, whose actions and understandings in turn impact on how the norm is understood and implemented. This in turn feeds back to the larger normative community and creates variations of those norms. There are three main factors that can contribute to the domestic salience of an international norm. First, as the norm-takers, domestic actors can decide whether and to what extent an international norm can enter the domestic agenda and how it will be implemented in policy-making. These actors tend to favour an international norm that can justify their political and social programs and promote their interests in domestic policy debates (Cortell and Davis, “How Do International Institutions Matter?” 453). By advocating the existence and adoption of an international norm, domestic actors attempt to enhance the legitimacy and authority of their current policy or institution (Acharya, “How Ideas Spread” 248). Political elites can strengthen state legitimacy by complying with an international norm in their policy-making, and consequently obtain international approval with reputation, trust, and credibility as social benefits in the international community (Finnemore and Sikkink 903). For example, when the UN General Assembly adopted the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), only four states – Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United States – voted against the Declaration. They argued that their constitutional and national policies were sufficiently responsive to the type of Indigenous self-determination envisioned by UNDRIP. Nevertheless, given the opprobrium directed against these states by the international community, and their well-organised Indigenous populations, the four state leaders recognised the value of supporting UNDRIP. Subsequently all four states adopted the Declaration, but in each instance state leaders observed UNDRIP’s ‘aspirational’ rather than legal status; UNDRIP was a statement of values that these states’ policies should seek to incorporate into their domestic Indigenous law. Second, the various cultural, political, and institutional strategies of domestic actors can influence the effectiveness of norm empowerment. Political rhetoric and political institutions are usually created and used to promote a norm domestically. Both state and societal leaders can make the performative speech act of an international norm work and raise its importance in a national context by repeated declarations on the legitimacy and obligations brought by the norm (Cortell and Davis, “Understanding the Domestic Impact” 76). Moreover, domestic actors can also develop or modify political institutions to incorporate an international norm into the domestic bureaucratic or legal system (Cortell and Davis, “Understanding the Domestic Impact” 76). These institutions provide rules for domestic actors and articulate their rights and obligations, which transforms the international norm’s legitimacy and authority into local practices. For example, the New Zealand Government adopted a non-nuclear policy in the 1980s. This policy arose from the non-nuclear movement that was leading the development of the Raratonga Treaty (South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone) and peace and Green party movements across Europe who sought to de-nuclearise the European continent. The Lange Labour Government’s 1984 adoption of an NZ anti-nuclear policy gained impetus because of these larger norm movements, and these movements in turn recognised the normative importance of a smaller power in international relations. Third, the characteristics of the international norm can also impact on the likelihood that the norm will be accepted by domestic actors. A ‘cultural match’ between international norm and local values can facilitate norm diffusion to domestic level. Sociologists suggest that norm diffusion is more likely to be successful if the norm is congruent with the prior values and practices of the norm-taker (Acharya, “Asian Regional Institutions” 14). Norm diffusion tends to be more efficient when there is a high degree of cultural match such that the global norm resonates with the target country’s domestic values, beliefs or understandings, which in turn can be reflected in national discourse, as well as the legal and bureaucratic system (Checkel 87; Cortell and Davis, “Understanding the Domestic Impact” 73). With such cultural consistency, domestic actors are more likely to accept an international norm and treat it as a given or as ‘matter-of-fact’ (Cortell and Davis, “Understanding the Domestic Impact” 74). Cultural match in norm localisation explains why identical or similar international socialisation processes can lead to quite different local developments and variations of international norms. The debate between universal human rights and the ‘Asian values’ of human rights is an example where some Asian states, such as Singapore and China, prioritise citizen’s economic rights over social and political rights and embrace collective rights instead of individual rights. Cultural match can also explain why one country may easily accept a certain international norm, or some aspect of one particular norm, while rejecting others. For example, when Taiwanese and Japanese governments adapted the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples into their local political and legal practice, various cultural aspects of Indigenous rights have been more thoroughly implemented compared to indigenous economic and political rights (Gao et al. 60-65). In some extreme cases, the norm entrepreneurs even attempt to change the local culture of norm recipients to create a better cultural match for norm localisation. For example, when it tried to socialise India into its colonial system in the early nineteenth century, Britain successfully shaped the evolution of Indian political culture by adding British values and practices into India’s social, political, and judicial system (Ikenberry and Kupchan 307-309). The International Normative Community: Would States Continue Wearing ‘Uniforms’? International norms evolve. Not every international norm can survive and sustain. For example, while imperialism and colonial expansion, where various European states explored, conquered, settled, and exploited other parts of the world, was a widely accepted idea and practice in the nineteenth century, state sovereignty, equality, and individual rights have replaced imperialism and become the prevailing norms in international society today. The meanings of the same international norm can evolve as well. The Great Powers first established the post-war international norms of ‘state responsibility’ based on the idea of sovereign equality and non-intervention of domestic affairs. However, the 1980s saw the emergence of many international organisations, which built new standards and offered new meanings for a responsible state in international society: a responsible state must actively participate in international organisations and comply with international regimes. In the post-Cold War era, international society has paid more attention to states’ responsibility to offer global common goods and to promote the values of human rights and democracy. This shift of focus has changed the international expectation of state responsibility again to embrace collective goods and global values (Foot, “Chinese Power” 3-11). In addition to the nature and evolution of international norms, the unity and strength of the normative community can also affect states’ compliance with the norms. The growing size of the community group or the number of other cooperatives can amplify the effect of socialisation (Johnston, “Treating International Institutions” 503-506). In other words, individual states are often more concerned about their national image, reputation and identity regarding norm compliance when a critical mass of states have already subscribed into the international norm. How much could this critical mass be? Finnemore and Sikkink suggest that international norms reach the threshold global acceptance when the norm entrepreneurs have persuaded at least one third of all states to adopt the new norm (901). The veto record of the United Nation Security Council (UNSC) shows this impact. China, for example, has cast a UNSC veto vote 17 times as of 2022, but it has rarely excised its veto power alone (Security Council Report). For instance, though being sceptical of the notion of ‘Responsibility to Protect’, which prioritises human right over state sovereignty, China did not veto Resolution 1973 (2011) regarding the Libyan civil war. The Resolution allowed the international society to take ‘all necessary measure to protect civilians’ from a failed state government, and it received wide support among UNSC members (no negative votes from the other 14 members). Moreover, states are not entirely equal in terms of their ‘normative weight’. When Great Powers act as norm entrepreneurs, they can usually utilise their wealth and influence to better socialise other norm novice states. In the history of promoting biological diversity norms which are embedded in the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), the OECD countries, especially France, UK, Germany, and Japan, have been regarded as normative leaders. French and Japanese political leaders employed normative language (such as ‘need’ and ‘must’) in various international forums to promote the norms and to highlight their normative commitment (see e.g. Chirac; Kan). Additionally, both governments provided financial assistance for developing countries to adopt the biodiversity norms. In the 2011 annual review of CBD, Japan reaffirmed its US$12 million contribution to assisting developing countries (Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity 9). France joined Japan’s commitment by announcing a financial contribution of €1 million along, with some additional funding from Norway and Switzerland (Secretariat of the Convention on Biological Diversity 9). Today, biological diversity has been one of the most widely accepted international environmental norms, which 196 states/nations have ratified (United Nations). While Great Powers can make more substantial contributions to norm diffusion compared to many smaller powers with limited state capacity, Great Powers’ non-compliance with the normative ‘uniform’ can also significantly undermine the international norms’ validity and the normative community’s unity and reputation. The current normative community of climate change is hardly a unified one, as it is characterised by a low degree of consensus. Major industrial countries, such as the United States, Canada, and Australia, have not yet reached an agreement concerning their individual responsibilities for reducing greenhouse emissions. This lack of agreement, which includes the amount of cuts, the feasibility and usefulness of such cuts, and the relative sharing of cuts across various states, is complicated by the fact that large developing countries, such as China, Brazil, and India, also hold different opinions towards climate change regimes (see Vidal et al.). Experts heavily criticised the major global powers, such as the European Union and the United States, for their lack of ambition in phasing out fossil fuels during the 2022 climate summit in Egypt (COP27; Ehsan et al.). In international trade, both China and the United States are among the leading powers because of their large trade volume, capacity, and transnational network; however, both countries have recently undermined the world trade system and norms. China took punitive measures against Australian export products after Australia’s Covid-19 inquiry request at the World Health Organisation. The United States, particularly under the Trump Administration, invoked the WTO national security exception in Article XXI of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) to justify its tariffs on steel and aluminium. Lastly, norm diffusion and socialisation can be a ‘two-way path,’ especially when the norm novice state is a powerful and influential state in the international system. In this case, the novices are not merely assimilated into the group, but can also successfully exert some influence on other group members and affect intra-group relations (Moreland 1174). As such, the novices can be both targets of socialisation and active agents who can shape the content and outcome of socialisation processes (Pu 344). The influence from the novices can create normative contestation and thus influence the norm evolution (Thies 547). In other words, novice states can influence international society and shape the international norm during the socialisation process. For example, the ‘ASEAN Way’ is a set of norms that regulate member states’ relationships within the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). It establishes a diplomatic and security culture characterised by informality, consultation, and dialogue, and consensus-building in decision-making processes (Caballero-Anthony). From its interaction with ASEAN, China has been socialised into the ‘ASEAN Way’ (Ba 157-159). Nevertheless, China’s relations with the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) also suggest that there exists a ‘feedback’ process between China and ARF which resulted in institutional changes in ARF to accommodate China’s response (Johnston, “The Myth of the ASEAN Way?” 291). For another example, while the Western powers generally promote the norm of ‘shared responsibility’ in global environment regimes, the emerging economies, such as the BRICS countries (Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa), have responded to the normative engagement and proposed a ‘Common but Differentiated Responsibilities’ regime where the developing countries shoulder less international obligations. Similarly, the Western-led norm of ‘Responsibility to Protect’, which justifies international humanitarian intervention, has received much resistance from the countries that only adhere to the conventional international rules regarding state sovereignty rights and non-intervention to domestic affairs. Conclusion International norms are shared expectations about what constitutes appropriate state behaviour. They are the ‘uniforms’ for individual states to wear when operating at the international level. States comply with international norms in order to affirm their preferred national identities as well as to gain social acceptance and reputation in the normative community. When the normative community is united and sizable, states tend to receive more social pressure to consistently wear these normative uniforms – be they the Geneva Conventions or nuclear non-proliferation. Nevertheless, in the post-pandemic world where liberal values, such as individual rights and rule of law, face significant challenges and democracies are in decline, the future success of the global normative community may be at risk. Great Powers are especially responsible for the survival and sustainability of international norms. The United States under President Trump adopted a nationalist ‘America First’ security agenda: alienating traditional allies, befriending authoritarian regimes previously shunned, and rejecting multilateralism as the foundation of the post-war global order. While the West has been criticised of failing to live up to its declared values, and has suffered its own loss of confidence in the liberal model, the rising powers have offered their alternative version of the world system. Instead of merely adapting to the Western-led global norms, China has created new institutions, such as the Belt and Road Initiatives, to promote its own preferred values, and has reshaped the global order where it deems the norms undesirable (Foot, “Chinese Power in a Changing World Order” 7). Great Power participation has reshaped the landscape of global normative community, and sadly not always in positive ways. Umberto Eco lamented the disappearance of the beauty of the past in his novel The Name of the Rose: ‘stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus’ ('yesterday’s rose endures in its name, we hold empty names'; Eco 538). If the international community does not want to witness an era where global norms and universal values are reduced to nominalist symbols, it must renew and reinvigorate its commitment to global values, such as human rights and democracy. It must consider wearing these uniforms again, properly. 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