Letteratura scientifica selezionata sul tema "Biens réels"

(francuski) En s'appuyant sur des r?sultats des recherches esth?tiques dans les deux derniers si?cles, ainsi que sur l'?tat des sciences fondamentales ? la fin du XXe si?cle, l'auteur pose que toutes les tentatives actuelles de la foundation de l'esth?tique se basent sur l'exp?rience de la vue et de l'ou?e les deux fondements "sup?rieurs" de la sensation et que c'est dans la p?riode de notre temps "post-moderne" qu'appara?t de plus en plus express?ment le besoin de fonder une nouvelle science, qui tiendrait compte des couches "inf?rieures": il s'agit de la science bas?e sur le toucher. Nous nous trouvons en pr?sence de la logique du toucher. Le toucher, c'est le minimum minimorum de la prise de conscience des aptitudes et la base de la formation de la conscience. C'est au niveau du toucher qu'est form?e la premi?re exp?rience d'autrui et du monde; c'est l? qu'est form?e l'exp?rience de tout monde cr??, y compris l'art, qui est le premier au sens logique, aussi bien qu'au celui du temporel. L'homme acquiert ses premi?res exp?riences sur lui-m?me gr?ce au toucher et c'est pourquoi la science du tangible doit ?tre la science la plus authentique sur le savoir sensoriel est le premier art par lequel elle se confirme, c'est la sculpture; tout ce qu'est post?rieur ? elle - l'esth?tique et la science - d'autant plus s?r et plus exigeant - il est d'autant plus incertain. Tout cela ne sert qu'? affirmer la constatation que nous vivons dans une ?poque o? toute suffisance est insuffisante et o? toute certitude est incertaine; et que c'est en vain que nous essayons de justifier l'existence de quelques unions soutenables des ombres, tendis que des ?tres r?els vont s'?loignant, en devenant de moins en moins perceptibles.

Abstract Analyzing empirically the responses of undergraduate students to the short stories they read in an elective English course, this paper interrogates the effect of guided reading on students’ comprehension of the reading material and compares their initial responses to the texts with those given after the lecture. The instructor of the course prepared a syllabus that mostly includes stories of the Anthropocene, theoretically the last geological era which points to excessive human control of the ecosystem. It was observed that students’ lack of knowledge about the term caused them to miss the ecological concern of the stories and make textual analysis focusing mostly on thematic characteristics. Individual reading, reading after the lecture and discussions in class revealed that guided reading questions helped students familiarize with the concept and develop new perspectives during reading. They reread the texts with a new concern about ecological collapse, environmental ethics, as well as animal and plant rights. The ambiguity of the stories lies in the fact that they are neither stories of hope nor dystopian narratives, but rather texts that portray the individual as the responsible agent. Therefore, re-reading the texts of the Anthropocene with the help of guided reading questions enabled students to question their own responsibility in ecological collapse and to come up with new questions as to the steps to be taken. The use of guided reading questions also made it possible for the instructor to bridge the gap between scientific and literary accounts of the Anthropocene. Another positive outcome of the course was that the students were motivated to make ecocritical readings of classical narratives they were already familiar with in addition to readings of more recent stories. Key words: Anthropocene, guided reading, ecocritical literature, non-human, active reading. Resumen A través del análisis empírico de las respuestas del alumnado universitario a los cuentos cortos que leyó en un curso electivo de inglés, este documento interroga el efecto de la lectura guiada en la comprensión del material de lectura por parte de los estudiantes y compara sus respuestas iniciales a los textos con las dadas después de la clase. La profesora del curso preparó un plan de estudios que incluye principalmente historias del Antropoceno, teóricamente la última era geológica que señala el control excesivo de los humanos sobre el ecosistema. Se observó que la falta de conocimiento de los estudiantes sobre el término hizo que pasaran por alto la preocupación ambiental de las historias y realizaran un análisis textual centrado principalmente en las características temáticas. La lectura individual, la lectura después de la clase y las discusiones en clase revelaron que las preguntas de lectura guiada ayudaron al alumnado a familiarizarse con el concepto y a desarrollar nuevas perspectivas durante la lectura. Se volvió a leer los textos con una nueva preocupación por el colapso ecológico, la ética ambiental, así como por los derechos de los animales y las plantas. La ambigüedad de las historias radica en el hecho de que no son ni historias de esperanza ni narrativas distópicas, sino más bien textos que retratan al individuo como el agente responsable. Por lo tanto, volver a leer los textos del Antropoceno con la ayuda de preguntas de lectura guiada permitió a los estudiantes cuestionar su propia responsabilidad en el colapso ecológico y plantear nuevas preguntas sobre los pasos a seguir. El uso de preguntas de lectura guiada también permitió a la profesora cerrar la brecha entre los relatos científicos y literarios del Antropoceno. Otro resultado positivo del curso fue que el alumnado se sintió motivado para realizar lecturas ecocríticas de narrativas clásicas con las que ya estaban familiarizados, además de las lecturas de historias más recientes. Palabras clave: Antropoceno, lectura guiada, literatura ecocrítica, no-humano, lectura activa Resum A través de l'anàlisi empírica de les respostes d’estudiantat universitari als contes curts que van llegir en un curs electiu d'anglès, aquest document qüestiona l'efecte de la lectura guiada en la comprensió del material de lectura per part de l’alumnat i compara les seues respostes inicials als textos amb les donades després de la classe. La professora del curs va preparar un pla d'estudis que inclou principalment històries de l'Antropocé, teòricament l'última era geològica que apunta al control excessiu dels humans sobre l'ecosistema. Es va observar que la manca de coneixement dels estudiants sobre el terme va fer que passaren per alt la preocupació ambiental de les històries i realitzaren una anàlisi textual centrada principalment en les característiques temàtiques. La lectura individual, la lectura després de la classe i les discussions a classe van revelar que les preguntes de lectura guiada van ajudar l'estudiantat a familiaritzar-se amb el concepte i a desenvolupar noves perspectives durant la lectura. Es va tornar a llegir els textos amb una nova preocupació pel col·lapse ecològic, l'ètica ambiental, així com pels drets dels animals i les plantes. L'ambigüitat de les històries rau en el fet que no són ni històries d'esperança ni narratives distòpiques, sinó més prompte textos que retraten l'individu com a agent responsable. Per tant, tornar a llegir els textos de l'Antropocé amb l'ajuda de preguntes de lectura guiada va permetre a l’’alumnat qüestionar la seua pròpia responsabilitat en el col·lapse ecològic i plantejar noves preguntes sobre els passos a seguir. L'ús de preguntes de lectura guiada també va permetre a la professora tancar la bretxa entre els relats científics i literaris de l'Antropocé. Un altre resultat positiu del curs va ser que l'estudiantat es va sentir motivat per fer lectures ecocrítiques de narratives clàssiques amb les quals ja estaven familiaritzats, a més de les lectures de històries més recents. Paraules clau: Antropocé, lectura guiada, literatura ecocrítica, no-humà, lectura activa.

Alternaria rot, caused by Alternaria alternata (Fr.) Keissl., occurs on apple fruit (Malus × domestica Borkh) worldwide and is not controlled with postharvest fungicides currently registered for apple in the United States (1). Initial infections can occur in the orchard prior to harvest, or during cold storage, and appear as small red dots located around lenticels (1). The symptoms appear on fruits within a 2 month period after placement into cold storage (3). In February 2013, ‘Nittany’ apple fruit with round, dark, dry, spongy lesions were collected from bins at commercial storage facility located in Pennsylvania. Symptomatic apples (n = 2 fruits) were placed on paper trays in an 80 count apple box and immediately transported to the laboratory. Fruit were rinsed with sterile water, and the lesions were superficially disinfected with 70% ethanol. The skin was removed with a sterile scalpel, and tissues underneath the lesion were cultured on potato dextrose agar (PDA) and incubated at 25°C with constant light. Two single-spore isolates were propagated on PDA, and permanent cultures were maintained on PDA slants and stored at 4°C in darkness. Colonies varied from light gray to olive green in color, produced abundant aerial hyphae, and had fluffy mycelial growth on PDA after 14 days. Both isolates were tentatively identified as Alternaria based on multicelled conidial morphology resembling “fragmentation grenades” that were medium brown in color, and obclavate to obpyriform catentulate with longitudinal and transverse septa attached in chains on simple conidiophores (2). Conidia ranged from 15 to 60 μm (mean 25.5 μm) long and 10 to 25 μm (mean 13.6 μm) wide (n = 50) with 1 to 6 transverse and 0 to 1 longitudinal septa per spore. To identify both isolates to the species level, genomic DNA was extracted from mycelial plugs and gene specific primers (ALT-HIS3F/R) were used via conventional PCR to amplify a portion of the histone gene (357 bp) (Jurick II, unpublished). Amplicons were sequenced using the Sanger method, and the forward and reverse sequences of each amplicon were assembled into a consensus representing 2× coverage. A megaBLAST analysis revealed that the isolates were 99% identical to Alternaria alternata sequences in GenBank (Accession No. AF404617), which was previously identified to cause decay on stored apple fruit in South Africa. To prove pathogenicity, Koch's postulates were conducted using organic ‘Gala’ apples. The fruit were surface disinfested with soap and water and sprayed with 70% ethanol to runoff. Wounds, 3 mm deep, were done using a sterile nail and 50 μl of a conidial suspension (1 × 104 conidia/ml) was introduced into each wound per fruit. Fruit were then stored at 25°C in 80 count boxes on paper trays for 21 days. Water only was used as a control. Ten fruit were inoculated with each isolate or water only (control) and the experiment was repeated once. Symptoms of decay observed on inoculated were ‘Gala’ apple fruit were identical to the symptoms initially observed on ‘Nittany’ apples obtained from cold storage after 21 days. No symptoms developed on fruit in the controls. A. alternata was re-isolated 100% from apple inoculated with the fungus, completing Koch's postulates. A. alternata has been documented as a pre- and postharvest pathogen on Malus spp. (3). To our knowledge, this is the first report of postharvest decay caused by A. alternata on apple fruit during cold storage in Pennsylvania. References: (1) A. L. Biggs et al. Plant Dis. 77:976, 1993. (2) E. G. Simmons. Alternaria: An Identification Manual. CBS Fungal Biodiversity Center, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 2007. (3) R. S. Spotts. Pages 56-57 in: Compendium of Apple and Pear Diseases, A. L. Jones and H. S. Aldwinkle, eds. American Phytopathological Society, St. Paul, MN, 1990.

Facilitar l'accessibilitat universal als béns culturals és clau per a un desenvolupament més just i igualitari. A partir d'aquesta premissa, aquest article presenta la metodologia d'intervenció sobre patrimoni arquitectònic desenvolupada per l'Institut Andalús del Patrimoni Històric des de la seva creació i actualitzada ara des del punt de vista de l'accessibilitat universal. Una revisió metodològica que permet identificar els principals reptes de l'accessibilitat física, sensorial o cognitiva del patrimoni edificat, incorporant, a partir de la proposta de línies d'acció incloses en els projectes d'intervenció, l'avaluació de la incidència en els valors culturals. La proposta es formula, per tant, sense posar en risc la preservació dels valors patrimonials i en concordança amb la funció social del patrimoni. S'aplica a l'arquitectura residencial del segle XX, un patrimoni especialment il·lustratiu de les dificultats que això entranya. Entre els treballs abordats, es dedica especial atenció al conjunt residencial La nostra Senyora del Carmen a Sevilla (1955-58), la rellevància cultural del qual queda reconeguda en el Registre Docomomo Ibèric. Un projecte de recerca que va incorporar com a principal innovació la implementació dels processos participatius a través de tallers. Una experiència que representa el pas de la conservació del patrimoni històric i cultural a la conservació del patrimoni modern, a través de la posada en pràctica de metodologies per a fer el patrimoni inclusiu. Enabling universal accessibility to cultural assets is imperative for fostering a more just and egalitarian development. In line with this principle, this contribution outlines the intervention methodology for architectural heritage developed by the Andalusian Institute of Historical Heritage since its inception. This methodology has been re-examined to integrate universal accessibility considerations. This updated approach facilitates the identification of primary challenges associated with providing physical, sensory, or cognitive accessibility to built heritage, and to incorporate, from the proposal of action lines to be included in the intervention projects, the evaluation of the impact on cultural values. This proposal is formulated with a commitment to preserving heritage values, in full support of the social function of heritage, and ensuring that accessibility enhancements do not compromise the integrity of a heritage site. The application of this methodology is demonstrated in the context of 20th-century residential architecture, a heritage category that poses unique challenges. Special emphasis is placed on the Nuestra Señora del Carmen residential complex in Seville (1955-58), acknowledged for its cultural significance in the Iberian DOCOMOMO Register. A notable innovation in this research project is the incorporation of participatory processes through workshops. This experience marks the transition from the conservation of historical and cultural heritage to the conservation of modern heritage, by means of implementing methods to make heritage inclusive. Facilitar la accesibilidad universal a los bienes culturales es clave para un desarrollo más justo e igualitario. A partir de esta premisa, este artículo presenta la metodología de intervención sobre patrimonio arquitectónico desarrollada por el Instituto Andaluz del Patrimonio Histórico desde su creación y actualizada ahora desde el punto de vista de la accesibilidad universal. Una revisión metodológica que permite identificar los principales retos de la accesibilidad física, sensorial o cognitiva del patrimonio edificado, incorporando, a partir de la propuesta de líneas de acción incluidas en los proyectos de intervención, la evaluación de la incidencia en los valores culturales. La propuesta se formula, por lo tanto, sin poner en riesgo la preservación de los valores patrimoniales y en concordancia con la función social del patrimonio. Se aplica a la arquitectura residencial del siglo XX, un patrimonio especialmente ilustrativo de las dificultades que esto entraña. Entre los trabajos abordados, se dedica especial atención al conjunto residencial Nuestra Señora del Carmen en Sevilla (1955-58), cuya relevancia cultural queda reconocida en el Registro Docomomo Ibérico. Un proyecto de investigación que incorporó como principal innovación la implementación de los procesos participativos a través de talleres. Una experiencia que representa el paso de la conservación del patrimonio histórico y cultural a la conservación del patrimonio moderno, a través de la puesta en práctica de metodologías para hacer el patrimonio inclusivo.

Si bien la comparación está hoy en día bien asentada en el ámbito de la investigación, la dimensión y la consideración de sus procesos y de su elaboración para el o la investigadora, siguen siendo todavía demasiado dispares, o implícitas. Sin embargo, nos parece que las reflexiones que versan sobre esta elaboración y sobre las contingencias del enfoque “en curso de elaboración” dan luces tanto sobre el enfoque de su proceso como sobre los objetos a los que se enfoca. Este número está dedicado a este cuestionamiento y a las preguntas o experiencias específicas que se dan en el marco de la investigación comparada. Para enfocar este debate, retomamos el término “gesto comparativo” (Robinson, 2016), que, a nuestro juicio, traduce la idea de proceso en curso, de una práctica situada y singular del investigador o la investigadora. Empezaremos por situar este concepto en las ciencias sociales, para abordar después más concretamente los ámbitos de investigación sobre todo a nivel de intervenciones sociales. El gesto comparativo en las ciencias sociales ¿Cuál es el lugar de la comparación en las ciencias sociales? ¿Es inherente o específica de ciertos enfoques? ¿Se da por hecho? Discutir el lugar de la comparación en las ciencias sociales requiere especificar su naturaleza, que sigue siendo una pregunta latente en la literatura (De Verdalle, Vigor & Le Bianic, 2012). Para los autores identificados como los “padres fundadores” de la Sociología, la comparación fue asumida o bien reivindicada en tanto ella se encontraba en el centro de las ciencias sociales, o bien ella era utilizada de manera más o menos explícita como recurso heurístico. Emile Durkheim sitúa a la sociología como una ciencia comparada (Durkheim, 1895); la comparación es, según él, constitutiva de todo procedimiento sociológico. Sin que se reivindique de manera explícita, la comparación ha sido la base de otros trabajos que sentaron los cimientos de la disciplina. Efectivamente, es a través de su desvío hacia América y su experiencia de la democracia en esta sociedad que Alexis de Tocqueville reflexiona sobre la caída del antiguo régimen en Francia. Max Weber por su parte comparó varias formas de capitalismo a lo largo del tiempo; así como Mauss quien teoriza sobre “el don y el contradón” a partir del estudio de varias comunidades. De este modo y a través de su práctica, estos autores han hecho que la comparación sea un enfoque fundacional de la disciplina. En esta línea, varios autores contemporáneos siguen situando el acto comparativo en el centro de las ciencias sociales. Howard Becker sitúa la comparación como una operación cognitiva que podría definirse como transversal, que permite ordenar “fragmentos” capaces de producir representaciones de la sociedad (Becker, 2009). Él nos recuerda que es a partir de la comparación que las cifras adquieren sentido y que las tablas estadísticas producen una descripción que permite apoyar la demostración de una idea. Al igual que en la famosa serie de Walker Evans, American Photographs, que cuestiona las especificidades del pueblo estadounidense, es en la comparación con la que le precede y la que le sigue que cada imagen de la serie de fotografías cobra sentido y contribuye a la idea general de la obra (Becker, 2009). Según Becker, el ejercicio de comparación tiene lugar en dos niveles: durante la producción de la obra, pero también durante su recepción, lo que implica un trabajo interpretativo. La antropología es otra disciplina de las ciencias sociales que, desde sus orígenes, se ha basado en una perspectiva comparada. En su curso en el Collège de France dedicado a la comparación, el antropólogo Philippe Descola (2019) destaca a partir de una relectura de su práctica como antropólogo y de la literatura de la disciplina, cómo los enfoques etnográficos y etnológicos “se tejen permanentemente a través de la comparación”. Estas formas de apoyarse en la comparación no siempre son reivindicadas, percibidas y asumidas como tales por los antropólogos, quienes la utilizaban casi espontáneamente por ser intrínseca a la disciplina y sus orígenes. Según él, esta comparación implícita se puede dividir en tres “movimientos” diferentes. El primero se refiere a la comparación de las prácticas sociales de la cultura observada con las de la cultura del observador. Para el autor, precisamente a través de este desplazamiento se construye la especificidad de la mirada etnográfica. El segundo es la comparación de las situaciones observadas y descritas por el etnógrafo con el corpus teórico existente. Para producir una interpretación de la sociedad estudiada, el etnógrafo compara y vincula lo que observa con el resto de la producción científica (en el tiempo y en el espacio). El último movimiento es aquel, implícito, de selección. El etnógrafo elige entre todas las escenas observadas, las más emblemáticas. Por lo tanto, es en la configuración de los resultados de los datos donde tiene lugar la comparación. Comparar desde la diferencia, mirar más allá Por otra parte, la comparación también puede considerarse como un enfoque específico y particular que debiera ser distinguido y considerado por esta particularidad. Cuando se elige y se asume la comparación como un enfoque de investigación específico, esta puede justificarse por su capacidad de ser un "operador de conocimiento" (Vigour, 2005) que permite la observación y el análisis desde un ángulo original e inédito. La comparación internacional, por ejemplo, puede requerir trabajar en la comprensión de los contextos sociales y las dinámicas que dan forma a los públicos, las poblaciones, las prácticas, las profesiones y las políticas de intervención social en diferentes países (Crossley & Watson, 2003; Hantrais, 2009). El enfoque comparativo realizado a escala internacional puede requerir aclarar los elementos comparadores (Hantrais, 2009) o las unidades de comparación (Bray, Adamson & Mason, 2010) con los que se relacionan. La comparación puede hacerse entre dos o más países y se relaciona tanto con el objeto de estudio como con los diferentes espacios y contextos (social, político, geográfico) y por lo tanto contribuye a una mejor comprensión del conjunto de estos elementos (Crossley & Watson, 2003 Dogan & Kazancigil, 1994). Las diferencias de estos espacios y contextos, si bien en un primer momento parecen limitar el potencial heurístico del enfoque, en última instancia contribuyen a él a través de la reflexión sobre los límites, sus diferencias y sus similitudes, siendo estos análisis parte integral de la comparación (Detienne, 2000). Sin embargo, rara vez se menciona el lugar del investigador en estos enfoques cuantitativos, y menos aún el proceso en curso. No obstante, Vigour establece que la comparación que se pretende “internacional” requiere de un proceso de investigación que incluya el enfoque comparativo en cada una de sus etapas, ya que este incide en la postura de la o del investigador y en cómo despliega una estrategia de investigación para “mantener” la comparación en cada uno de sus momentos (Vigour, 2005). El método desplegado puede acompañarse, de manera diferente, de una reflexión sobre el gesto y el efecto del enfoque. Por ejemplo, gran parte de la investigación internacional comparada en educación está impulsada por procesos cuantitativos que buscan contribuir a la explicación y predicción de los fenómenos educativos. Para ello, Fairbrother identifica la idea dominante de un investigador “desprendido” por un contacto limitado o ausente con los sujetos de su investigación (Fairbrother, 2010). Si, como indica el autor, el investigador pretende evitar todo contacto con los sujetos, las percepciones de lo que “hace” la investigación, en el momento de su desarrollo, son más difíciles de visibilizar. Por otro lado, la idea de un investigador “desprendido” no invita a la atención ni a la reflexión sobre el gesto comparativo y sus efectos. De ello da cuenta Xavier Pons en una experiencia de encuentros en un país extranjero, durante una investigación comparada sobre las configuraciones de la acción pública puesta en marcha en los procesos de evaluación externa de centros escolares de cuatro países europeos (Pons, 2017). Habituado al proceso de comparación internacional vía un estudio sobre el despliegue de políticas educativas a partir de aquello que es problemático, el autor descubre una dimensión más fina de las variables culturales sólo cuando se traslada a otro país, y tiene acceso a experiencias y percepciones más sutiles a través de una breve inmersión. Así, reafirma el interés de una triangulación de los métodos, siendo el trabajo de campo el elemento que permite completar una comparación cuantitativa. De esta manera, si la comparación internacional se considera como un proceso particular destinado a cambiar aún más la mirada del investigador (Sartori, 1994; Vigour, 2005), el desplazamiento físico no es sistemático, no siempre acompaña a las indagaciones cuantitativas comparadas. Varios investigadores señalan la ausencia crónica de desplazamiento físico del o de la investigadora, o de la reflexión necesaria o realizada sobre este desplazamiento durante la investigación: no hay entonces reflexión sobre la mirada etnocéntrica que puedan generar los análisis « de salón » o desconectados del terreno (Pons, 2017; Potts, 2010 ). La observación en un contexto que nos es ajeno no es evidente y la reflexión sobre los elementos subjetivos de la experiencia social de indagación permite acompañar el proceso de objetivación, como suele ser utilizado por los antropólogos. Como afirma Jan Spurk, “a pesar de [una] relación rara vez inocente con el extranjero, es el investigador quien constituye su objeto por la forma en que lo observa” (Spurk, 2003:74). Esta consideración parece más visible, quizás más elaborada en los procesos cualitativos, sin ser sistemática. Carine Vassy, por ejemplo, retoma sus líneas de investigación y su exploración en un ambiente hospitalario, mientras realiza un trabajo de traducción de términos que depende de la forma en la que el investigador concibe a su objeto (Vassy, 2003). También podemos citar a Benjamin Moignard que habla de las aperturas en su trabajo de campo en zonas altamente precarizadas y de difícil acceso para personas alejadas de él. Sus diferentes entradas en Francia y Brasil, y las técnicas, estrategias así como sus tanteos dicen sobre su relación con el terreno (al que se refiere durante el análisis), así como sobre las configuraciones que observa (Moignard, 2008). La investigación comparada internacional, que incluye al menos un trabajo de campo con el que el o la investigadora tiene una relación lejana o incluso ajena, quizás arroje una luz más explícita sobre las cuestiones que plantea esta relación y la forma en que limita la observación y la recopilación de datos. Esta cuestión ha podido surgir y ser considerada por los investigadores al tener en cuenta el etnocentrismo, sus sesgos y límites, pudiendo así esta consideración reducir sus efectos en la elaboración del conocimiento (Thành Khoi, 1981). La dimensión internacional de la comparación asociada a una inmersión de tipo etnográfico puede así fomentar de manera más honesta un distanciamiento del etnocentrismo y de los implícitos nacionales (Giraud, 2012). Los límites de la comparación: una mirada siempre reflexiva de la investigación Más específicamente, esta cuestión de la postura del investigador y su relación con el objeto de estudio (su territorio, su población) es una constante en la etnografía. Tras importantes debates que tuvieron lugar en las décadas de 1960 y 1970 en los Estados Unidos y en la década de 1980 en Francia, la disciplina fue sacudida hasta sus cimientos y atravesó una “crisis de representación etnográfica” (Marcus & Ficher 1986) que condujo a profundas transformaciones epistemológicas y metodológicas (Nash & Wintrob 1972). Una importante reflexión sobre las relaciones de poder intrínsecas a la forma de entender la alteridad en la antropología “clásica” y sobre el papel que jugaron los antropólogos en la empresa colonial revolucionaron la disciplina (Bolondet & Lantin Mallet 2017). Esta toma de conciencia de las formas de poder, los sesgos de la mirada y la representación etnográfica han llevado a la disciplina a iniciar un esfuerzo por explicar la relación etnográfica, situando al investigador en el centro del análisis, para utilizar explícitamente las tensiones, las diferencias de sentido o los malentendidos por su potencial heurístico. Si bien la noción de reflexividad puede designar prácticas bastante heterogéneas, actualmente se considera fundamental en las ciencias sociales y en la antropología en particular (Bolondet & Lantin Mallet, 2017). Cada vez son más los estudios que prestan especial atención a las condiciones en las que se lleva a cabo la investigación. Pensamos en la obra “Las políticas de la investigación” dirigida por Alban Bensa y Didier Fassin (2008), pero también en la obra de Michel Napels (1998), o de Nancy Scheper Hugues (1993). Sin embargo, la comparación es escasamente citada, parece ser más bien ser una parte integrante del proceso, un componente que realmente no se cuestiona. Mientras que los antropólogos hoy en día adoptan cada vez más esta postura reflexiva, describiendo su procedimiento de la manera más fiel posible, la comparación relativa a la disciplina no suele nombrarse ni pensarse explícitamente. Por otra parte, los especialistas en estudios comparativos que reivindican este enfoque rara vez discuten sobre el proceso implicado; la relación del investigador o los investigadores con el objeto y las condiciones de la comparación suelen quedar sin explicitar. Este número tiene el objetivo de tender puentes entre los dos, entre un enfoque explícitamente declarado comparativo y uno que vuelve al proceso de comparación "en proceso". ¿Qué implica el gesto comparativo, qué supone y qué efecto puede tener para quienes lo experimentan y lo aplican, particularmente, en ámbitos de la investigación en educación y en intervención social? Pensar la comparación desde la intervención y las políticas Hablar de la comparación y en particular, en la reflexión sobre la intervención social implica analizar la manera cómo concebimos al otro, la otredad. En términos procedimentales, la intervención puede ser entendida como una secuencia de cambios programados y ejecutados sobre otras y otros, intentando modificar el destino que tendrían en ausencia de nuestra intervención. La idea de intervención va muy de la mano con la idea de mejoría, de ascenso, de progreso, y desde ahí siempre hay que considerar la advertencia que realiza Koselleck (2012) al plantear que la idea moderna del progreso, que pretende ser universal, solo explicaría una de las experiencias posibles, ocultando otras formas de experiencia. La intervención es entonces proyectar acciones sobre otros y otras para que avancen hacia uno de los futuros posibles, bajo ciertas condiciones de mejoría. Carballeda en su texto La intervención en lo social (2012) desarrolla esta idea, en tanto la intervención implica una serie de procesos que tienen implícita la idea de ese otro, de su mejoría, ascenso, mantención y decadencia, llamando la atención acerca de la necesidad de ver el proceso de intervención desde una mirada reflexiva, donde se visibilice a ese otro, manifestando las estructuras implícitas de la intervención, pero también intentando ver a ese otro como sujeto histórico y en vinculo constante con su cultura. Rivera Cusicanqui (2018) releva la heterogeneidad y agencia de este otro cuando plantea que está lleno fragmentos, históricamente construidos desde lógicas clientelares desde arriba, pero así también en constantes capacidades para retomar desafíos históricos. El otro, o el pueblo en voz de la autora, se expresa en la ‘diversidad de la diferencia’. Con claridad plantea Muñoz (2015), que la intervención está 'preñada de ideología' y necesita un examen crítico para develar sus estructuras implícitas. Así la comparación lleva de la mano un ideal de ese otro, así como de la situación de la que tiene que salir y hacia la que tiene que transitar. La intervención social dentro de estas lógicas se ha ido enmarcando desde lo ha sido la planificación de nuestros Estados en distintos contextos. Diferentes programas de intervención transitan y son utilizados como ejemplos unos de otros entre diferentes contextos y casi como un insumo necesario de las políticas en diversas materias. Mirar cómo hacen las y los otros es un reflejo para las decisiones públicas. Actualmente la pregunta no es ¿si hay que comparar?, o si acaso, ¿podemos comparar?, sino más bien pensar en cómo podemos realizar comparaciones, dejando de lado la reflexividad sobre las estructuras implícitas de la comparación (Hassenteufel, 2005). Las políticas sociales han ido integrando dicha práctica de manera sistemática en las últimas décadas a manera de sacar aprendizajes y para conocer diferentes escenarios. En materia de bienestar nos ha permitido elaborar marcos que han implicado reconocer la similitud y la diferencia tanto del concepto, como de su forma de re-traducción nacional (Martínez-Franzoni, 2008). De esta manera, se ha podido comenzar a vislumbrar que las simples aplicaciones de modelos no son posibles, llevando a un esfuerzo de interpretación interdisciplinaria que ha implicado la re-traducción de las nociones clásicas del bienestar adaptadas a nuestros tiempos, y por supuesto a los diferentes territorios donde se estudie. Desde ahí que bajo y también desde una mirada critica que significa mirar la intervención social, y las prácticas de asistencia social (Rojas, 2019), se busca a través del número temático tensionar las transformaciones metodológicas que han sufrido los y las autoras para analizar sus problemáticas. Observar de qué manera se operacionaliza la territorialización de las practicas de intervención y cómo logran por su parte interpretarlas metodológicamente en las diferentes claves en las cuales ellos y ellas mismas se desafían en sus lecturas. Maryan Lemoine da cuenta de un enfoque comparativo en curso. Se trata de un abordaje cruzado, entre una alumna que va a investigar a su país y que va a tener que salir de la familiaridad, y el docente-investigador que es ajeno a ese contexto, pero que está familiarizado con los aspectos contextuales que conforman el terreno de estudio. El autor explora y cuestiona la relación del investigador con el terreno, identifica lo que lo hace familiar y se equipa de posibles "gafas" para la observación. Vuelve así a la identificación progresiva de lo impensado y a las adaptaciones o estrategias que puede adoptar para limitar los escollos. Julie Pinsolle, Sylvain Bordiec y Margaux Aillères retoman la comparación a través de monografías comparadas. Si bien el enfoque no era obvio para el análisis de la implementación de una política pública en educación en Francia, resultó útil para llegar a un nivel cualitativo que permitiera analizar las asperezas de la implementación local, al tiempo que analizar lo que es del orden de lo particular y del orden de lo común con otros lugares de implementación. Gaztañaga y Koberwein reflexionan en su artículo sobre los alcances y límites de la comparación en antropología social y cultural, y como esta se constituye como un proyecto antropológico por excelencia, van al momento de la constitución de la antropología como disciplina, en el contexto de discusión con otras ciencias sociales (historia, sociología, ciencia política), concluyendo que la comparación profundiza el entendimiento del mundo, pues dan contexto a la construcción del otro. Por su parte, Paulina Vergara indaga sobre cómo operan los desastres socionaturales con la sociedad, en particular con la responsabilidad que recae sobre el Estado. A través de un ejercicio etnográfico y sociohistórico, la autora analiza la acción pública desde la perspectiva de quienes sufrieron los embates de las catástrofes, recorriendo y reconstruyendo comparativamente (entre 1939 y 2010) diferentes eventos históricos y sus respectivas respuestas estatales. De esta manera, el presente número temático en un esfuerzo de conversación entre distintos escenarios nacionales ha apostado desde un enfoque interdisciplinar a exponer reflexiones metodológicas, experiencias de investigación situadas, y comparaciones internacionales para poder situar desde el trabajo social, la antropología, y desde el análisis de políticas estudios que nos ofrecen diversos cuadros de interpretación para aproximarse al gesto de comparar. Uno de los objetivos de este número ha sido poner en discusión la relación de los y las investigadoras con su terreno conociendo sus procesos reflexivos y cuestionando cómo desde los diferentes terrenos aquí expuestos han desplegado comparaciones diversas para comprender fenómenos sociales multisituados tanto espacial como históricamente. La invitación es a explorar desde una perspectiva holística diferentes fenómenos y problemáticas, a fin de abrir luces para seguir explorando la metodología comparativa y sus posibilidades para la comprensión de la intervención social y las políticas sociales, así como de fenómenos que tengan como centro el análisis de las transformaciones societales. Referencias Becker, H. (2009). Comment parler de la société. París: La Découverte. Bensa, A. & Fassin, D. (2008). Les politiques de l'enquête. París: La Découverte. Bolondet, M. & Lantin Mallet, M. (Eds.) (2017). Anthropologies réflexives : Modes de connaissance et formes d’expérience. Lyon: Presses universitaires de Lyon. Bray, M., Adamson, B. & Mason, M. (2010). Recherche comparative en éducation. Louvain-la-Neuve: De Boeck Supérieur. Carballeda, A. (2012). La intervención en lo social exclusión e integración en los nuevos escenarios sociales. Buenos Aires: Editorial Paidós. Crossley, M. & Watson, K. (2003). Comparative and international research in education: Globalisation, context and difference. Oxon: Routledge. Descola, P. (2018). Qu’est-ce que comparer ? Leçon inaugurale, Cours au collège de France 2018-2019. URL: https://www.college-de-france.fr/site/philippe-descola/course-2018-2019.htm Detienne, M. (2000). Comparer l’incomparable. París: Seuil. Dogan, M. & Kazancigil A. (1994). Comparing Nations. Concepts, Strategies, Substance. Oxford/Cambridge: Blackwell. Durkheim, E. (1895). Les règles de la méthode sociologique. París: F. Alcan. Hassenteufel, P. (2005). De la comparaison internationale à la comparaison transnationale : Les déplacements de la construction d'objets comparatifs en matière de politiques publiques. Revue française de science politique, 55, 113-132. Hantrais, L. (2009). International comparative research: theory, methods and practice. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kosselleck, R. (2012). Historias de conceptos. Estudios sobre semántica y pragmática del lenguaje político y social (L. Fernández Torres, trad.). Madrid: Trotta. Thanh Khoi, L. (1981). L’éducation comparée. Paris: Armand Colin. Marcus, G.E. & Fischer, M.M. (1986). Anthropology as Cultural Critique. An Experimental Moment in the Human Sciences. Chicago y London: The University of Chicago Press. Martínez Franzoni, J. (2008). Domesticar la incertidumbre en América Latina. Mercado laboral, política social y familias. Editorial de la Universidad de Costa Rica. Moignard, B. (2008). L’école et la rue : fabriques de délinquance. París: PUF. Muñoz, G. (2015). Intervención social en contexto mapuche y descolonización del conocimiento. Tabula rasa, 23, 267-287. Naepels, M. (1998). Une étrange étrangeté. Remarques sur la situation ethnographique. L'Homme, 38(148), 185-199. Nash, D. & Wintrob, R. (1972). The Emergence of Self-Consciousness in Ethnography. Current Anthropology ,13(5), 527-542. Pons, X. (2017). Déplacer le regard ou le regardeur ? Réflexions sur les usages empiriques de la comparaison internationale en éducation. En Buisson-Fenet, H. & Rey O. (Eds.), A quoi sert la comparaison internationale en éducation ? (pp. 13‑31). Lyon: ENS Editions (Entretiens Ferdinand Buisson). Potts, P. (2010). Chapitre 3. La place de l’expérience dans la recherche en éducation comparée. En Bray, M., Adamson, B. & Mason, M. (Eds.), Recherche comparative en éducation (pp. 71‑88). Bruxelles: De Boeck Supérieur. Rivera Cusicanqui, S. (2018). Un mundo ch'ixi es posible: ensayos desde un presente en crisis. Buenos Aires: Tinta limón. Robinson, J. (2016). Ciudades en un mundo de ciudades: el gesto comparativo. Andamios. 13, 32, 163‑210. Rojas, C. (2019). Ayudar a los pobres Etnografía del Estado social y las prácticas de asistencia. Santiago: Ediciones Alberto Hurtado. Sartori, G. (1994). Compare Why and How. Comparing, Miscomparing and the Comparative Method. En Dogan, M. (Eds), Comparing Nations. Concepts, Strategies, Substance (pp. 14‑34). Oxford/Cambridge: Blackwell. Sheper Hugues, N. (1993). Death Without Weeping The Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil. University of California Press. Spurk, J. (2003). Epistémologie et politique de la comparaison internationale : quelques réflexions dans une perspective européenne. En Lallement M. & Spurk J. (Eds.), Stratégies de la comparaison internationale (pp. 71‑82). París: CNRS Editions (CNRS Sociologie). Vassy, C. (2003). Données qualitatives et comparaison internationale : l’exemple d’un travail de terrain dans des hôpitaux européens. En Lallement M. & Spurk J. (Eds), Stratégies de la comparaison internationale (pp. 215‑227). París: CNRS Editions (CNRS Sociologie). Verdalle, L. De, Vigour C. & Le Bianic T. (2012). S’inscrire dans une démarche comparative. Enjeux et controverses. Terrains & travaux, 21, 2, 5‑21. Vigour, C. (2005). La comparaison dans les sciences sociales : pratiques et méthodes. París: La Découverte. Esta publicación ha recibido el apoyo de las siguientes instituciones: la Universidad Alberto Hurtado y su Departamento de Trabajo Social, el IUT de Sénart Fontainebleau, el LIRTES (Univ. París-Est Créteil) y la OUIEP, a todas ellas les agradecemos el haber hecho posible este proyecto.

Introduction In October 2008, the UK’s National Videogame Archive became a reality and after years of negotiation, preparation and planning, this partnership between Nottingham Trent University’s Centre for Contemporary Play research group and The National Media Museum, accepted its first public donations to the collection. These first donations came from Sony’s Computer Entertainment Europe’s London Studios who presented the original, pre-production PlayStation 2 EyeToy camera (complete with its hand-written #1 sticker) and Harmonix who crossed the Atlantic to deliver prototypes of the Rock Band drum kit and guitar controllers along with a slew of games. Since then, we have been inundated with donations, enquiries and volunteers offering their services and it is clear that we have exciting and challenging times ahead of us at the NVA as we seek to continue our collecting programme and preserve, conserve, display and interpret these vital parts of popular culture. This essay, however, is not so much a document of these possible futures for our research or the challenges we face in moving forward as it is a discussion of some of the issues that make game preservation a vital and timely undertaking. In briefly telling the story of the genesis of the NVA, I hope to draw attention to some of the peculiarities (in both senses) of the situation in which videogames currently exist. While considerable attention has been paid to the preservation and curation of new media arts (e.g. Cook et al.), comparatively little work has been undertaken in relation to games. Surprisingly, the games industry has been similarly neglectful of the histories of gameplay and gamemaking. Throughout our research, it has became abundantly clear that even those individuals and companies most intimately associated with the development of this form, do not hold their corporate and personal histories in the high esteem we expected (see also Lowood et al.). And so, despite the well-worn bluster of an industry that proclaims itself as culturally significant as Hollywood, it is surprisingly difficult to find a definitive copy of the boxart of the final release of a Triple-A title let alone any of the pre-production materials. Through our journeys in the past couple of years, we have encountered shoeboxes under CEOs’ desks and proud parents’ collections of tapes and press cuttings. These are the closest things to a formalised archive that we currently have for many of the biggest British game development and publishing companies. Not only is this problematic in and of itself as we run the risk of losing titles and documents forever as well as the stories locked up in the memories of key individuals who grow ever older, but also it is symptomatic of an industry that, despite its public proclamations, neither places a high value on its products as popular culture nor truly recognises their impact on that culture. While a few valorised, still-ongoing, franchises like the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are repackaged and (digitally) re-released so as to provide continuity with current releases, a huge number of games simply disappear from view once their short period of retail limelight passes. Indeed, my argument in this essay rests to some extent on the admittedly polemical, and maybe even antagonistic, assertion that the past business and marketing practices of the videogames industry are partly to blame for the comparatively underdeveloped state of game preservation and the seemingly low cultural value placed on old games within the mainstream marketplace. Small wonder, then, that archives and formalised collections are not widespread. However antagonistic this point may seem, this essay does not set out merely to criticise the games industry. Indeed, it is important to recognise that the success and viability of projects such as the NVA is derived partly from close collaboration with industry partners. As such, it is my hope that in addition to contributing to the conversation about the importance and need for formalised strategies of game preservation, this essay goes some way to demonstrating the necessity of universities, museums, developers, publishers, advertisers and retailers tackling these issues in partnership. The Best Game Is the Next Game As will be clear from these opening paragraphs, this essay is primarily concerned with ‘old’ games. Perhaps surprisingly, however, we shall see that ‘old’ games are frequently not that old at all as even the shiniest, and newest of interactive experiences soon slip from view under the pressure of a relentless industrial and institutional push towards the forthcoming release and the ‘next generation’. More surprising still is that ‘old’ games are often difficult to come by as they occupy, at best, a marginalised position in the contemporary marketplace, assuming they are even visible at all. This is an odd situation. Videogames are, as any introductory primer on game studies will surely reveal, big business (see Kerr, for instance, as well as trade bodies such as ELSPA and The ESA for up-to-date sales figures). Given the videogame industry seems dedicated to growing its business and broadening its audiences (see Radd on Sony’s ‘Game 3.0’ strategy, for instance), it seems strange, from a commercial perspective if no other, that publishers’ and developers’ back catalogues are not being mercilessly plundered to wring the last pennies of profit from their IPs. Despite being cherished by players and fans, some of whom are actively engaged in their own private collecting and curation regimes (sometimes to apparently obsessive excess as Jones, among others, has noted), videogames have, nonetheless, been undervalued as part of our national popular cultural heritage by institutions of memory such as museums and archives which, I would suggest, have largely ignored and sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented them. Most of all, however, I wish to draw attention to the harm caused by the videogames industry itself. Consumers’ attentions are focused on ‘products’, on audiovisual (but mainly visual) technicalities and high-definition video specs rather than on the experiences of play and performance, or on games as artworks or artefact. Most damagingly, however, by constructing and contributing to an advertising, marketing and popular critical discourse that trades almost exclusively in the language of instant obsolescence, videogames have been robbed of their historical value and old platforms and titles are reduced to redundant, legacy systems and easily-marginalised ‘retro’ curiosities. The vision of inevitable technological progress that the videogames industry trades in reminds us of Paul Duguid’s concept of ‘supersession’ (see also Giddings and Kennedy, on the ‘technological imaginary’). Duguid identifies supersession as one of the key tropes in discussions of new media. The reductive idea that each new form subsumes and replaces its predecessor means that videogames are, to some extent, bound up in the same set of tensions that undermine the longevity of all new media. Chun rightly notes that, in contrast with more open terms like multimedia, ‘new media’ has always been somewhat problematic. Unaccommodating, ‘it portrayed other media as old or dead; it converged rather than multiplied; it did not efface itself in favor of a happy if redundant plurality’ (1). The very newness of new media and of videogames as the apotheosis of the interactivity and multimodality they promise (Newman, "In Search"), their gleam and shine, is quickly tarnished as they are replaced by ever-newer, ever more exciting, capable and ‘revolutionary’ technologies whose promise and moment in the limelight is, in turn, equally fleeting. As Franzen has noted, obsolescence and the trail of abandoned, superseded systems is a natural, even planned-for, product of an infatuation with the newness of new media. For Kline et al., the obsession with obsolescence leads to the characterisation of the videogames industry as a ‘perpetual innovation economy’ whose institutions ‘devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products. However, it is my contention here that the supersessionary tendency exerts a more serious impact on videogames than some other media partly because the apparently natural logic of obsolescence and technological progress goes largely unchecked and partly because there remain few institutions dedicated to considering and acting upon game preservation. The simple fact, as Lowood et al. have noted, is that material damage is being done as a result of this manufactured sense of continual progress and immediate, irrefutable obsolescence. By focusing on the upcoming new release and the preview of what is yet to come; by exciting gamers about what is in development and demonstrating the manifest ways in which the sheen of the new inevitably tarnishes the old. That which is replaced is fit only for the bargain bin or the budget-priced collection download, and as such, it is my position that we are systematically undermining and perhaps even eradicating the possibility of a thorough and well-documented history for videogames. This is a situation that we at the National Videogame Archive, along with colleagues in the emerging field of game preservation (e.g. the International Game Developers Association Game Preservation Special Interest Group, and the Keeping Emulation Environments Portable project) are, naturally, keen to address. Chief amongst our concerns is better understanding how it has come to be that, in 2009, game studies scholars and colleagues from across the memory and heritage sectors are still only at the beginning of the process of considering game preservation. The IGDA Game Preservation SIG was founded only five years ago and its ‘White Paper’ (Lowood et al.) is just published. Surprisingly, despite the importance of videogames within popular culture and the emergence and consolidation of the industry as a potent creative force, there remains comparatively little academic commentary or investigation into the specific situation and life-cycles of games or the demands that they place upon archivists and scholars of digital histories and cultural heritage. As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, one of the key tasks of the project of game preservation is to draw attention to the consequences of the concentration, even fetishisation, of the next generation, the new and the forthcoming. The focus on what I have termed ‘the lure of the imminent’ (e.g. Newman, Playing), the fixation on not only the present but also the as-yet-unreleased next generation, has contributed to the normalisation of the discourses of technological advancement and the inevitability and finality of obsolescence. The conflation of gameplay pleasure and cultural import with technological – and indeed, usually visual – sophistication gives rise to a context of endless newness, within which there appears to be little space for the ‘outdated’, the ‘superseded’ or the ‘old’. In a commercial and cultural space in which so little value is placed upon anything but the next game, we risk losing touch with the continuities of development and the practices of play while simultaneously robbing players and scholars of the critical tools and resources necessary for contextualised appreciation and analysis of game form and aesthetics, for instance (see Monnens, "Why", for more on the value of preserving ‘old’ games for analysis and scholarship). Moreover, we risk losing specific games, platforms, artefacts and products as they disappear into the bargain bucket or crumble to dust as media decay, deterioration and ‘bit rot’ (Monnens, "Losing") set in. Space does not here permit a discussion of the scope and extent of the preservation work required (for instance, the NVA sets its sights on preserving, documenting, interpreting and exhibiting ‘videogame culture’ in its broadest sense and recognises the importance of videogames as more than just code and as enmeshed within complex networks of productive, consumptive and performative practices). Neither is it my intention to discuss here the specific challenges and numerous issues associated with archival and exhibition tools such as emulation which seek to rebirth code on up-to-date, manageable, well-supported hardware platforms but which are frequently insensitive to the specificities and nuances of the played experience (see Newman, "On Emulation", for some further notes on videogame emulation, archiving and exhibition and Takeshita’s comments in Nutt on the technologies and aesthetics of glitches, for instance). Each of these issues is vitally important and will, doubtless become a part of the forthcoming research agenda for game preservation scholars. My focus here, however, is rather more straightforward and foundational and though it is deliberately controversial, it is my hope that its casts some light over some ingrained assumptions about videogames and the magnitude and urgency of the game preservation project. Videogames Are Disappearing? At a time when retailers’ shelves struggle under the weight of newly-released titles and digital distribution systems such as Steam, the PlayStation Network, Xbox Live Marketplace, WiiWare, DSiWare et al bring new ways to purchase and consume playable content, it might seem strange to suggest that videogames are disappearing. In addition to what we have perhaps come to think of as the ‘usual suspects’ in the hardware and software publishing marketplace, over the past year or so Apple have, unexpectedly and perhaps even surprising themselves, carved out a new gaming platform with the iPhone/iPod Touch and have dramatically simplified the notoriously difficult process of distributing mobile content with the iTunes App Store. In the face of this apparent glut of games and the emergence and (re)discovery of new markets with the iPhone, Wii and Nintendo DS, videogames seem an ever more a vital and visible part of popular culture. Yet, for all their commercial success and seemingly penetration the simple fact is that they are disappearing. And at an alarming rate. Addressing the IGDA community of game developers and producers, Henry Lowood makes the point with admirable clarity (see also Ruggill and McAllister): If we fail to address the problems of game preservation, the games you are making will disappear, perhaps within a few decades. You will lose access to your own intellectual property, you will be unable to show new developers the games you designed or that inspired you, and you may even find it necessary to re-invent a bunch of wheels. (Lowood et al. 1) For me, this point hit home most persuasively a few years ago when, along with Iain Simons, I was invited by the British Film Institute to contribute a book to their ‘Screen Guides’ series. 100 Videogames (Newman and Simons) was an intriguing prospect that provided us with the challenge and opportunity to explore some of the key moments in videogaming’s forty year history. However, although the research and writing processes proved to be an immensely pleasurable and rewarding experience that we hope culminated in an accessible, informative volume offering insight into some well-known (and some less-well known) games, the project was ultimately tinged with a more than a little disappointment and frustration. Assuming our book had successfully piqued the interest of our readers into rediscovering games previously played or perhaps investigating games for the first time, what could they then do? Where could they go to find these games in order to experience their delights (or their flaws and problems) at first hand? Had our volume been concerned with television or film, as most of the Screen Guides are, then online and offline retailers, libraries, and even archives for less widely-available materials, would have been obvious ports of call. For the student of videogames, however, the choices are not so much limited as practically non-existant. It is only comparatively recently that videogame retailers have shifted away from an almost exclusive focus on new releases and the zeitgeist platforms towards a recognition of old games and systems through the creation of the ‘pre-owned’ marketplace. The ‘pre-owned’ transaction is one in which old titles may be traded in for cash or against the purchase of new releases of hardware or software. Surely, then, this represents the commercial viability of classic games and is a recognition on the part of retail that the new release is not the only game in town. Yet, if we consider more carefully the ‘pre-owned’ model, we find a few telling points. First, there is cold economic sense to the pre-owned business model. In their financial statements for FY08, ‘GAME revealed that the service isn’t just a key part of its offer to consumers, but its also represents an ‘attractive’ gross margin 39 per cent.’ (French). Second, and most important, the premise of the pre-owned business as it is communicated to consumers still offers nothing but primacy to the new release. That one would trade-in one’s old games in order to consume these putatively better new ones speaks eloquently in the language of obsolesce and what Dovey and Kennedy have called the ‘technological imaginary’. The wire mesh buckets of old, pre-owned games are not displayed or coded as treasure troves for the discerning or completist collector but rather are nothing more than bargain bins. These are not classic games. These are cheap games. Cheap because they are old. Cheap because they have had their day. This is a curious situation that affects videogames most unfairly. Of course, my caricature of the videogame retailer is still incomplete as a good deal of the instantly visible shopfloor space is dedicated neither to pre-owned nor new releases but rather to displays of empty boxes often sporting unfinalised, sometimes mocked-up, boxart flaunting titles available for pre-order. Titles you cannot even buy yet. In the videogames marketplace, even the present is not exciting enough. The best game is always the next game. Importantly, retail is not alone in manufacturing this sense of dissatisfaction with the past and even the present. The specialist videogames press plays at least as important a role in reinforcing and normalising the supersessionary discourse of instant obsolescence by fixing readers’ attentions and expectations on the just-visible horizon. Examining the pages of specialist gaming publications reveals them to be something akin to Futurist paeans dedicating anything from 70 to 90% of their non-advertising pages to previews, interviews with developers about still-in-development titles (see Newman, Playing, for more on the specialist gaming press’ love affair with the next generation and the NDA scoop). Though a small number of publications specifically address retro titles (e.g. Imagine Publishing’s Retro Gamer), most titles are essentially vehicles to promote current and future product lines with many magazines essentially operating as delivery devices for cover-mounted CDs/DVDs offering teaser videos or playable demos of forthcoming titles to further whet the appetite. Manufacturing a sense of excitement might seem wholly natural and perhaps even desirable in helping to maintain a keen interest in gaming culture but the effect of the imbalance of popular coverage has a potentially deleterious effect on the status of superseded titles. Xbox World 360’s magnificently-titled ‘Anticip–O–Meter’ ™ does more than simply build anticipation. Like regular features that run under headings such as ‘The Next Best Game in The World Ever is…’, it seeks to author not so much excitement about the imminent release but a dissatisfaction with the present with which unfavourable comparisons are inevitably drawn. The current or previous crop of (once new, let us not forget) titles are not simply superseded but rather are reinvented as yardsticks to judge the prowess of the even newer and unarguably ‘better’. As Ashton has noted, the continual promotion of the impressiveness of the next generation requires a delicate balancing act and a selective, institutionalised system of recall and forgetting that recovers the past as a suite of (often technical) benchmarks (twice as many polygons, higher resolution etc.) In the absence of formalised and systematic collecting, these obsoleted titles run the risk of being forgotten forever once they no longer serve the purpose of demonstrating the comparative advancement of the successors. The Future of Videogaming’s Past Even if we accept the myriad claims of game studies scholars that videogames are worthy of serious interrogation in and of themselves and as part of a multifaceted, transmedial supersystem, we might be tempted to think that the lack of formalised collections, archival resources and readily available ‘old/classic’ titles at retail is of no great significance. After all, as Jones has observed, the videogame player is almost primed to undertake this kind of activity as gaming can, at least partly, be understood as the act and art of collecting. Games such as Animal Crossing make this tendency most manifest by challenging their players to collect objects and artefacts – from natural history through to works of visual art – so as to fill the initially-empty in-game Museum’s cases. While almost all videogames from The Sims to Katamari Damacy can be considered to engage their players in collecting and collection management work to some extent, Animal Crossing is perhaps the most pertinent example of the indivisibility of the gamer/archivist. Moreover, the permeability of the boundary between the fan’s collection of toys, dolls, posters and the other treasured objects of merchandising and the manipulation of inventories, acquisitions and equipment lists that we see in the menus and gameplay imperatives of videogames ensures an extensiveness and scope of fan collecting and archival work. Similarly, the sociality of fan collecting and the value placed on private hoarding, public sharing and the processes of research ‘…bridges to new levels of the game’ (Jones 48). Perhaps we should be as unsurprised that their focus on collecting makes videogames similar to eBay as we are to the realisation that eBay with its competitiveness, its winning and losing states, and its inexorable countdown timer, is nothing if not a game? We should be mindful, however, of overstating the positive effects of fandom on the fate of old games. Alongside eBay’s veneration of the original object, p2p and bittorrent sites reduce the videogame to its barest. Quite apart from the (il)legality of emulation and videogame ripping and sharing (see Conley et al.), the existence of ‘ROMs’ and the technicalities of their distribution reveals much about the peculiar tension between the interest in old games and their putative cultural and economic value. (St)ripped down to the barest of code, ROMs deny the gamer the paratextuality of the instruction manual or boxart. In fact, divorced from its context and robbed of its materiality, ROMs perhaps serve to make the original game even more distant. More tellingly, ROMs are typically distributed by the thousand in zipped files. And so, in just a few minutes, entire console back-catalogues – every game released in every territory – are available for browsing and playing on a PC or Mac. The completism of the collections allows detailed scrutiny of differences in Japanese versus European releases, for instance, and can be seen as a vital investigative resource. However, that these ROMs are packaged into collections of many thousands speaks implicitly of these games’ perceived value. In a similar vein, the budget-priced retro re-release collection helps to diminish the value of each constituent game and serves to simultaneously manufacture and highlight the manifestly unfair comparison between these intriguingly retro curios and the legitimately full-priced games of now and next. Customer comments at Amazon.co.uk demonstrate the way in which historical and technological comparisons are now solidly embedded within the popular discourse (see also Newman 2009b). Leaving feedback on Sega’s PS3/Xbox 360 Sega MegaDrive Ultimate Collection customers berate the publisher for the apparently meagre selection of titles on offer. Interestingly, this charge seems based less around the quality, variety or range of the collection but rather centres on jarring technological schisms and a clear sense of these titles being of necessarily and inevitably diminished monetary value. Comments range from outraged consternation, ‘Wtf, only 40 games?’, ‘I wont be getting this as one disc could hold the entire arsenal of consoles and games from commodore to sega saturn(Maybe even Dreamcast’ through to more detailed analyses that draw attention to the number of bits and bytes but that notably neglect any consideration of gameplay, experientiality, cultural significance or, heaven forbid, fun. “Ultimate” Collection? 32Mb of games on a Blu-ray disc?…here are 40 Megadrive games at a total of 31 Megabytes of data. This was taking the Michael on a DVD release for the PS2 (or even on a UMD for the PSP), but for a format that can store 50 Gigabytes of data, it’s an insult. Sega’s entire back catalogue of Megadrive games only comes to around 800 Megabytes - they could fit that several times over on a DVD. The ultimate consequence of these different but complementary attitudes to games that fix attentions on the future and package up decontextualised ROMs by the thousand or even collections of 40 titles on a single disc (selling for less than half the price of one of the original cartridges) is a disregard – perhaps even a disrespect – for ‘old’ games. Indeed, it is this tendency, this dominant discourse of inevitable, natural and unimpeachable obsolescence and supersession, that provided one of the prime motivators for establishing the NVA. As Lowood et al. note in the title of the IGDA Game Preservation SIG’s White Paper, we need to act to preserve and conserve videogames ‘before it’s too late’.ReferencesAshton, D. ‘Digital Gaming Upgrade and Recovery: Enrolling Memories and Technologies as a Strategy for the Future.’ M/C Journal 11.6 (2008). 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/86›.Buffa, C. ‘How to Fix Videogame Journalism.’ GameDaily 20 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/how-to-fix-videogame-journalism/69202/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: How to Become a Better Videogame Journalist.’ GameDaily 28 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-how-to-become-a-better-videogame-journalist/69236/?biz=1. ———. ‘Opinion: The Videogame Review – Problems and Solutions.’ GameDaily 2 Aug. 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-the-videogame-review-problems-and-solutions/69257/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: Why Videogame Journalism Sucks.’ GameDaily 14 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-why-videogame-journalism-sucks/69180/?biz=1›. Cook, Sarah, Beryl Graham, and Sarah Martin eds. Curating New Media, Gateshead: BALTIC, 2002. Duguid, Paul. ‘Material Matters: The Past and Futurology of the Book.’ In Gary Nunberg, ed. The Future of the Book. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1996. 63–101. French, Michael. 'GAME Reveals Pre-Owned Trading Is 18% of Business.’ MCV 22 Apr. 2009. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.mcvuk.com/news/34019/GAME-reveals-pre-owned-trading-is-18-per-cent-of-business›. Giddings, Seth, and Helen Kennedy. ‘Digital Games as New Media.’ In J. Rutter and J. Bryce, eds. Understanding Digital Games. London: Sage. 129–147. Gillen, Kieron. ‘The New Games Journalism.’ Kieron Gillen’s Workblog 2004. 13 June 2009 ‹http://gillen.cream.org/wordpress_html/?page_id=3›. Jones, S. The Meaning of Video Games: Gaming and Textual Strategies, New York: Routledge, 2008. Kerr, A. The Business and Culture of Digital Games. London: Sage, 2006. Lister, Martin, John Dovey, Seth Giddings, Ian Grant and Kevin Kelly. New Media: A Critical Introduction. London and New York: Routledge, 2003. Lowood, Henry, Andrew Armstrong, Devin Monnens, Zach Vowell, Judd Ruggill, Ken McAllister, and Rachel Donahue. Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. Monnens, Devin. ‘Why Are Games Worth Preserving?’ In Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. ———. ‘Losing Digital Game History: Bit by Bit.’ In Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. Newman, J. ‘In Search of the Videogame Player: The Lives of Mario.’ New Media and Society 4.3 (2002): 407-425.———. ‘On Emulation.’ The National Videogame Archive Research Diary, 2009. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.nationalvideogamearchive.org/index.php/2009/04/on-emulation/›. ———. ‘Our Cultural Heritage – Available by the Bucketload.’ The National Videogame Archive Research Diary, 2009. 10 Apr. 2009 ‹http://www.nationalvideogamearchive.org/index.php/2009/04/our-cultural-heritage-available-by-the-bucketload/›. ———. Playing with Videogames, London: Routledge, 2008. ———, and I. Simons. 100 Videogames. London: BFI Publishing, 2007. Nutt, C. ‘He Is 8-Bit: Capcom's Hironobu Takeshita Speaks.’ Gamasutra 2008. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/3752/›. Radd, D. ‘Gaming 3.0. Sony’s Phil Harrison Explains the PS3 Virtual Community, Home.’ Business Week 9 Mar. 2007. 13 June 2009 ‹http://www.businessweek.com/innovate/content/mar2007/id20070309_764852.htm?chan=innovation_game+room_top+stories›. Ruggill, Judd, and Ken McAllister. ‘What If We Do Nothing?’ Before It's Too Late: A Digital Game Preservation White Paper. IGDA, 2009. 13 June 2009. ‹http://www.igda.org/wiki/images/8/83/IGDA_Game_Preservation_SIG_-_Before_It%27s_Too_Late_-_A_Digital_Game_Preservation_White_Paper.pdf›. 16-19.

I spent more than two years in Bangladesh and lived through several incarnations—as a volunteer for aid organisations, an expatriate socialite, a bidesi (foreigner) trying to live sodesi (locally)—before becoming an ethnographer and, simultaneously, a lover and fighter of my adopted country. During the winter of my second lifetime I was sexually assaulted and at the beginning of my third lifetime, I recounted the experience at an academic conference in Dhaka. Smitten by the possibility that personal revelation could overcome cross-cultural barriers, I read A Night Out to compel others to sympathise and share, perhaps even loosen the somewhat restricted discussion of sexual intimidation in Bangladesh. Yet the response to A Night Out was quiet, absorbed by the static of courtesy, and taught me that disclosure alone cannot transcend differences to reach a space of mutual understanding. Later, when I posted A Night Out online, I observed the continued and changing capacity of revelation to evoke responses from people across genders and cultures. This article argues that the impact of revelation, although difficult to quantify, is never static and depends significantly on context: first, by describing autoethnography, a way of writing about other cultures that connects the "autobiographical and personal to the cultural, social and political" (Ellis xix), in the "Before" section to give background to A Night Out; secondly, the "After" section considers the various responses to the story and discusses it as "both a process and a product" of cultural research (xix). Before A Night Out Switching lives between Australia and Bangladesh has shown me the value of cultural research that deconstructs traditional conceptions of the "Western" and "Eastern" worlds. In terms of the representations of women, those in the East are too often prescribed the characteristics of ignorance, poverty, illiteracy, domesticity, maternity, and victimization, while the Western woman is depicted as modern, educated, in control of her body and sexuality (Gandhi 86). As a researcher, ultimately, of the life stories of Bangladeshi women, I sought to decrease the misconceptions surrounding those who were, like me, never only "West" or "East", influenced but never solely defined by their culture. Autoethnography is a method of cultural research that makes connections between "individual experience and social processes" in ways that emphasise the essential falsity of cultural categories (Sparkes 217). To transcend these boundaries of people, place and time, autoethnographers make use of narrative, believing it to be "the best way to understand the human experience" because it is "the way humans understand their own lives" (Richardson 218). As a writer, I likewise believe that narrative provides a way to make sense of or negotiate one's place in relation to any space or group of people. In particular, telling personal stories "bears fruit" of "reaching out to others," provoking their own stories and emotional responses, thereby becoming an effective cultural research method (Four Arrows 106). I remember my admiration for the Bangladeshi writer Shabnam Nadiya, who in Woman Alone describes her isolating experiences of sexual molestation as a girl and, later, the realisation via the writing of Taslima Nasrin that "it happened everywhere, everyday ... to anyone" (2008). For Nadiya, self-reflexivity created a "bridge" between the interior practise of reading and the exterior "everyday lived life" of communal experience and identity (2008). While connections on such an intimate scale may be difficult or unwelcome, making them is significant as "the process of revolution itself" (Ware 239). Inspired by Nadiya to write a piece with enough emotional power to reach over the public space of the conference room, my revelation concerned one of my own experiences as a woman in Bangladesh. A Night Out I was never afraid of my city at night. The time I liked Dhaka best was when the day wore down to dusk and the sky looked like it had been brushed clean. When I lived near Dhanmondi Lake I would walk through the drab hues of the surrounding park with its concrete paths and dusty trees that stretched their reflections across the pond-green water. The park was always crowded with raucous wallahs (vendors) and power walking women in bright dresses, yet even so I was the focus of attention, haunted by exclamations of "Koto lomba!" (How tall!) until my shadows became longer than myself in the quartzy light, and I was not so noticeable. When I moved to the Newmarket area I would spend the twilight hours sitting barefoot on my balcony in a voluminous housedress, watching Dhaka's night stage. Children played games on the rooftop of the lower apartment block opposite, women unhooked lines of fresh laundry and groups of friends would chat or play guitar. Even when the evening azan growled from the megaphones of nearby mosques there was activity on the street below, figures moving under the marigold glare of the sodium streetlights or, in winter, stretching nets across the street for badminton matches. Rickshawallahs rang their bells to the call of the crows and there was always an obnoxious motorist laying into his car horn. I felt more a part of my neighbourhood at this distance than when I became, eight floors down, the all-too-visible spectacle of the only foreigner in the district. The flat, my only source of solitude in Dhaka, was in a peaceful building set at the end of a road that turned three corners before coming to a blind halt. Walking its length day and night to reach the main thoroughfare, I got to know the road well. A few old bungalows remained, with comfortably decaying verandas behind wrought-ironwork and the shade of banana trees. Past the first corner the road became an entry for Dhaka College and the high school opposite; houses gave way to walls papered with adverts, a cluster of municipal bins surrounded by litter and wooden shacks that served cha (tea) and fried snacks. I was on friendly terms with the grey-haired wallah who stalked the area daily with his vegetable cart and one betel-chewing woman who sorted the neighbourhood rubbish. Once I neared the college attention from the chawallahs and students became more harassing than friendly, but I continued to walk to and from my house and most of the time, I walked alone. When solitude turns oppressive, the solution is to open all windows and doors and let air and friends in. One evening I invited Mia and Farad, both journalists and wine-drinkers, who arrived before sunset and stayed almost til midnight. We all knew the later it became the harder it would be for Mia to reach her home across the city. A call to one of the less dodgy cab companies proved us right—there were no taxis available in the area. It would be better, said Farad, to walk to the main road and hail a cab from there. Reluctant to end the evening at the elevator, I locked my door and joined my friends on the walk out to Mipur Road, which even at midnight stirred with the occasional activity of tradesmen and drivers. After a few attempts, Farad flagged down a cab, negotiated a fare and recorded the driver's number. It was part of the safety training Mia and I had imbibed as foreigners over the years. Other examples included "Never buy spices from the sacks at the market" and "Never wear gold necklaces while riding rickshaws." "I should catch my bus," Farad announced after Mia's departure. "But you've left your books in my house," I replied. "I thought you were coming back to get them." Farad was incredibly sexy with his brooding face and shaggy black beard and I had hoped more time would reveal reciprocal interest. From one writer to another it was not a suggestive line, but I was too shy to be more explicit with my male friends in Bangladesh, who treated me as one of the boys and silenced me sometimes with their unexpectedly conservative views of women. Farad considered my comment. "I'll collect them later, or we can meet at the university in a few days. Do you need to catch a rickshaw to your door?" "I don't have any taka on me," I said, "and it's not far." I was, after all, in my own street, not being chauffeured home by a bleary-eyed driver. "Thanks for coming! Abar dekha hobe (see you again)." "Goodnight," Farad replied and as he turned to leave I saw him grin into his beard, amused by my tipsy pronunciation. Fatigue dropped heavily on my shoulders as I strolled back down the road. My flat, with its small clean bed and softly purring ceiling fans, seemed far away at the end of the alley. It was very quiet, as quiet as home when I used to walk through the city to the train station after late night shifts on the suicide hotline. The dim light in the street exposed its emptiness. The stalls along the road had shut hours earlier and the only movement came from a middle-aged man taking his exercise, swinging his arms widely from side to side as he strode home. As I turned the first corner of the alley, another man approached me from behind. I glanced at him, probably because he had glanced at me. "Are you OK?" he asked. "Fine." "What is your country?" "Look," I said, unaccountably feeling my heart rate increase, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk now." "No problem, no problem," he assured me, spreading his hands and smiling, displaying two charming rows of teeth. "Relax. You're very nice." My instinct was to smile back. We walked past the waste piles that had been emptied from the bins, ready for sorting. The woman I exchanged greetings with worked here on most days and instructed me on how to wear my orna (scarf) when it wasn't placed correctly over my chest. I wondered now where she slept at night. Calculating the closeness of my friend seemed less like idle speculation when the man who was walking beside me stepped directly into my path. He was tall and lean and wore a dark blue shirt. His face gleamed, as if he had been sweating during the day and had not washed off the residue. It occurred to me to twist past him and walk faster, maybe even run. I considered how fast and how far I could go in my thongs and wondered if I should kick them off, and then start to run. "No problem," the man repeated, holding out his hands again, placing them tightly behind my neck. He pulled me towards the wall as he forced me back by moving closer. Instant wetness struck me as I felt the concrete—my pelvic floor had made the first start of surprise. The strong hands moved quickly from my neck to my breasts. "I just want to…" said the man, squeezing both breasts like he was selecting fruit. He added, "You're very nice." I was wearing the only remotely attractive bra I owned, purchased from the supermarket on Dhanmondi 27. The cups, moulded from black synthetic lace, made my chest stick out in jaunty cones like a 1950s sex-bomb and the underwire dug into my chest. Clothes can be armour, yet in this case had depleted my self-preservation. I stood quite still, thinking only of what might happen next. I was against a wall in an alleyway at midnight, with no-one around except the man who was groping me. Finally I reacted, though it was not the reaction I would have guessed at my most objective self. Cowgirls get the blues, rough beasts slouch to be born and six foot one kick-boxing world travelling feminists scream like frightened cats with the shock of even minor violation. And certain men, I learned on my night out, chuckle at the distress they cause and then run away. After A Night Out The personal and public impacts of A Night Out proved to be cumulative over time and throughout retellings. When I read the piece at the Dhaka conference I was set to unleash the "transformative and efficacious potential" that autoethnography legendarily contains (Spry 712), though if my revelation achieved anything close to such a transformation, it was unclear. A female academic who had been chatting with me before my presentation, left the room directly after it. The students, mainly female undergraduates, had no questions to ask about any aspect of my paper. Whatever reactions my audience felt, if any, were not discussed. After my presentation, the male convenor privately expressed his regret over my experience and related more horrific examples. Sexual harassment of women is prevalent in Bangladesh yet so too is the culture of blaming the victim and denying the crime (cf. Lodhi; Mudditt; Nadiya), an attitude reflected through the use of the term "Eve Teasing," which assigns the provocative role to the woman and normalises the aggressive or sexual actions of the perpetrator (Kabeer 149). The response of this liberal and thoughtful man to my revelation was the only one that was articulated. By this measurement, A Night Out had failed to make the desired impact. One of the greatest reasons for this was the tension between the personal motivation behind my revelation and the public impact I had optimistically expected. A Night Out omits the reactions of my community immediately after my assault, when I was chastised for walking alone at such at late hour and for failing to defend myself, particularly given my size. In my street, gossip spread that I had not been groped but mugged, a less lecherous so perhaps more acceptable offense. I read A Night Out partly to gain some retrospective acknowledgement of my experience and in my determination I defied the complexities of a conservative country…[in which] women do not live alone, do not have male friends, do not travel by themselves or smoke cigarettes publicly and most definitely [...] do not talk or write about sexual topics. In Dhaka these things matter and 'decent women' are supposed to play by the rules. (Deen 35) Although I observed this conservatism to varying degrees in Bangladesh, I know that when women play outside the rules, negotiating cultural norms becomes a process of "alliance and conflict" that requires sensitivity to practise (Akhter 22)—a sensitivity that is difficult to grasp. The career of Bangladeshi writer Taslima Nasrin illustrates this: credited with opening doors of feminist discussion "that had been shuttered by genteel conservatism, by niceness, by ignorance and denial" (Nadiya), Nasrin diminished this effect and alienated her audience through subsequent "shock tactics and sensationalism" (Deen 56). Although my revelation had also alienated my audience, it was not the impact I had hoped for. While Linda Park-Fuller celebrates autoethnographic performance as a "transgressive act—a revealing of what has been kept hidden, a speaking of what has been silenced" (26), the conference experience made me realise the significance of cultural context to the impact of revelation. I considered recasting A Night Out in a setting that was more intimate than academic, to an audience prepared for the content and united by achieving a specific outcome, where responses could be given privately if desired. I would also have to shift my role from defiant storyteller to one who welcomed all types of feedback. By posting A Night Out online as a Facebook note, I not only fulfilled the requirements above but made the story accessible to a large audience of men and women of diverse cultural backgrounds, including Bangladeshi. The written replies I received were easier to decipher than the faces after the conference presentation. Among the responses, some from people I did not know at all, many conveyed their appreciation for the description of Bangladesh. Others commented on the risk I took in walking down the road at night and suggested ways I could defend myself in future. I was told I was tough to write the account and was invited to share more of my experiences. One friend in Bangladesh shared my note with others and wrote to describe the reaction of a female friend of his who was "terribly shocked" by what I had written about my breasts, more than my attraction to Farad or the sexual assault itself. This anonymous respondent's "pure cultural shock", which my conference audience may also have felt, was better communicated through the Facebook retelling of A Night Out, although I am unable to interpret the silence of the other Bangladeshi women I sent the note to. While the responses I received indicated my revelation had made some impact in its online context, I could not help being especially touched when a male friend wrote, "And as a Bangladeshi I feel sorry for [your trouble]." It is one matter to write up a personal experience and another to have it make a public impact. As my first reading of A Night Out shows, autoethnographic revelation contains the potential to alienate as well as to create sympathy with an audience. Combined with the second, more private and accessible, distribution of A Night Out, this "Before" and "After" analysis shows the evolution of the revelation's impact on my audience as well as myself, over time and within different cultural contexts, in the academic, social and online arenas. Although my experience confirms the impact autoethnography can make as a form of cultural research, it can only be strengthened by continued attempts to seek a balance between the projections and inflections of culture, self and audience. It is not only in the telling but in the re-telling that personal revelations will gather and continue to give impact, which is why I now present A Night Out to a new audience in a new context and await your new responses. References Akhter, Farida. Seeds of Movements: On Women's Issues In Bangladesh. Dhaka: Narigrantha Prabartana, 2007. Deen, Hanifa. Broken Bangles. New Delhi: Penguin, 1998. Ellis, Carolyn. The Ethnographic I: A Methodological Novel about Autoethnography. Walnut Creek: AltaMira P, 2004. Four Arrows. The Authentic Dissertation: Alternate Ways of Knowing, Research, and Representation. London: Routledge, 2008. Gandhi, Leela. Postcolonial Theory: A Critical Introduction. St Leonards: Allen and Unwin, 1998. Kabeer, Naila. Reversed Realities: Gender Hierarchies in Development Thought. London: Verso, 1994. Lodhi, Muhamad. "Reply." Unheard Voice: All Things Bangladesh. 25 Jun. 2011. 5 Oct. 2011 ‹http://unheardvoice.net/blog/2011/06/24/silence/#comments›. Mudditt, Jessica. "Mugged, Dragged and Scarred: Harrowing Tales from Foreigners In Dhaka." The Independent Digital 23 Aug. 2011: 1-2. Nadiya, Shabnam. "Woman Alone." The Daily Star—Features. 29 Sep. 2008. 5 Oct. 2011 ‹http://www.thedailystar.net/suppliments/2008/eid_special/woman.htm›. Park-Fuller, Linda. "Performing Absence: The Staged Personal Narrative as Testimony." Text and Performance Quarterly 20 (2000): 20–42. Richardson, Laurel. "Narrative Sociology." Representation in Ethnography. Ed. John Van Maanen, Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1995. 198–221. Sparkes, Andrew C. "Autoethnography: Self-Indulgence or Something More?" Ethnographically Speaking: Autoethnography, Literature and Aesthetics. Eds. Arthur Bochner and Carolyn Ellis. Walnut Creek: AltaMira, 2002. 209–32. Spry, Tami. "Performing Autoethnography: An Embodied Methodological Praxis." Qualitative Inquiry 7.6 (2001): 706–32. Ware, Vron. Beyond the Pale: White Women, Racism and History. London: Verso, 1992.

Este libro recoge buena parte del archivo fotográfico de la Investigación PsicoPaz, que surge en 2013 como parte del Grupo Boulomai (UCC), y reflexiona sobre el acompañamiento, la Clínica PsicoSocial y las formas de cura de la comunidad en el contexto del conflicto armado, la reparación, las lógicas extractivistas de los megaproyectos agroindustriales; en diálogo con perspectivas críticas de las ciencias sociales, las humanidades, las letras y las sabidurías afroindígenas. El trabajo con las imágenes permite otras formas de expresión y construcción de conocimiento compartido que ha sido bien recibido en el diálogo con las comunidades campesinas, afroindígenas y académicas, tanto en Colombia como en Brasil. Con el tiempo y las experiencias compartidas con las comunidades, pudimos identificar que el trabajo fotográfico nos ha acercado a la sociología de la imagen y a la estética cotidiana. Así, en nuestro trabajo, la comunidad como observadora, se mira así misma en su propio contexto y entorno social; en una suerte de “desfamiliarización” de lo cotidiano. En este trabajo se materializa este feliz encuentro que conjuga investigación, arte y comunidad. Cuyo montaje creativo abre paso a diversas narrativas visuales de una investigación psicosocial. En él compartimos las experiencias y aprendizajes, desde el 2014 hasta el 2021, con: mujeres afrodescendientes del Norte del Cauca, el territorio ancestral de Montes de María, la Asociación Campesina de Retornados (Asocares) de Ovejas-Sucre, las comunidades San Francisco, Medellín, San Cristóbal, el Resguardo Indígena Monroy y San Basilio de Palenque. Son Re-existencias, son Imágenes para sentipensar en comunidad.

aulas universitarias son escenarios perfectos, para que los jóvenes puedan desarrollar ideas, madurarlas y gestar emprendimientos. Por tanto, el impulso a la cultura emprendedora debe nacer en las aulas. La promoción adecuada de la educación financiera debe apuntar a los emprendimientos sostenibles. Una posible formación temprana de empresas es vital. El estudio analiza una de las estrategias implementadas desde la academia: la promoción de la educación financiera y del emprendimiento. Las crisis económicas y de salubridad dejan en claro que se debe proponer alternativas, para que los jóvenes no consideren únicamente buscar empleo al salir de la universidad, sino más bien, gesten emprendimientos. Así, nace el proyecto de Mensajeros del emprendimiento y la educación financiera, en la Universidad Técnica de Cotopaxi, quienes se convertirán en los emisarios perfectos para transmitir conocimientos a los jóvenes de instituciones de nivel medio. La población del proyecto son 47 estudiantes de los sextos ciclos de la Carrera de Administración de Empresas, quienes adquieren conocimientos específicos de emprendimiento y educación financiera, para posteriormente replicarlos con el énfasis en el desarrollo de habilidades. De esta manera, realizar una transferencia adecuada de conocimientos y elaboración de planes de negocios.

Se ha realizado un Ciclo de Mejora en el Aula en un grupo de 10 alumnos en la asignatura Ingeniería Química, asignatura de tercer curso que se imparte en el Grado en Química. La metodología llevada a cabo consiste en el trabajo colabo- rativo entre los alumnos para el análisis y resolución de una serie de preguntas planteadas al comienzo del ciclo de mejora que se utilizan como cuestiones clave para el desarrollo de las distintas actividades. De acuerdo a los resultados ob- tenidos, la metodología seguida permite a los alumnos una mejor adquisición y trabajo de los contenidos planteados, gracias, sobre todo al trabajo colaborativo con sus compañeros. Por otra parte, la metodología seguida ha sido muy bien re- cibida por los alumnos, de acuerdo a las respuestas reflejadas en las encuestas de valoración de los alumnos. Palabras clave: Ingeniería Química, Grado en Química, docencia universitaria, experimentación docente universitaria.