Articoli di riviste sul tema "Island herald"

The Herald Petrel Pterodroma heraldica is a medium-sized gadfly petrel that breeds primarily on islands across the tropical and subtropical South Pacific Ocean. Its only confirmed breeding site in the Australasian region is Raine Island off North Queensland, where it occurs in very small numbers. Here we report on the presence of a Herald Petrel ashore on Phillip Island (Norfolk Island Group) in June 2021, and subsequent sightings in May and June 2022. On most occasions that a Herald Petrel was observed on the ground, it was seen under a shrub, behaviour which is consistent with prospecting for a nest site in this surface-nesting species. These sightings make Phillip Island one of just four locations in Australian territory at which the Herald Petrel has been recorded ashore away from Raine Island. Our new records reinforce the importance of active island restoration and the value of long-term intensive monitoring efforts. Future observations will confirm whether the species attempts to establish on Phillip Island, a location free from introduced predators and with ample suitable habitat.

Lapita pottery, the herald of the settlement of the wider island Pacific, turns out to have been painted with lime and clay, to give a red and white finish over the decorated surface. The find of a pot in Vanuatu, its sherds in different states of deterioration showed why painted Lapita has previously gone unrecognised. The author suggests that it was widespread from 1000 BC and reminds us that pottery was painted in China 7000 years ago.

On Cape Breton Island, where coal mining and steel making were once an essential part of the region’s culture and economy, protest song and verse are found in abundance. This article explores some previously unexamined protest songs and verses of Cape Breton Island. The body of songs is culled largely from the Maritime Labour Herald, a newspaper of the 1920s that included both locally and internationally composed works. Some earlier folklorists ignored protest songs because their paradigms did not permit them to view these forms as authentic cultural expressions. Their approach raises complex issues of how authenticity is constructed and by whom. My intent is to show that a well-developed protest song tradition was alive and well, and played an important role in the labour struggles of the 1920s. Indeed, these vernacular materials were used for solidarity during times of upheaval and change in Cape Breton Island.

Abstract. Substantial amounts of nutrients and carbon enter the Arctic Ocean from the Pacific Ocean through the Bering Strait, distributed over three main pathways. Water with low salinities and nutrient concentrations takes an eastern route along the Alaskan coast, as Alaskan Coastal Water. A central pathway exhibits intermediate salinity and nutrient concentrations, while the most nutrient-rich water enters the Bering Strait on its western side. Towards the Arctic Ocean, the flow of these water masses is subject to strong topographic steering within the Chukchi Sea with volume transport modulated by the wind field. In this contribution, we use data from several sections crossing Herald Canyon collected in 2008 and 2014 together with numerical modelling to investigate the circulation and transport in the western part of the Chukchi Sea. We find that a substantial fraction of water from the Chukchi Sea enters the East Siberian Sea south of Wrangel Island and circulates in an anticyclonic direction around the island. This water then contributes to the high-nutrient waters of Herald Canyon. The bottom of the canyon has the highest nutrient concentrations, likely as a result of addition from the degradation of organic matter at the sediment surface in the East Siberian Sea. The flux of nutrients (nitrate, phosphate, and silicate) and dissolved inorganic carbon in Bering Summer Water and Winter Water is computed by combining hydrographic and nutrient observations with geostrophic transport referenced to lowered acoustic Doppler current profiler (LADCP) and surface drift data. Even if there are some general similarities between the years, there are differences in both the temperature–salinity and nutrient characteristics. To assess these differences, and also to get a wider temporal and spatial view, numerical modelling results are applied. According to model results, high-frequency variability dominates the flow in Herald Canyon. This leads us to conclude that this region needs to be monitored over a longer time frame to deduce the temporal variability and potential trends.

Three Korean women won $75,000 in damages in a libel action against the American-owned Newsweek, Inc. in Seoul for publication of a defamatory photo and a caption in the Pacific edition of Newsweek. A Singapore judge awarded former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore and two others a §678,000 damage award against the International Herald Tribune, owned by the New York Times Co. and the Washington Post Co., for libel relating to an editorial-page column about the “dynastic politics” in the island nation.

In March–May 1982, a local expedition worked in the Arctic, in the east of Wrangel Island (WI) and Herald Island (HI), to carry out a survey of polar bear dens. The results of that expedition have not been published. The author has found a copy manuscript of the expedition diary and has highlighted the key results. For two months, five ex-plorers had been surveying the area and found 139 dens and sighted 57 bears (♀ad + juv). The average number of offspring (ANO) was 1.43 on WI and 1.86 on HI. The number of successful offspring on WI usually was one or two cubs, or even three on HI. Based on the available sample (n=44) it was shown that when taking into account the survey data of cub traces in calculations of ANO (on WI), the obtained results do not differ notable. The time that lasted from the date of the opening of the den to the date of the final leave of the den by females (with or without the young) was 4 to 14 days, but most often 6 days. The highest frequency of den opening was noted on 27–28 March. Four cases of death of cubs, including a newborn, were recorded. The fate of 43 dens was monitored and measurements of 11 dens were taken. Two unusual dens were found: one with a very complex corridor and another one with a 4.5 m long vertical tunnel. Simplified 3D models of dens were given in the article for the first time proving that linear measurements practiced by researchers give a primitive picture of the den structure. After leaving the maternity den, the female can build temporary, simple shelter for herself and the young. During 1964–2020, dens were found on these islands only on the ground, and in 1980 the author found several dens on the sea, among ridges of pressured ice. The article is amended by the author’s estimations regarding the place of the polar bear in ecologi-cal pyramid of those islands. Recommendations are given for the improvement of polar bear survey techniques. The publication of a Ukrainian language article on the biology of U. maritimus is rare for the school of Ukrainian mammalogists and is of clear enlightening importance for scientists, lecturers, students, Wikipedia editors, and oth-ers, as well as a contribution of the author to the Ukrainian body of literature on the animal world of the Arctic.

AbstractThe Pitcairn sexual abuse trial was widely reported in New Zealand newspapers and this study examines constructions of both allegations and explanations of sexual abuse. Discourse analysis was used to study a database of 76 reports from theDominion PostandNew Zealand Herald. The analysis identified three discourses that co-articulate allegations of sexual abuse and attempts to explain and account for these allegations. The first discourse deals with reported allegations of childhood sexual abuse and trauma. The second discourse deflects responsibility from the accused men and lays open explanations drawing on the history and culture of Pitcairn. The third discourse constructs abuse as something that occurred because Britain failed to meet its responsibilities and provide adequate legal and moral guidance. These discourses are discussed in terms of the actions they perform in terms of reducing the level of personal responsibility for crimes of sexual abuse.

Abstract. A submarine eruption started off the south coast of El Hierro, Canary Islands, on 10 October 2011 and continues at the time of this writing (February 2012). In the first days of the event, peculiar eruption products were found floating on the sea surface, drifting for long distances from the eruption site. These specimens, which have in the meantime been termed "restingolites" (after the close-by village of La Restinga), appeared as black volcanic "bombs" that exhibit cores of white and porous pumice-like material. Since their brief appearance, the nature and origin of these "floating stones" has been vigorously debated among researchers, with important implications for the interpretation of the hazard potential of the ongoing eruption. The "restingolites" have been proposed to be either (i) juvenile high-silica magma (e.g. rhyolite), (ii) remelted magmatic material (trachyte), (iii) altered volcanic rock, or (iv) reheated hyaloclastites or zeolite from the submarine slopes of El Hierro. Here, we provide evidence that supports yet a different conclusion. We have analysed the textures and compositions of representative "restingolites" and compared the results to previous work on similar rocks found in the Canary Islands. Based on their high-silica content, the lack of igneous trace element signatures, the presence of remnant quartz crystals, jasper fragments and carbonate as well as wollastonite (derived from thermal overprint of carbonate) and their relatively high oxygen isotope values, we conclude that "restingolites" are in fact xenoliths from pre-island sedimentary layers that were picked up and heated by the ascending magma, causing them to partially melt and vesiculate. As they are closely resembling pumice in appearance, but are xenolithic in origin, we refer to these rocks as "xeno-pumice". The El Hierro xeno-pumices hence represent messengers from depth that help us to understand the interaction between ascending magma and crustal lithologies beneath the Canary Islands as well as in similar Atlantic islands that rest on sediment-covered ocean crust (e.g. Cape Verdes, Azores). The occurrence of "restingolites" indicates that crustal recycling is a relevant process in ocean islands, too, but does not herald the arrival of potentially explosive high-silica magma in the active plumbing system beneath El Hierro.

The bio-optical properties of coral reef waters were examined across coral reef ecosystems not influenced by land-derived run-off, in the Great Barrier Reef lagoon (Heron Island) and the Coral Sea (the Coringa-Herald and Lihou Reefs). The aim was to determine whether the absorption properties, the concentration-specific absorption properties, and the phytoplankton and non-algal pigmented particle (NAP) absorption concentrations varied from the ocean waters flushing onto the reef at high tide to those waters on the reef or flushing off the reef at low tide. The optical and biogeochemical properties of on-reef waters systematically differed from the surrounding ocean waters. The chl a concentration values varied up to 7-fold and the NAP concentrations up to 29-fold; for the reef samples, the chl a values were on average 2 to 3 times lower than for the oceans whilst the NAP values were slightly higher on the reefs. The spectral absorption values of the chl a, NAP, and colored dissolved organic matter (CDOM) varied up to 6-fold for reef waters and up to 15-fold for ocean waters. The spectral absorption for chl a was up to 3-fold lower on the reef waters, the absorption by the CDOM was up to 2-fold higher and the NAP absorption was 1.6-fold higher on the reef waters. The concentration-specific absorption coefficients for chl a and NAP varied up to 9-fold in reef waters and up to 30-fold in ocean waters. In the case of Heron Island and Coringa-Herald cays, this concentration-specific absorption was on average 1.3 to 1.7-fold higher for chl a and up to 2-fold lower for NAP on the reefs. The Lihou Reef measurements were more ambiguous between the reef waters and ocean waters due to the complex nature and size of this reef. Based on our results, the assumption that the optical properties of on-reef waters and the adjacent ocean waters are the same was shown to be invalid. Ocean waters flowing on to the reef are higher in phytoplankton, whilst waters on the reef or flowing off the reefs are higher in CDOM and NAP. We found differences in the pico,- nano-, and microplankton distributions as well as in the ratios of photosynthetic to photoprotective pigments. The variability in the bio-optical properties between the reef waters and adjacent ocean waters has implications for the estimations of sunlight absorption along the water column, the UV penetration depth, the temperature distributions, and the nutrient and carbon fluxes in coral reef ecosystems. As Earth observation algorithms require proper parameterization for the water column effects when estimating benthic cover, the actual optical properties need to be used. These results will improve the use of Earth observation to systematically map the differences in the water quality between reefs and the adjacent ocean.

The South Pepper field, discovered in 1982, is located 30 km southwest of Barrow Island in the offshore portion of the Barrow Sub-basin, Western Australia. The oil and gas accumulation occurs in the uppermost sands of the Lower Cretaceous Barrow Group and the overlying low permeability Mardie Greensand Member of the Muderong Shale.The hydrocarbons are trapped in one of several fault closed anticlines which lie on a high trend that includes the North Herald, Pepper and Barrow Island structures. This trend is postulated to have formed during the late Valanginian as the result of differential compaction and drape over a buried submarine fan sequence. During the Turonian the trend acted as a locus for folding induced by right-lateral wrenching along the sub-basin edge. Concurrent normal faulting dissected the fold into a number of smaller anticlines. This essentially compressional tectonic phase contrasted with the earlier extensional regime which was associated with rift development during the Callovian. A compressional tectonic event in the Middle Miocene produced apparent reverse movement on the South Pepper Fault but only minor changes to the structural closure.Geochemical and structural evidence indicates at least two periods of hydrocarbon migration into the top Barrow Group - Mardie Greensand reservoir. The earlier occurred in the Turonian subsequent to the period of wrench tectonics and involved the migration of oil from Lower Jurassic Dingo Claystone source rocks up the South Pepper Fault. This oil was biodegraded before the second episode of migration occurred after the Middle Miocene tectonism. The later oil is believed to have been sourced by the Middle to Upper Jurassic Dingo Claystone. Biodegradation at this stage ceased or became insignificant due to temperature increase and reduction of meteoric water flow. Gas-condensate, sourced from Triassic or Lower Jurassic sediments may have migrated into the structure with this second oil although a more recent migration cannot be ruled out.The proposed structural and hydrocarbon migration history fits regional as well as local geological observations for the Barrow Sub-basin. Further data particularly from older sections of the stratigraphic column within the area are needed to refine the interpretation.

ABSTRACTFrederick Gustavus Schwatka was one of America's most important Arctic explorers. While honoured in his time, he is only a footnote in the search for Sir John Franklin. He commanded, in 1878–1880, an expedition of the American Geographical Society of New York which had the aim of retrieving records from King William Island. Although none were found, he did discover a number of expedition relics and remains. His extensive sledge journey during this expedition was one of the longest recorded by a European-North American expedition, over 5232 km (3,251 statute miles). Moreover it was conducted under some of the coldest conditions ever endured in polar exploration. Schwatka's party included three Europeans, William H. Gilder, a journalist fromThe New York Herald, Henry Klutschak, a naturalist, and Frank E. Melms, an experienced seaman, and ‘Eskimo Joe’ Ebierbing, an Inuit who had served on previous expeditions in search of Franklin. ‘Schwatka's search’, as it was known, concluded efforts to discover the fate of the Franklin expedition in the nineteenth century. It laid the groundwork for the important expeditions in the twentieth century that revealed new information concerning the fate of Franklin's men. Schwatka's expedition was without death or deprivation. Much of his success was based on a clearly defined plan and on adopting Inuit practices including living off the land, lessons he learned from his experiences with American Indians as part of his military assignments. Born in Illinois, he was educated at West Point, the United States Military Academy, acquitted himself well in the Indian Wars and then went on to qualify for the bar and secured a medical degree during his military service. He died an early and unfortunate death at the age of 43. The research reported in this article provides an understanding of the factors that shaped Schwatka and the skills that he used in this expedition.

Two new species of Hatschekia Poche, 1902 (Siphonostomatoida: Hatschekiidae) are described based on specimenscollected during the KUMEJIMA 2009 Expedition carried out at Kumejima Island, Ryukyu Islands, an area getting strongKuroshio current influence in the East China Sea, Japan. Female Hatscekia triannuli n. sp. and female and male H.sumireyakko n. sp. were removed from Centropyge heraldi Woods & Schultz and C. venusta (Yasuda & Tominaga),respectively. The two new species shares a unique dorsal frame on the cephalothorax that is absent on other congeners. These two species can be differentiated from each other by the shape and proportion of the cephalothorax, trunk, and leg 2.

A total of 25 species of terrestrial Isopoda are recorded from the Togian Is, Sulawesi. One genus (Dryadillo : Armadillidae) and six species (Adoniscus insularis, Littorophiloscia tominensis, Burmoniscus schultzi, B. togianensis, B. punctatus and Tuberillo celebensis) are described as new. A new species of Dryadillo (D. kemaensis) is described from specimens from Kema, Sulawesi. The genus Vavoscia Schultz is considered to be a junior synonym of Burmoniscus Collinge, Tylos bilobus Lewis from Queensland of T. opercularis Budde-Lund, Chaetophiloscia formosana Verhoeff and Rennelloscia mucronata Vandel of Burmoniscus javanensis (Richardson Searle), and Nagara lombocensis Herold of Nagurus modestus (Dollfus). Philoscia angusticauda Budde-Lund, from Borneo, and P. variegata Dollfus (of which P. cinctella Dollfus is a synonym), from Sulawesi, are transferred to Burmoniscus, Armadillo rectifrons Dollfus, from Sulawesi, to Dryadillo, gen. nov., and Hybodillo jubatus Herold, from Sumatra, to Tuberillo Schultz. Several poorly known species are illustrated.

The island of Malta has served as a strategic colony since the dawn of history. Since Phoenician and Roman times, the island has been an important base in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Its last colonisers, the British, spent about 180 years using the islands for their imperial needs. The official closing of the British base on 31 March 1979 heralded a new economic and social reality supposedly unhampered by the exigencies of foreigners. Two major post-memory reactions kicked in – nostalgia and aversion to ex-colonial life. The postcolonial Maltese generations exhibit a range of reactions oscillating between love and hate for the British. On the other hand, British ex-service personnel and their families have continued to feel an affinity with the island base which they had come to acknowledge as a second home. This allows for a new type of relationship between the Maltese people and their British visitors where issues of colonial post-memory are negotiated. These are seen at their best in the local tourism industry. Malta woos British tourists and goes to great effort to attract them. It uses to its advantage the colonial affinity to create an attractive destination for the British which benefits the locals and the Maltese economy. In Malta post-memory has evolved in line with necessity and expediency, where animosity, though manifestly tangible, has gradually morphed into a rather benign residue in the collective reaction to the colonial past.

Abstract. Nisyros island in the South Aegean volcanic arc, Greece, is a Quaternary composite volcano with a 3.8 km wide caldera that in 1996 entered a volcano-seismic crisis, which heralded the islands' return to a state of unrest. The caldera has been the locus of at least thirteen phreatic eruptions in historical times, the most recent in 1888, and the system is still presently affected by considerable hydrothermal activity. Although the recent unrest waned off without eruption, there are still open questions relating to the current threat of volcanic activity from the island. Here, we perform a detailed and systematic assessment of the volcanic threat of Nisyros using a threat analysis protocol established as part of the USGS National Volcano Early Warning System (NVEWS). The evaluation involves a methodical assessment of fifteen hazard and exposure factors, and is based on a score system, whereby the higher the score, the higher the threat is. Uncertainty in assessment criteria are expressed by allowing for a conservative and an extreme score for each factor. We draw our analysis from published data as well as from results of our research on Nisyros over the past years. Our analysis yields a conservative threat score of 163 and an extreme score of 262. The most adverse exposure factors include significant scores relating to aviation and population exposure to volcanic hazards from Nisyros. When looked at in comparison to US volcanoes both scores place Nisyros in the "Very High Threat (VHT)" category, grouping it with volcanoes such as Redoubt, Mount Ranier and Crater Lake. We identify a short-fall in recommended surveillance efforts for VHT volcanoes given existing monitoring capabilities on the island. We discuss potential pitfalls of applying the NVEWS scheme to Nisyros and suggest potential adaptation of analysis scheme to match industrial and societal conditions in Europe. At the same time, our findings indicate that that volcanic threat posed by Nisyros volcano may currently be underestimated.

Taiwan, one of the four Asian Tigers, has become renowned for its economic miracle in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. However, few know that the arrival of the Dutch East Indies Company (VOC) on the island heralded the beginning of an earlier, long forgotten economic miracle. It was on this beautiful island, which seventeenth century Europeans called Formosa, that the VOC established its first major land colony. In just a few decades a tiny trading factory set up on spit of land in Tayouan (Tainan) expanded into a prosperous and flourishing colony, which covered large parts of the island. To establish this colony the VOC attracted thousands of colonists, few of which were European. Although most VOC employees were Europeans, most of these left the island upon expiration of their work contract. The bulk of the colonists that the VOC attracted were Chinese of all walks of life: farmers, masons, inter- national traders, fishermen, hunters, peddlers, sailors etc. But why was the Company so successful in attracting Chinese colonists, and how did these colonists contribute to Dutch Formosa's economic miracle?

International Business Research wishes to acknowledge the following individuals for their assistance with peer review of manuscripts for this issue. Their help and contributions in maintaining the quality of the journal are greatly appreciated. International Business Research is recruiting reviewers for the journal. If you are interested in becoming a reviewer, we welcome you to join us. Please find the application form and details at http://www.ccsenet.org/journal/index.php/ibr/editor/recruitment and e-mail the completed application form to ibr@ccsenet.org. Reviewers for Volume 12, Number 1   Abedalqader Rababah, Arab Open University, Oman Ajit Kumar Kar, Indian Metal & Ferro Alloys Ltd, Bhubaneswar, Odisha, India Alireza Athari, Eastern Mediterranean University, Iran Andrei Buiga, “ARTIFEX University of Bucharest, Romania Anna Paola Micheli, Univrtsity of Cassino and Southern Lazio, Italy Ashford C Chea, Benedict College, USA Aurelija Burinskiene, Vilnius Gediminas Technical University, Lithuania Bazeet Olayemi Badru, Universiti Utara Malaysia, Nigeria Benjamin James Inyang, University of Calabar, Nigeria Celina Maria Olszak, University of Economics in Katowice, Poland Claudia Isac, University of Petrosani, Romania Dionito F. Mangao, Cavite State University – Naic Campus, Philippines Duminda Kuruppuarachchi, University of Otago, New Zealand Federica Caboni, University of Cagliari, Italy Federica De Santis, University of Pisa, Italy Georges Samara, ESADE Business School, Lebanon Gianluca Ginesti, University of Naples “FEDERICO II”, Italy Gilberto MarquezIllescas, University of Rhode Island, USA Guo ZiYi, Wells Fargo Bank, N.A., USA Hejun Zhuang, Brandon University, Canada Henrique Fátima Boyol Ngan, Institute for Tourism Studies, Macao, Macao Herald Monis, Milagres College, India HungChe Wu, Nanfang College of Sun Yatsen University, China Joanna Katarzyna Blach, University of Economics in Katowice, Poland Manuel A. R. da Fonseca, Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), Brazil Marcelino José Jorge, Evandro Chagas Clinical Research Institute of Oswaldo Cruz Foundation, Brazil Maria do Céu Gaspar Alves, University of Beira Interior, Portugal Maria Teresa Bianchi, University of Rome “LA SAPIENZA”, Italy MariaMadela Abrudan, University of ORADEA, Romania Marta Joanna Ziólkowska, Warsaw School of Economics (Szkoła Główna Handlowa), Poland Maryam Ebrahimi, Azad University, Iran Michaela Maria SchaffhauserLinzatti, University of Vienna, Austria Michele Rubino, Università LUM Jean Monnet, Italy Mithat Turhan, Mersin University, Turkey Mohsen Malekalketab Khiabani, University Technology Malaysia, Malaysia Mongi Arfaoui, University of Monastir, Tunisia Murat Akin, Omer Halisdemir University FEAS – NIGDE, Turkey Ozgur Demirtas, Turkish Air Force Academy, Turkey Pascal Stiefenhofer, University of Brighton, UK Roxanne Helm Stevens, Azusa Pacific University, USA Sara Saggese, University of Naples Federico II, Italy Serhii Kozlovskiy, Donetsk National University, Ukraine Shame Mukoka, Zimbabwe Open University, Zimbabwe Shun Mun Helen Wong, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Silvia Ferramosca, University of Pisa, Italy Sumathisri Bhoopalan, SASTRA Deemed to be University, India Tatiana Marceda Bach, Centro Universitário Univel (UNIVEL), Brazil Vassili JOANNIDES de LAUTOUR, Grenoble École de Management (France) and Queensland University of Technology School of Accountancy (Australia), France Wanmo Koo, Western Illinois University, USA Wasilu Suleiman, Bauchi State University, Nigeria Wejdene Yangui, Institute of High Business Studies of Sfax _ Tunisia (IHEC), Tunisia

During the Pacific Science Inter-Congress in Fiji in July 2013, an integrated symposium on ‘Oceans and Nations: “Failed” states and the environment’ in the Pacific, was hosted at the University of the South Pacific. The brainchild of USP’s Dr Mohit Prasad and professors Victor Bascara, Keith Comacho and Elizabeth DeLoughrey of the University of California at Los Angeles, this drew its inspiration from another conference at Laucala Bay some two years earlier. The 2010 Oceans, Islands and Skies Symposium (OIS), with papers published in a special edition of the USP literary journal Dreadlocks (Prasad, 2010-11) in 2012, had established the disruption to the traditionally organic and fluid nature of relations between artists, writers and performers in the Pacific by the contemporary crisis of the environment. A follow-up Oceans and Nations Symposium explored relations between impacts on the environment, and crisis in political and related development, among the emerging nation-states of the Pacific.Cover cartoon from Rod Emmerson, New Zealand Herald.

This essay examines the 2013 Decision by the International Court of Justice interpreting its 1962 Judgment in the Temple of Preah Vihear case between Cambodia and Thailand, situating the more recent decision in the context of the Court's evolving role in Asia. Only eight Asian states have accepted the compulsory jurisdiction of the Court; only nine have ever appeared before it. The narrowness of the recent decision is of interest in part because of the modest role it ascribes to judicial institutions, but also for what this modesty heralds for the Court's status in Asia. A key conclusion is that Asian states are likely to retain a general preference for bilateral resolution of disputes. For smaller disputes, however, especially those concerning subjects that cannot be divided or traded—such as a temple (and, as we shall see, an island)—the ICJ may play an important role.

AbstractThis article describes the medical support to Operation CORPORATE, and is derived from a range of sources, including surgical operative logbooks, journals and contemporaneous official reports.Eight hundred and fifty-five surgical procedures were performed by deployed medical units between 14 May and 13 July 1982 in support of Op CORPORATE. The rate peaked on the busiest day, 12 June 1982, when 86 operations were performed. The vast majority of operations were wound management procedures, although 20 laparotomies, four thoracotomies and six craniotomies were also performed. The four forward Role 2 (R2) surgical facilities at Ajax Bay, Teal Inlet, Fitzroy and on board SS CANBERRA collectively performed 354 operations.Argentine and British casualties were evacuated from the area of operations on board three Argentine vessels and three British HECLA-class survey ships. Between them, HMSs HECLA, HYDRA and HERALD made a total of nine 1000-NM journeys between the Falkland Islands and Montevideo, Uruguay, caring for a total of 601 patients. From Montevideo, British casualties were transferred by RAF VC-10 back to the UK.Reflection on how a previous generation supported this operation may inform decision-making when similar challenges are faced in the future.

Alexander Borisovich Lakier (1824-1870) was one of the best representatives of the Russian noble intelligentsia of the mid-nineteenth century. He is best known to the Russian scientific public as the author of the work “Russian Heraldry”, published in 1855, which was awarded the prestigious Demidov Prize for achievements in the field of science. Less well-known is his very interesting from a scientific point of view two-volume edition of his travel memoirs “Journey through the North American States, Canada and the Island of Cuba”, published in 1859. We will try to show the image of America in the middle of the 19th century, which was presented to us by A. Lakier as a result of his travels around the country.

AbstrakKepulauan Banda dikenal sebagai wilayah yang memiliki pengaruh kolonial yang kuat. Salah satu tinggalan arkeologi yang banyak ditemui di wilayah ini adalah batu nisan. Sebagai salah satu budaya materi, batu nisan memiliki beragam informasi yang terdapat pada batu nisan itu sendiri mulai dari bentuk, bahan, dan ragam hias. Penelitian ini merupakan tinjauan awal untuk mengetahui tipologi dan beragam informasi yang dapat diungkap dari inskripsi yang termuat pada batu nisan. Melalui tahapan penelitian arkeologi dengan melakukan analisis terhadap keragaman jenis artefak dan analisis terhadap data inskripsi, penelitian ini mengungkap bahwa tipologi batu nisan memiliki kekayaan ragam hias berupa lambang heraldik, iluminasi, dan inskripsi. Aspek lain pada data inskripsi adalah informasi tentang orang-orang yang dimakamkan memiliki status sosial tinggi, di antaranya; para pejabat pemerintahan, pejabat militer, pejabat perdagangan, pejabat keagamaan, para perkenier, beserta para keluarganya. Aspek lain yang berhasil diungkap bahwa kehidupan sosial masyarakat Eropa saat itu menganggap bahwa batu nisan adalah salah satu simbol kemewahan. AbstractBanda Islands are known as the region that has a strong colonial influence. One of the archaeological remains found in the region is the tombstone. As one of the material culture, the tombstone has a variety of information contained on a tombstone itself from the shape, material, and ornaments. This study is a preliminary review to determine the typology and variety of information that can be revealed from inscriptions contained in the tombstone. Through the stages of archaeological research by analysing the diversity of artefacts and analysis inscriptions data, this study revealed that the typology of the tombstone has a wealth of ornamentation in the form of heraldic emblem, illumination, and inscriptions. Another aspect from the inscription data is information about people who are buried has a high social status. They are from government officials, military officials, trade officials, religious officials, the perkenier (landlord), along with his family. Another aspect that can be revealed is the social life of Europe in that time considered that the tombstone is one of the symbols of luxury.

Polynesia has a particular place in the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church). The region that heralded the Church’s first overseas missions includes seven of the world’s top ten nations in terms of the proportion of Mormons in the population, and it is home to six Mormon temples. The Polynesian Latter-day Saint population is increasing in both percentage and absolute numbers, and peoples in the Pacific “islands of the sea” continue to play a central role in the Mormon missionary imaginary. This article explores Polynesians in the LDS Church and critically evaluates different theories seeking to explain this growing religious affiliation. Scholars of Mormonism and commentators explain this growth in terms of parallels between Mormonism and indigenous Polynesian traditions, particularly family lineage and ancestry, and theological and ritual affinities. After evaluating these claims in light of scholarly literature and interviews with Latter-day Saints, however, I conclude that other reasons—especially education and other new opportunities—may equally if not more significantly account for the appeal of Mormonism to Polynesians.

Recent times have witnessed increasing impact of industrialization and urban growth on environment. In addition, the potential climate changes and possible adverse impacts on the economy and society at large are causing concern. In India, one of the major concerns is the variability of monsoon rainfall and effects on agriculture and water management. The various parameters associated with environment and climate change need to be monitored and analyzed. The effects of global warming on the Indian subcontinent vary from the submergence of low-lying islands, frequent flooding, coastal degradation and melting of glaciers in the Indian Himalayas. Indian satellites INSAT and IRS launched in early 1980s heralded the era of Space observations. The IRS satellites are providing observations of parameters such as land use/cover, forest, water bodies, crops etc. while INSAT provides quantitative products such as Cloud Motion Vectors (CMVs), Quantitative Precipitation Estimates (QPEs), Outgoing Long-wave Radiation (OLR), Vertical Temperature Profiles (VTPRs), Sea Surface Temperature. The satellite data is operationally used for generating long term database on vegetation, soil condition, rainfall, groundwater etc.. Some of the unique studies are Biosphere Reserve Monitoring, Mapping of

The history of the accumulation of materials on counting jetons of the 17th–18th centuries obtained from the burials in the Olkhon region (western coast of Lake Baikal from Cape Elokhin to the Buguldeika village, including Olkhon Island) is considered. Based on the study of literary sources, available archival and collection materials stored in the funds of the Irkutsk State University (excavations of V. V. Pavlutskaya in the 1980s), 8 burials from the Old Buryat cemeteries were identified, in which counting jetons were recorded (more than 244). For the first time, counting jetons from the accompanying inventory of the burial ground Todakta IV are introduced into scientific circulation in full. A generalization and analysis of all currently found counting jetons of the Olkhon region are carried out and their general classification is proposed. To determine the images on some counting jetons and establish the names of the masters who made them, A. A. Pushkarev’s research was used. It was possible to identify 129 jetons with varying degrees of completeness. Among them, according to the plots on the front side, the portrait theme (chest profiles of monarchs) occupies a leading place. There is a variety of plots on the reverse side of the jetons: heraldic signs, an ancient warrior, a park with a fountain, a three-masted ship, a tree under the sun. Most of the counting jetons are marked with the seal of the master Johann Christian Reich (109). There are also works of Johann Friedrich Weidinger (7), Albrecht Hoger (4), Johann Jakob Ditzel (4), Johann Adam Vogel (3) and Cornelius Lauffer (1). Taking into account the periods of activity of these masters, it is possible to outline the chronology of the use of certain plots for decorating jetons. In the first half of the 18th century (along with heraldic signs marked in the 17th century) images are often found: a sailing ship and a tree under the sun; in one case, an ancient warrior was recorded (in combination with the image of Louis XV). The themes of coats of arms and ships were encountered in the second half of the 18th century. In the Old Buryat burials of the Olkhon region, counting jetons originating from different workshops are found together. The latest of them were made in the workshop of Johann Christian Reich, which is probably associated with the intensification of the export of jetons to Russia and Siberia in the second half of the 18th century.

On the territory of Belarus as well as Ukraine, Poland, Lithuania, and western regions of Russia there are several micro-toponyms like Turaǔ Hill, Turaǔ Hillfort, Turaǔ Tomb (grave), etc. Some of them appear to be real hillforts. Near the settlement Taurapilis («the castle of aurochs») in Lithuania together with a hillfort there’s also a burial mound from the end of the 5th century. Metal aurochs’ horn fetters were found among other artifacts there. A recorded legend connected with Turaǔ Hill, located in Vilnia (current Vilnius), says about the formation of a town at the beginning of the 14th century by the duke Hedymin, after he killed an aurochs there on a hunt. However, according to archaeological data, the main parts of the future capital city were populated at least a few centuries earlier. There’s a similar legend in Slavonic-Moldavian chronicles. It says about voivode Drahosh who in the middle of the 14th century came over the mountains hunting an aurochs, killed it on the bank of the river Moldova, returned with his people to that place, and founded a Moldavian state. The findings of aurochs’ horns with metal fetters in big burial hills in Čarnihaǔ (Black Grave), Šastavicy, Hniozdava, Usc’-Rybiezhna (The Ladaha area) date back to the 10th century. In general, they meet analogies in Sweden and on the island of Gotland. In central and northern Europe, horns with metal frames have spread since the late La Tène period and peaked in the times of Roman influence. Then in the times of the Great migrations of people, this tradition disappears in Central Europe and remains only in Scandinavia and on the southern coast of the Baltic. In Lithuania these horns appear in the 3rd century, culminating in 5th – 6th centuries, at the end of the first millennium, and are used only in the lands of Žemajts, Zemihals, and Kurshs, surviving till the 12th century. But according to the written data, in Žemajtian wealthy and noble people used such horns as cups in the first half of the 16th century. In burial hills in the Sozh and the upper Dnieper river basins, lowlands of the Western Dzvina, in Smalensk, former Pskou and Noǔgarad regions round metal pendants depicting a bull’s head in the center with 7 figures around it and 52 granulated dots alоngl the perimeter were found. The bull’s head symbolized a calendar year, figures – several days per week, and dots – several weeks per year. The pendants were found only in women’s burials, and date back to the 11th – 12th centuries. The area of accidental findings of these pendants is even wider, and the farthest finding comes from the Viking settlement Haithabu (Hedeby) in the south of Jutland. In the basic area, the pendants occur on the sites characterized by mixed Slavonic-Baltic. The image of the aurochs’ head also became popular in medieval heraldry (for example, the coat-of-arms of Moldova, the Duchy of Mecklenburg, Swiss Canton of Uri, and several towns). From Belarus to Archangelsk, there’s a tradition to call a furnace post as aurochs, as it’s connected with a «post» wedding rite and personifies the World Tree. In mythological terms, aurochs were considered to be one of the personifications of the God of thunderstorms, though at the same time it could be connected with fertility and solar cults. Key words: Aurochs, Slavs, Balts, Turava Hara (Aurochs mountain), Thunder God, drinking horns with metal rim, pendants with the image of bullhead.

SynopsisFrom direct sampling, the deeper Rockall Trough and Faeroe-Shetland Channel are known to have a Tertiary-Quaternary sedimentary sequence up to 3000 m thick, which is in places, particularly in the north, underlain by early Tertiary basaltic volcanic rocks. The seamounts in the Rockall Trough are of basic volcanics of probable Upper Cretaceous age. The eastern shelf areas have a rifted basement of Precambrian-Devonian (-?Carboniferous) age, overlain by Permian + Mesozoic sedimentary rocks that reach 5000 m in thickness in rift basins. Tertiary sediments thicken rapidly from the shelf into deep water. The western shelf areas have extensive early Tertiary basalts from the Faeroe Islands to the southern part of Rockall Bank. A thin Tertiary—Quaternary cover exists and Precambrian basement lies beneath.The pre-Tertiary geology of the deep water areas and the overall crustal structure have been inferred from geophysical investigations. In the Rockall Trough the crust is of oceanic thickness, about 6 km, but it is probably slightly thicker beneath the Faeroe-Shetland Channel. This fact, coupled with the size of the channel compared with other small ocean basins and the knowledge that fully developed oceanic crust exists just outside the mouth of the Rockall Trough, strongly suggests that at least parts of the deep water areas are floored by oceanic crust. However, seismic reflection and magnetic anomaly profiles do not yield observations characteristic of normal oceanic crust.The age of any oceanic crust in the Rockall Trough and Faeroe-Shetland Channel is equivocal. Between 54° and 59° N a succession of largely sedimentary rocks up to 3000 m in thickness occurs between the Tertiary and the acoustic basement. To the north this succession is masked on seismic profiles by early Tertiary basalts but it is probably present; to the south it is interrupted by a series of acoustically opaque basement ridges. With slow sedimentation rates, this succession could extend back to the late Palaeozoic, but with rapid rates, only to the mid-Upper Cretaceous. An age of mid-Lower to mid-Upper Cretaceous for oceanic crust, equal to that of the ocean crust outside the mouth of the Rockall Trough, is accepted here. Although rapid subsidence and infill in Upper Cretaceous time is not characteristic of major shelf basins around Britain, it may be acceptable for the Rockall Trough and Faeroe-Shetland Channel if they are underlain by oceanic crust rather than continental crust.A likely model for the formation of the Rockall Trough and Faeroe-Shetland Channel is of continental rifting and subsidence from late Palaeozoic or earliest Mesozoic to mid-Cretaceous time, then sea-floor spreading in Albian (c.105My)–Santonian (c.85 My) time, accompanied and immediately followed by rapid subsidence and deposition. The Tertiary was heralded by widespread basaltic igneous activity which briefly arrested subsidence, but was largely a period of subsidence without sedimentation keeping pace.

At first this book looks like another eye-catching, fear-mongering title aboutIslam. Are these books promoted by profit-hungry publishers or by underpaidfretful academics? Or has Islam become fair game for a wider unrestrainedacademia replacing the Orientalist school with newer analytical tools? Somepreliminary remarks, or a contextualization, might be useful here.Whatever its “resurgent” form, Islam is presenting something of an enigmaticchallenge for all. From the bazaars of the East to the sidewalks of the West,it refuses to lie down or go away. Attempts to discount it, ignore it or even suppressit have not succeeded. This hauntingly recurring phenomenon (p. 1) needsto be relabeled and reassessed. But the doubt lingers that representing it as “terrorism,”“theocracy,” “obscurantism,” “fundamentalism,” or “religious extremism”has muddied waters even more. Feeding popular fears with such preconfiguredterminology has neither satiated curiosity, quelled fears, nor broughtanyone closer to the truth.Compounding the picture is the “location” of the writers of such works: theworld-view, epistemology, discourse theory, or narrative framework fromwhich they approach Islam. The much-heralded objectivity of academia issacrosanct no more. Relativity, subjectivity, and the actor’s point of view are invogue. Old Orientalist views and definitions of the non-Occidental world arebeing overwhelmed by an array of (neo-Orientalist) analyses from a variety ofdiscourse perspectives.These analytical tools, even if applied with some success to their own societiesand disciplines this past century, don’t seem to have much of a shelf lifewhile some are less effective than others: positivist assertions fast give way torealist or inteqretivist ones; modernist perspectives to postmodemist ones; andstructuralist interpretations to poststructuralist ones. And when applied to Islamand Muslim societies, the results of these approaches can be bewildering (asshown by Rushdie’s Satanic Verses), and so can their effects (as shown byHuntingdon’s Clash of Civilisations prognostication).From its side, the Muslim world is all the more perplexed at the persistenceof such stereotypical labeling and analyses. Generally unfamiliar with these“new” tools, their reaction is either to ignore this “demonology of fundamentalism”(p. 16) or to interpret it as another of the West’s conspiracies against Islam.Sometimes it results in outright hostility (as shown by Khomeini’s fatwa andBradford’s book burning) or crude attempts at redress in reciprocal terms (as inAkbar Ahmed‘s Postmodernity and Islam). To western experts, such reactionscan only seem woefully inadequate.Furthermore, the apparently monolithic scenario of western experts with theirwestern critiques of the non-West is complicated by the emerging presence ofnonwestern migrants and their offspring on the westem academic scene. Taken ...

QUANTUM LEGACIES: Dispatches from an Uncertain World by David Kaiser (with a Foreword by Alan Lightman). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2020. 360 pages, 47 halftones. Hardcover; $26.00. ISBN: 9780226698052. *The stories of real humans involved in the discovery of secrets of the quantum realm are highlighted by David Kaiser's book Quantum Legacies: Dispatches from an Uncertain World. Kaiser is both an accomplished theoretical physicist and a historian of science, holding a dual professorship at MIT. The book is a collection of his essays written for a popular audience knit into a theme of how discovery of quantum ideas has taken place in a changing world by intriguing personalities. *Scientific discovery never takes place in a vacuum, but rather is guided and spurred on by the very pressures experienced by its human discoverers, including personal family tragedies such as the suicide of Paul Dirac's brother and societal upheavals such as the Nazi takeover in Germany leading to World War II. Kaiser describes his own journey and how it was affected by the politics and pressures of the Cold War. Indeed, as a particle physicist who also grew up during the Cold War, I could relate to many of the dynamics described by Kaiser. He notes that funding for the Superconducting Super Collider project in the 1990s was canceled partly because the Cold War ended, and the US funding for "world prestige" projects was cut, in favor of more "world collaborative" projects, such as the International Space Station. Given that my own career trajectory was influenced by this decision, reading this book certainly caused some personal reflections. *The book is divided into four sections: Quanta, Calculating, Matter, and Cosmos. The essays in Quanta include the early years of quantum mechanics, highlighting the lives of Paul Dirac, the Briton who discovered the equation describing electrons; Erwin Schrödinger, the Austrian who used a half-dead, half-alive cat in a box to describe the bizarre idea of quantum mechanical superposition; and Bruno Pontecorvo, the Italian who applied Schrödinger's idea to the ghostly neutrino particle to predict its spontaneously changing identity. The interesting personal lives of these men and the historical context in which their scientific pursuits took place provide a dramatic reading. Indeed, the probabilistic aspects of the quantum mechanics they studied reflected the uncertainty of the world they lived in. The final essay in Quanta describes an experiment that Kaiser personally participated in, proving that entangled photons obey the probabilistic predictions of quantum mechanics, and not deterministic laws proposed by Isaac Newton (1600s) through Albert Einstein (twenieth century). Enriching the story, Kaiser connects quasars from the remote edges of our visible universe to the Roque de los Muchachos Observatory on the Canary island of La Palma to show that the world of physics involves interesting physical settings. *Calculating is an interesting collection of essays on how national defense priorities from the end of World War II through the Cold War drove university physics enrollments, the development of atomic bombs and computers, and even the personal lives of the contributing physicists. For example, David Bohm, whose textbook Quantum Theory took great pains to explain its conceptual and philosophical foundations, was forced to flee the US to Brazil during the Communist purges. No updated editions of his textbook were published, a rather unusual history for an initially very popular textbook. Nearly all other textbooks on quantum mechanics emphasized its calculational properties, relegating subtle conceptual points to lie outside the domain of physics. Kaiser finds this rather unfortunate, since these very points are where several key questions in quantum theory remain unanswered. And this is what draws students to physics. Kaiser ends this discussion with an essay on Fritjof Capra's The Tao of Physics, a bestselling popular book on physics and Eastern philosophy, showing that the mystical elements of quantum theory are precisely what many people find so fascinating about it. *Matter is a collection of stories on the discovery of elementary particles with a focus on the Higgs particle. The Standard Model of elementary particles grew out of Murray Gell-Mann's idea from symmetry arguments that fundamental particles lie inside the neutrons and protons of the atomic nucleus. He gave them the name quarks. The quark model quickly became very successful at predicting the existence of other quark bound states. However, the theoretical model worked only if the quarks and all other particles in nature were massless. This quandary could be resolved, claimed several physicists including the Scotsman Peter Higgs, if there existed a field permeating all of space which caused particles to become massive. Higgs also predicted that this field would have its own associated particle. Since the Standard Model successfully met every other test, the search for the Higgs particle became the driving force behind new experimental designs, including the Superconducting Super Collider project that was ultimately canceled in 1993. However, the Large Hadron Collider at CERN (the European Organization for Nuclear Research), located in Geneva, would be the project that successfully found the Higgs particle in 2012. Kaiser uses this as a bridge to his final set of essays on the cosmos, since the Higgs field itself leads naturally to an idea that explains the weakness of gravity compared to other fundamental forces, and how one might understand the earliest moments of the cosmos. *Cosmos is an appropriate final set of essays for Kaiser's book, since the quantum ideas prove to have profound implications for the entire history of the universe. This is also the most colorful set of essays from Kaiser, since he includes discussions on the search for extraterrestrial life, gravitation and black holes, the big bang theory, and even creation and evolution. The chapter, "The Other Evolution Wars," is particularly interesting in its descriptions of the interactions between science and religious faith. While Kaiser points out that some cosmologists, beginning with the Belgian priest Georges Lemaître, found a satisfying fit between their growing scientific view of an evolving cosmos and their theology, the situation soon and unfortunately changed to an acrimonious one with the advent of the modern creation science movement. Kaiser discusses the resurgent biblical literalism that denies an older cosmos and the big bang theory, and then briefly mentions "intelligent design." Unfortunately, Kaiser seems to lump the critics together rather haphazardly. Concerning his internet perusal of critiques from creationist web sites, he writes: "I found plenty of sites eager to sell the recent anti-big-bang books, along with DVDs such as The Privileged Planet, proffering ‘evidence' of supernatural intelligent design" (pp. 248-49). *This statement implies that Kaiser assumes that the authors of The Privileged Planet are anti-big-bang adherents, which they are not. The issues of purpose, design, and intentionality are certainly at stake. It is noteworthy to me that the book by Peter Ward and Donald Brownlee (Rare Earth), and that by Guillermo Gonzales & Jay Richards (The Privileged Planet), are very similar in thrust, emphasizing aspects of planet Earth that appear rather unique in the cosmos, but because they diverge on the question of purpose, design, and intentionality, one is considered mainstream science (Rare Earth) and the other, creationist literature (The Privileged Planet). Although I personally do not promote apparent design in nature as an argument for supernatural design, I am saddened by all the harsh critiques, whether it is leveled against those who hold that science is in support of faith or whether it is leveled against good science in order to protect doctrinal positions. There do not need to be combative relationships between scientists and Christians, but scientists such as Kaiser are very much aware that they exist. *Cosmos includes a chapter on the amazing developments in modern cosmology. Since I did a book review of Roger Penrose's Fashion, Faith, and Fantasy in the New Physics of the Universe [PSCF 69, no. 3 (2017): 187-89], I was happy to see a discussion of his Conformal Cyclical Cosmology (CCC). Theoretical physicists respect the contributions of Roger Penrose, given his and Stephen Hawking's contributions to our understanding of space-time from general relativity. But the elegant ideas offered by Penrose in his CCC appear to not withstand the exacting toll of precision data in modern cosmology, and we await further ideas that will. *The book wraps up with some recent noteworthy events: the discovery of gravitational waves in 2015 and the death of Stephen Hawking in 2018. While the former heralded a new age in modern multimessenger astronomy, the latter has brought us to the end of an era in which one of the most brilliant minds took on the challenge of understanding the universe, overcoming incredible odds and challenges. Again, the experience of personal struggles of one person did not prevent great accomplishments in scientific thought, and, in fact, may have contributed to it. Quantum Legacies ends with a positive note. Overall, despite the sometimes-awkward collection of essays, the book is an enriching read. *Reviewed by Steven Ball, Professor of Physics, LeTourneau University, Longview, TX 75607

The marine avifauna of Matthew and Hunter Islands, two remote volcanoes of the New Hebrides chain Breeding birds recorded on Matthew and Hunter Islands in the tropical southwestern Pacific between 1973 and 2018 are summarised from a compilation of reports, for which various methods were used for counting seabirds. These methods included line transects, or direct observations using telescope or binoculars, or exhaustive counts, depending on the species observed and its nesting habitat. Population size estimates and reproductive periods are given. The total number of seabird species recorded breeding on the two islands was n = 14. This total includes seabird species breeding on both islands (n = 7): black-winged petrel Pterodroma nigripennis, wedge-tailed shearwater Ardenna pacifica, red-tailed tropicbird Phaethon rubricauda, masked booby Sula dactylatra, brown booby S. leucogaster, brown noddy Anous stolidus, and grey noddy A. albivitta. Hunter island also harbours a small colony of Herald petrel Pterodroma heraldica, and colonies of lesser and great frigatebirds (Fregata ariel and F. minor), red-footed booby S. sula and, black noddy A. minutus and white tern Gygis alba. Matthew Island harbours a large colony of sooty tern Onychoprion fuscatus; an undetermined storm petrel may also breed there. Differences between the two islands regarding community composition of seabirds are explained by the absence of trees on Matthew Island and the presence of the Polynesian rat Rattus exulans on Hunter Island. Brown noddies bred exclusively during the austral summer, as did black-winged petrels and wedge-tailed shearwaters, while the Herald petrel and the two frigatebirds seemed to preferentially breed in the winter. The red-tailed tropicbird, the three boobies, the grey noddy and the sooty tern appeared to reproduce year-round. Disturbance caused by human activities was irregular but devastating to seabird colonies. The diversity and abundance of seabird species breeding on these islands makes them regionally important sites for conservation. Key words: Seabird, Population, Reproduction, Threats, Polynesian rat; Helicopters

Stroke, the second leading cause of death worldwide, has partially heritable risk. Genome-wide association studies (GWAS) of stroke continue to identify increasing genetic risk loci. These discoveries point to novel disease mechanisms and causal risk factors, and herald genetics-based precision medicine strategies. In Hawai‘i, people of Indigenous communities who identify as Native Hawaiian or Pacific Islanders present with stroke at younger ages and suffer dramatically higher stroke mortality rates compared with other regional populations. This disparity is compounded by relative ancestral underrepresentation in stroke genetics research and, by extension, exclusion from cutting-edge medical opportunities based on genetic discovery. In this article, we discuss the issues contributing to the scientific biases experienced by Indigenous populations in the Pacific Islands, as well as community-based efforts now underway to address them.

Abstract A stone panel bearing a heraldic shield surmounted by a bust of the Virgin and Child flanked by kneeling supplicants in low relief survives today on the façade of an early twentieth-century house in the Old Town of Nicosia. Barely noticed in publications on Cypriot heraldry, it has escaped scrutiny. Yet it raises the same questions as any other object deprived of its original function and context: How can the modern observer use and interpret such a lone witness, seemingly hovering in time and space, at first sight totally anonymous and therefore mute? In order to give it a voice and demonstrate the value of every single piece of evidence from a period whose material culture remains surprisingly underexplored, this essay endeavours to identify the two coats-of-arms on the shield, to link them to individuals documented in the written record, and ultimately to provide an approximate date for the panel and to reconstruct its wider context. As demonstrated, it belongs to the later fifteenth century and the early decades of Venetian rule on Cyprus (1474/89-1570/71), a period of rapid change on all fronts for the island. Its iconography and style are briefly discussed in terms of craftsmanship and as testimonies to the cultural references and aspirations of members of a social class that has left behind little beyond textual attestations, drawing conclusions at the same time about its function within the built environment of Venetian Nicosia.

NOTES FROM A SLIGHTLY SMALL ISLAND: SINGAPORE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL Following a two-year hiatus that included a complete revamping of its structure and organization, the Singapore International Film Festival returned for its 25th edition (4-14 December 2014) bigger and better than ever, with a re-branding effort that changed the former 'SIFF' into its current 'SGIFF'. A part of the inaugural Singapore Media Festival, SGIFF featured over 147 films from 50 countries spread over ten days and eleven sections, with a team headed by executive director Wahyuni Hadi and director-programmer Zhang Wenjie. It may be safe to say that the revitalized SGIFF heralds a new golden age of Singaporean and Southeast Asian, cinema....

Blogging is a twenty-first century phenomenon that has heralded an age where ordinary people can make their voices heard in the public sphere of the Internet. This article explores blogging as a form of popular history making; the blog as a public history document; and how blogging is transforming the nature of public history and practice of history making in Singapore. An analysis of two Singapore ‘historical’ blogs illustrates how blogging is building a foundation for a more participatory historical society in the island nation. At the same time, the case studies also demonstrate the limitations of blogging and blogs in challenging official versions of history.

English convict and ship’s mutineer Charlotte Badger is heralded as New Zealand’s first “white” woman settler, who lived with a Māori chief after her arrival in the Bay of Islands in 1806. Almost nothing written about Badger has been correct. The core of her story has been hiding in plain sight in a contemporary newspaper account that has been misinterpreted by generations of historians. Colourful fictions added by two Australian storytellers further clouded the facts. A ship’s passenger list and logbook reveal Badger’s much more prosaic fate and confirm she did not settle in New Zealand after all.

IntroductionTasmania hangs from the map of Australia like a drop in freefall from the substance of the mainland. Often the whole state is mislaid from Australian maps and logos (Reddit). Tasmania has, at least since federation, been considered peripheral—a region seen as isolated, a ‘problem’ economically, politically, and culturally. However, Tasmania not only cleaves to the ‘north island’ of Australia but is also subject to the gravitational pull of an even greater land mass—Antarctica. In this article, we upturn the political conventions of map-making that place both Antarctica and Tasmania in obscure positions at the base of the globe. We show how a changing global climate re-frames Antarctica and the Southern Ocean as key drivers of worldwide environmental shifts. The liquid and solid water between Tasmania and Antarctica is revealed not as a homogenous barrier, but as a dynamic and relational medium linking the Tasmanian archipelago with Antarctica. When Antarctica becomes the focus, the script is flipped: Tasmania is no longer on the edge, but core to a network of gateways into the southern land. The state’s capital of Hobart can from this perspective be understood as an “Antarctic city”, central to the geopolitics, economy, and culture of the frozen continent (Salazar et al.). Viewed from the south, we argue, Tasmania is not a problem, but an opportunity for a form of ecological, cultural, economic, and political sustainability that opens up the southern continent to science, discovery, and imagination.A Centre at the End of the Earth? Tasmania as ParadoxThe islands of Tasmania owe their existence to climate change: a period of warming at the end of the last ice age melted the vast sheets of ice covering the polar regions, causing sea levels to rise by more than one hundred metres (Tasmanian Climate Change Office 8). Eleven thousand years ago, Aboriginal people would have witnessed the rise of what is now called Bass Strait, turning what had been a peninsula into an archipelago, with the large island of Tasmania at its heart. The heterogeneous practices and narratives of Tasmanian regional identity have been shaped by the geography of these islands, and their connection to the Southern Ocean and Antarctica. Regions, understood as “centres of collective consciousness and sociospatial identities” (Paasi 241) are constantly reproduced and reimagined through place-based social practices and communications over time. As we will show, diverse and contradictory narratives of Tasmanian regionality often co-exist, interacting in complex and sometimes complementary ways. Ecocritical literary scholar C.A. Cranston considers duality to be embedded in the textual construction of Tasmania, writing “it was hell, it was heaven, it was penal, it was paradise” (29). Tasmania is multiply polarised: it is both isolated and connected; close and far away; rich in resources and poor in capital; the socially conservative birthplace of radical green politics (Hay 60). The weather, as if sensing the fine balance of these paradoxes, blows hot and cold at a moment’s notice.Tasmania has wielded extraordinary political influence at times in its history—notably during the settlement of Melbourne in 1835 (Boyce), and during protests against damming the Franklin River in the early 1980s (Mercer). However, twentieth-century historical and political narratives of Tasmania portray the Bass Strait as a barrier, isolating Tasmanians from the mainland (Harwood 61). Sir Bede Callaghan, who headed one of a long line of federal government inquiries into “the Tasmanian problem” (Harwood 106), was clear that Tasmania was a victim of its own geography:the major disability facing the people of Tasmania (although some residents may consider it an advantage) is that Tasmania is an island. Separation from the mainland adversely affects the economy of the State and the general welfare of the people in many ways. (Callaghan 3)This perspective may stem from the fact that Tasmania has maintained the lowest Gross Domestic Product per capita of all states since federation (Bureau of Infrastructure Transport and Regional Economics 9). Socially, economically, and culturally, Tasmania consistently ranks among the worst regions of Australia. Statistical comparisons with other parts of Australia reveal the population’s high unemployment, low wages, poor educational outcomes, and bad health (West 31). The state’s remoteness and isolation from the mainland states and its reliance on federal income have contributed to the whole of Tasmania, including Hobart, being classified as ‘regional’ by the Australian government, in an attempt to promote immigration and economic growth (Department of Infrastructure and Regional Development 1). Tasmania is indeed both regional and remote. However, in this article we argue that, while regionality may be cast as a disadvantage, the island’s remote location is also an asset, particularly when viewed from a far southern perspective (Image 1).Image 1: Antarctica (Orthographic Projection). Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons, Modified Shading of Tasmania and Addition of Captions by H. Nielsen.Connecting Oceans/Collapsing DistanceTasmania and Antarctica have been closely linked in the past—the future archipelago formed a land bridge between Antarctica and northern land masses until the opening of the Tasman Seaway some 32 million years ago (Barker et al.). The far south was tangible to the Indigenous people of the island in the weather blowing in from the Southern Ocean, while the southern lights, or “nuyina”, formed a visible connection (Australia’s new icebreaker vessel is named RSV Nuyina in recognition of these links). In the contemporary Australian imagination, Tasmania tends to be defined by its marine boundaries, the sea around the islands represented as flat, empty space against which to highlight the topography of its landscape and the isolation of its position (Davies et al.). A more relational geographic perspective illuminates the “power of cross-currents and connections” (Stratford et al. 273) across these seascapes. The sea country of Tasmania is multiple and heterogeneous: the rough, shallow waters of the island-scattered Bass Strait flow into the Tasman Sea, where the continental shelf descends toward an abyssal plain studded with volcanic seamounts. To the south, the Southern Ocean provides nutrient-rich upwellings that attract fish and cetacean populations. Tasmania’s coast is a dynamic, liminal space, moving and changing in response to the global currents that are driven by the shifting, calving and melting ice shelves and sheets in Antarctica.Oceans have long been a medium of connection between Tasmania and Antarctica. In the early colonial period, when the seas were the major thoroughfares of the world and inland travel was treacherous and slow, Tasmania’s connection with the Southern Ocean made it a valuable hub for exploration and exploitation of the south. Between 1642 and 1900, early European explorers were followed by British penal colonists, convicts, sealers, and whalers (Kriwoken and Williamson 93). Tasmania was well known to polar explorers, with expeditions led by Jules Dumont d’Urville, James Clark Ross, Roald Amundsen, and Douglas Mawson all transiting through the port of Hobart. Now that the city is no longer a whaling hub, growing populations of cetaceans continue to migrate past the islands on their annual journeys from the tropics, across the Sub-Antarctic Front and Antarctic circumpolar current, and into the south polar region, while southern species such as leopard seals are occasionally seen around Tasmania (Tasmania Parks and Wildlife). Although the water surrounding Tasmania and Antarctica is at times homogenised as a ‘barrier’, rendering these places isolated, the bodies of water that surround both are in fact permeable, and regularly crossed by both humans and marine species. The waters are diverse in their physical characteristics, underlying topography, sea life, and relationships, and serve to connect many different ocean regions, ecosystems, and weather patterns.Views from the Far SouthWhen considered in terms of its relative proximity to Antarctic, rather than its distance from Australia’s political and economic centres, Tasmania’s identity undergoes a significant shift. A sign at Cockle Creek, in the state’s far south, reminds visitors that they are closer to Antarctica than to Cairns, invoking a discourse of connectedness that collapses the standard ten-day ship voyage to Australia’s closest Antarctic station into a unit comparable with the routinely scheduled 5.5 hour flight to North Queensland. Hobart is the logistical hub for the Australian Antarctic Division and the French Institut Polaire Francais (IPEV), and has hosted Antarctic vessels belonging to the USA, South Korea, and Japan in recent years. From a far southern perspective, Hobart is not a regional Australian capital but a global polar hub. This alters the city’s geographic imaginary not only in a latitudinal sense—from “top down” to “bottom up”—but also a longitudinal one. Via its southward connection to Antarctica, Hobart is also connected east and west to four other recognized gateways: Cape Town in South Africa, Christchurch in New Zealand; Punta Arenas in Chile; and Ushuaia in Argentina (Image 2). The latter cities are considered small by international standards, but play an outsized role in relation to Antarctica.Image 2: H. Nielsen with a Sign Announcing Distances between Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities and Antarctica, Ushuaia, Argentina, 2018. Image Credit: Nicki D'Souza.These five cities form what might be called—to adapt geographer Klaus Dodds’ term—a ‘Southern Rim’ around the South Polar region (Dodds Geopolitics). They exist in ambiguous relationship to each other. Although the five cities signed a Statement of Intent in 2009 committing them to collaboration, they continue to compete vigorously for northern hemisphere traffic and the brand identity of the most prominent global gateway. A state government brochure spruiks Hobart, for example, as the “perfect Antarctic Gateway” emphasising its uniqueness and “natural advantages” in this regard (Tasmanian Government, 2016). In practice, the cities are automatically differentiated by their geographic position with respect to Antarctica. Although the ‘ice continent’ is often conceived as one entity, it too has regions, in both scientific and geographical senses (Terauds and Lee; Antonello). Hobart provides access to parts of East Antarctica, where the Australian, French, Japanese, and Chinese programs (among others) have bases; Cape Town is a useful access point for Europeans going to Dronning Maud Land; Christchurch is closest to the Ross Sea region, site of the largest US base; and Punta Arenas and Ushuaia neighbour the Antarctic Peninsula, home to numerous bases as well as a thriving tourist industry.The Antarctic sector is important to the Tasmanian economy, contributing $186 million (AUD) in 2017/18 (Wells; Gutwein; Tasmanian Polar Network). Unsurprisingly, Tasmania’s gateway brand has been actively promoted, with the 2016 Australian Antarctic Strategy and 20 Year Action Plan foregrounding the need to “Build Tasmania’s status as the premier East Antarctic Gateway for science and operations” and the state government releasing a “Tasmanian Antarctic Gateway Strategy” in 2017. The Chinese Antarctic program has been a particular focus: a Memorandum of Understanding focussed on Australia and China’s Antarctic relations includes a “commitment to utilise Australia, including Tasmania, as an Antarctic ‘gateway’.” (Australian Antarctic Division). These efforts towards a closer relationship with China have more recently come under attack as part of a questioning of China’s interests in the region (without, it should be noted, a concomitant questioning of Australia’s own considerable interests) (Baker 9). In these exchanges, a global power and a state of Australia generally classed as regional and peripheral are brought into direct contact via the even more remote Antarctic region. This connection was particularly visible when Chinese President Xi Jinping travelled to Hobart in 2014, in a visit described as both “strategic” and “incongruous” (Burden). There can be differences in how this relationship is narrated to domestic and international audiences, with issues of sovereignty and international cooperation variously foregrounded, laying the ground for what Dodds terms “awkward Antarctic nationalism” (1).Territory and ConnectionsThe awkwardness comes to a head in Tasmania, where domestic and international views of connections with the far south collide. Australia claims sovereignty over almost 6 million km2 of the Antarctic continent—a claim that in area is “roughly the size of mainland Australia minus Queensland” (Bergin). This geopolitical context elevates the importance of a regional part of Australia: the claims to Antarctic territory (which are recognised only by four other claimant nations) are performed not only in Antarctic localities, where they are made visible “with paraphernalia such as maps, flags, and plaques” (Salazar 55), but also in Tasmania, particularly in Hobart and surrounds. A replica of Mawson’s Huts in central Hobart makes Australia’s historic territorial interests in Antarctica visible an urban setting, foregrounding the figure of Douglas Mawson, the well-known Australian scientist and explorer who led the expeditions that proclaimed Australia’s sovereignty in the region of the continent roughly to its south (Leane et al.). Tasmania is caught in a balancing act, as it fosters international Antarctic connections (such hosting vessels from other national programs), while also playing a key role in administering what is domestically referred to as the Australian Antarctic Territory. The rhetoric of protection can offer common ground: island studies scholar Godfrey Baldacchino notes that as island narratives have moved “away from the perspective of the ‘explorer-discoverer-colonist’” they have been replaced by “the perspective of the ‘custodian-steward-environmentalist’” (49), but reminds readers that a colonising disposition still lurks beneath the surface. It must be remembered that terms such as “stewardship” and “leadership” can undertake sovereignty labour (Dodds “Awkward”), and that Tasmania’s Antarctic connections can be mobilised for a range of purposes. When Environment Minister Greg Hunt proclaimed at a press conference that: “Hobart is the gateway to the Antarctic for the future” (26 Apr. 2016), the remark had meaning within discourses of both sovereignty and economics. Tasmania’s capital was leveraged as a way to position Australia as a leader in the Antarctic arena.From ‘Gateway’ to ‘Antarctic City’While discussion of Antarctic ‘Gateway’ Cities often focuses on the economic and logistical benefit of their Antarctic connections, Hobart’s “gateway” identity, like those of its counterparts, stretches well beyond this, encompassing geological, climatic, historical, political, cultural and scientific links. Even the southerly wind, according to cartoonist Jon Kudelka, “has penguins in it” (Image 3). Hobart residents feel a high level of connection to Antarctica. In 2018, a survey of 300 randomly selected residents of Greater Hobart was conducted under the umbrella of the “Antarctic Cities” Australian Research Council Linkage Project led by Assoc. Prof. Juan Francisco Salazar (and involving all three present authors). Fourteen percent of respondents reported having been involved in an economic activity related to Antarctica, and 36% had attended a cultural event about Antarctica. Connections between the southern continent and Hobart were recognised as important: 71.9% agreed that “people in my city can influence the cultural meanings that shape our relationship to Antarctica”, while 90% agreed or strongly agreed that Hobart should play a significant role as a custodian of Antarctica’s future, and 88.4% agreed or strongly agreed that: “How we treat Antarctica is a test of our approach to ecological sustainability.” Image 3: “The Southerly” Demonstrates How Weather Connects Hobart and Antarctica. Image Credit: Jon Kudelka, Reproduced with Permission.Hobart, like the other gateways, activates these connections in its conscious place-branding. The city is particularly strong as a centre of Antarctic research: signs at the cruise-ship terminal on the waterfront claim that “There are more Antarctic scientists based in Hobart […] than at any other one place on earth, making Hobart a globally significant contributor to our understanding of Antarctica and the Southern Ocean.” Researchers are based at the Institute for Marine and Antarctic Studies (IMAS), the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO), and the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD), with several working between institutions. Many Antarctic researchers located elsewhere in the world also have a connection with the place through affiliations and collaborations, leading journalist Jo Chandler to assert that “the breadth and depth of Hobart’s knowledge of ice, water, and the life forms they nurture […] is arguably unrivalled anywhere in the world” (86).Hobart also plays a significant role in Antarctica’s governance, as the site of the secretariats for the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) and the Agreement on the Conservation of Albatrosses and Petrels (ACAP), and as host of the Antarctic Consultative Treaty Meetings on more than one occasion (1986, 2012). The cultural domain is active, with Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG) featuring a permanent exhibit, “Islands to Ice”, emphasising the ocean as connecting the two places; the Mawson’s Huts Replica Museum aiming (among other things) to “highlight Hobart as the gateway to the Antarctic continent for the Asia Pacific region”; and a biennial Australian Antarctic Festival drawing over twenty thousand visitors, about a sixth of them from interstate or overseas (Hingley). Antarctic links are evident in the city’s natural and built environment: the dolerite columns of Mt Wellington, the statue of the Tasmanian Antarctic explorer Louis Bernacchi on the waterfront, and the wharfs that regularly accommodate icebreakers such as the Aurora Australis and the Astrolabe. Antarctica is figured as a southern neighbour; as historian Tom Griffiths puts it, Tasmanians “grow up with Antarctica breathing down their necks” (5). As an Antarctic City, Hobart mediates access to Antarctica both physically and in the cultural imaginary.Perhaps in recognition of the diverse ways in which a region or a city might be connected to Antarctica, researchers have recently been suggesting critical approaches to the ‘gateway’ label. C. Michael Hall points to a fuzziness in the way the term is applied, noting that it has drifted from its initial definition (drawn from economic geography) as denoting an access and supply point to a hinterland that produces a certain level of economic benefits. While Hall looks to keep the term robustly defined to avoid empty “local boosterism” (272–73), Gabriela Roldan aims to move the concept “beyond its function as an entry and exit door”, arguing that, among other things, the local community should be actively engaged in the Antarctic region (57). Leane, examining the representation of Hobart as a gateway in historical travel texts, concurs that “ingress and egress” are insufficient descriptors of Tasmania’s relationship with Antarctica, suggesting that at least discursively the island is positioned as “part of an Antarctic rim, itself sharing qualities of the polar region” (45). The ARC Linkage Project described above, supported by the Hobart City Council, the State Government and the University of Tasmania, as well as other national and international partners, aims to foster the idea of the Hobart and its counterparts as ‘Antarctic cities’ whose citizens act as custodians for the South Polar region, with a genuine concern for and investment in its future.Near and Far: Local Perspectives A changing climate may once again herald a shift in the identity of the Tasmanian islands. Recognition of the central role of Antarctica in regulating the global climate has generated scientific and political re-evaluation of the region. Antarctica is not only the planet’s largest heat sink but is the engine of global water currents and wind patterns that drive weather patterns and biodiversity across the world (Convey et al. 543). For example, Tas van Ommen’s research into Antarctic glaciology shows the tangible connection between increased snowfall in coastal East Antarctica and patterns of drought southwest Western Australia (van Ommen and Morgan). Hobart has become a global centre of marine and Antarctic science, bringing investment and development to the city. As the global climate heats up, Tasmania—thanks to its low latitude and southerly weather patterns—is one of the few regions in Australia likely to remain temperate. This is already leading to migration from the mainland that is impacting house prices and rental availability (Johnston; Landers 1). The region’s future is therefore closely entangled with its proximity to the far south. Salazar writes that “we cannot continue to think of Antarctica as the end of the Earth” (67). Shifting Antarctica into focus also brings Tasmania in from the margins. As an Antarctic city, Hobart assumes a privileged positioned on the global stage. This allows the city to present itself as central to international research efforts—in contrast to domestic views of the place as a small regional capital. The city inhabits dual identities; it is both on the periphery of Australian concerns and at the centre of Antarctic activity. Tasmania, then, is not in freefall, but rather at the forefront of a push to recognise Antarctica as entangled with its neighbours to the north.AcknowledgementsThis work was supported by the Australian Research Council under LP160100210.ReferencesAntonello, Alessandro. “Finding Place in Antarctica.” Antarctica and the Humanities. Eds. Peder Roberts, Lize-Marie van der Watt, and Adrian Howkins. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 181–204.Australian Government. 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Heralded as a key agenda for sustainable ocean development, the blue economy has risen to such prominence over the last decade that it is near impossible to engage in the fields of ocean governance or development without encountering it. The exact nature of the blue economy's sustainable ocean development promise, however, remains stubbornly unresolved, with different actors advancing varying, at times conflicting, visions of what sustainable ocean development should look like, how it is to be achieved, and who it is to serve. Tracing the various constructions of blue economy promises over the last decade, this paper contends that the blue economy has progressively retreated from its early commitment to equitable benefit sharing, shifting instead to a deepening preoccupation with economic growth. For small island developing states (SIDS) and coastal least developed countries (LDCs) who took a leading role in embedding equitable benefit sharing within the blue economy during its early popularization, such retreat raises pressing questions over the agenda's continued suitability in advancing desired (and often much needed) sustainable development outcomes. This paper's attempt to grapple with such questions offers a timely contribution to discussions on the blue recovery and ocean-led development avenues in the wake of COVID-19.

Sri Lanka, famously called the ‘pearl of the Indian ocean’, is an island nation located in the tropics, lying off the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent. Given her favourable geostrategic position at the crossroads of major maritime routes, Sri Lanka, which is richly endowed with natural resources, has since time immemorial, been a major player in International trade. Known formerly as Serendib, Saheelan and Seylan among the Türks, Arabs and Persians, Sri Lanka, on which prophet Adam is believed to have descended when expelled from Paradise, has been immortalized in the works of numerous scholars including Mawlana Rūmī, and Katip Çelebi. Despite the fact that Süleyman the Magnificent's reign heralded the beginning of contacts between Sri Lanka and Ottoman Türkiye, official diplomatic relations were not established until Sulţan Abdül Aziz's reign in 1864. The Muslims of Si Lanka revered the Ottoman Sulţāns to the point of mentioning their names in the ‘khutba’, or sermon, during Friday prayers, and this age-old tradition continued until the reign of Sulţān Abdül Hamid II, after whom the first Muslim Boys’ School and a road in Sri Lanka are named. Unfortunately, limited research has been done on Sri Lanka-Türkiye historical relations, a subject that, despite its relevance, has received little attention. Therefore, this article, which examines Sri Lanka-Türkiye relations from ancient times to the twentieth Century, intends to enlighten the readers about the largely untold and unknown facets of our shared history and heritage. Given that Sri Lanka is one of Türkiye's important allies, raising awareness of this topic is timely, and pertinent.

While exploring the virtual world Second Life one day, I received a group message across the in-world communication system – “there’s a griefer on the beach. Stay away from the beach till we catch him.” There was no need to explain; everyone receiving the message knew what a griefer was and had a general idea of the kinds of things that could be happening. We’d all seen griefers at work before – someone monopolising the chat channel so no one else can communicate, people being “caged” at random, or even weapons fire causing so much “overhead” that all activity in the area slows to a crawl. These kinds of attacks are not limited to virtual worlds. Most people have experienced griefing in their everyday lives, which might best be defined as having fun at someone else’s expense. More commonly seen examples of this in the real world include teasing, bullying, and harassment; playground bullies have long made other children’s free time miserable. More destructive griefing includes arson and theft. Griefing activities happen in all kinds of games and virtual worlds. Griefers who laugh at new users and “yell” (so that all players can hear) that they stink, have followed new users of Disney’s tween-popular ToonTown. Griefers pose as friendly, helpful players who offer to show new users a path through difficult parts of a game, but then who abandon the new user in a spot where he or she does not have the skills to proceed. In World of Warcraft, a popular massively multiplayer online role playing game (MMORPG) created by Blizzard with more than seven million registered, if not active, users, griefers engage in what is known as corpse camping; they sit by a corpse, killing it over and over every time the player tries to get back into the game. The griefer gets a small number of experience points; the player being killed gets aggravated and has to wait out the griefing to play the game again (Warner & Raiter). Griefing in World of Warcraft was featured in an award nominated episode of the television program South Park, in which one character killed every other player he met. This paper considers different types of griefing, both in online games and virtual worlds, and then looks at the actions other players, those being griefed, take against griefers. A variety of examples from Second Life are considered because of the open-structure of the world and its developing nature. Definitions and Types Griefing in online environments such as video games and virtual worlds has been defined as “purposefully engaging in activities to disrupt the gaming experience of other players” (Mulligan & Patrovsky 250). The “purposeful” part of the definition means that accidental bumping and pushing, behaviours often exhibited by new users, are not griefing (Warner & Raiter). Rossingol defines a griefer as, “a player of malign intentions. They will hurt, humiliate and dishevel the average gamer through bending and breaking the rules of online games. ...They want glory, gain or just to partake in a malignant joy at the misfortune of others.” Davis, who maintains a gaming blog, describes Second Life as being populated by “those who build things and those who like to tear them down,” with the latter being the griefers who may be drawn to the unstructured anything-goes nature of the virtual world (qtd. in Girard). Definitions of griefing differ based on context. For instance, griefing has been examined in a variety of multi-player online games. These games often feature missions where players have to kill other players (PvP), behaviour that in other contexts such as virtual worlds would be considered griefing. Putting a monster on the trail of a player considered rude or unskilled might be a way to teach a lesson, but also an example of griefing (Taylor). Foo and Koivisto define griefing in MMORPGs as “play styles that disrupt another player’s gaming experience, usually with specific intention. When the act is not specifically intended to disrupt and yet the actor is the sole beneficiary, it is greed play, a subtle form of grief play” (11). Greed play usually involves actions that disrupt the game play of others but without technically breaking any game rules. A different way of looking at griefing is that it is a sign that the player understands the game or virtual world deeply enough to take advantage of ambiguities in the rules by changing the game to something new (Koster). Many games have a follow option; griefers pick a victim, stand near them, get as naked as possible, and then just follow them around without talking or explaining their actions (Walker). Another example is the memorial service in World of Warcraft for a player who died in real life. The service was interrupted by an attack from another clan; everyone at the memorial service was killed. It is not clear cut who the griefers actually were in this case – the mourners who chose to have their peaceful service in an area marked for player combat or the attackers following the rules for that area and working to earn points and progress in the game. In the case of the mourners, they were changing the rules of the game to suit them, to create something unique – a shared space to mourn a common friend. But they were definitely not playing by the rules. The attackers, considered griefers by many both in and outside of the game, did nothing that broke any rules of the game, though perhaps they broke rules of common decency (“World”); what they did does not fit into the definition of griefing, as much as do the actions of the mourners (Kotaku). Reshaping the game can be done to embed a new, sometimes political, message into the game. A group named Velvet Strike formed to protest US military action. They went into Counter Strike to bring a “message of peace, love and happiness to online shooters by any means necessary” (King). They placed spray painted graphics containing anti-war messages into the game; when confronted with people from other teams the Velvet Strike members refused to shoot (King). The group website contains “recipes” for non-violent game play. One “recipe” involved the Velvet Strike member hiding at the beginning of a mission and not moving for the rest of the game. The other players would shoot each other and then be forced to spend the rest of the game looking for the last survivor in order to get credit for the win. Similar behaviour has been tried inside the game America’s Army. Beginning March, 2006, deLappe, an artist who opposes the U.S. government’s involvement in Iraq, engaged in griefing behaviour by filling (spamming) the in-game text channel with the names of the people killed in the war; no one else can communicate on that channel. Even his character name, dead-in-Iraq, is an anti-war protest (deLappe). “I do not participate in the proscribed mayhem. Rather, I stand in position and type until I am killed. After death, I hover over my dead avatar’s body and continue to type. Upon being re-incarnated in the next round, I continue the cycle” (deLappe n.p.). What about these games and virtual worlds might lead people to even consider griefing? For one thing, they seem anonymous, which can lead to irresponsible behaviour. Players use fake names. Characters on the screen do not seem real. Another reason may be that rules can be broken in videogames and virtual worlds with few consequences, and in fact the premise of the game often seems to encourage such rule breaking. The rules are not always clearly laid out. Each game or world has a Terms of Service agreement that set out basic acceptable behaviour. Second Life defines griefing in terms of the Terms of Service that all users agree to when opening accounts. Abuse is when someone consciously and with malicious intent violates those terms. On top of that limited set of guidelines, each landowner in a virtual world such as Second Life can also set rules for their own property, from dress code, to use of weapons, to allowable conversation topics. To better understand griefing, it is necessary to consider the motivations of the people involved. Early work on categorising player types was completed by Bartle, who studied users of virtual worlds, specifically MUDs, and identified four player types: killers, achievers, socialisers, and explorers. Killers and achievers seem most relevant in a discussion about griefing. Killers enjoy using other players to get ahead. They want to do things to other people (not for or with others), and they get the most pleasure if they can act without the consent of the other player. Knowing about a game or a virtual world gives no power unless that knowledge can be used to gain some advantage over others and to enhance your standing in the game. Achievers want power and dominance in a game so they can do things to the game and master it. Griefing could help them feel a sense of power if they got people to do their will to stop the griefing behavior. Yee studied the motivations of people who play MMORPGs. He found that people who engage in griefing actually scored high in being motivated to play by both achieving and competition (“Facets”). Griefers often want attention. They may want to show off their scripting skills in the hope of earning respect among other coders and possibly be hired to program for others. But many players are motivated by a desire to compete and to win; these categories do not seem to be adequate for understanding the different types of griefing (Yee, “Faces of Grief”). The research on griefing in games has also suggested ways to categorise griefers in virtual worlds. Suler divides griefers into two types (qtd. in Becker). The first is those who grief in order to make trouble for authority figures, including the people who create the worlds. A few of the more spectacular griefing incidents seem designed to cause trouble for Linden Lab, the creators of Second Life. Groups attacked the servers that run Second Life, known as the grid, in October of 2005; this became known as the “gray goo attack” (Second Life; Wallace). Servers were flooded with objects and Second Life had to be taken off line to be restored from backups. More organised groups, such as the W-hats, the SL Liberation Army, and Patriotic Nigas engage in more large scale and public griefing. Some groups hope to draw attention to the group’s goals. The SL Liberation Army wants Linden Lab to open up the governance of the virtual world so that users can vote on changes and policies being implemented and limit corporate movement into Second Life (MarketingVox). Patriotic Nigas, with about 35 active members, want to slow the entry of corporations into Second Life (Cabron, “Who are Second Life’s”). One often discussed griefer attack in Second Life included a flood of pink flying penises directed against land owner and the first person to have made a profit of more than one million United States dollars in a virtual world, Anshe Chung, during a well-publicised and attended interview in world with technology news outlet CNET (Walsh, “Second Life Millionaire” ). The second type proposed by Suler is the griefer who wants to hurt and victimise others (qtd. in Becker). Individual players often go naked into PG-rated areas to cause trouble. Weapons are used in areas where weapons are banned. Second Life publishes a police blotter, which lists examples of minor griefing and assigned punishment, including incidents of disturbing the peace and violating community standards for which warnings and short bans have been issued. These are the actions of individuals for the most part, as were the people who exploited security holes to enter the property uninvited during the grand opening of Endemol’s Big Brother island in Second Life; guests to the opening were firebombed and caged. One of the griefers explained her involvement: Well I’m from The Netherlands, and as you might know the tv concept of big brother was invented here, and it was in all the newspapers in Holland. So I thought It would be this huge event with lots of media. Then I kinda got the idea ‘hey I could ruin this and it might make the newspaper or tv. So that’s what set me off, lol. (qtd. in Sklar) Some groups do grief just to annoy. The Patriotic Nigas claim to have attacked the John Edwards headquarters inside SL wearing Bush ‘08 buttons (Cabron, “John Edwards Attackers”), but it was not a political attack. The group’s founder, Mudkips Acronym (the name of his avatar in SL) said, “I’m currently rooting for Obama, but that doesn’t mean we won’t raid him or anything. We’ll hit anyone if it’s funny, and if the guy I want to be president in 2008’s campaign provides the lulz, we’ll certainly not cross him off our list” (qtd. in Cabron, “John Edwards Attackers”). If they disrupt a high profile event or site, the attack will be covered by media that can amplify the thrill of the attack, enhance their reputation among other griefers, and add to their enjoyment of the griefing. Part of the definition of griefing is that the griefer enjoys causing other players pain and disrupting their game. One resident posted on the SL blog, “Griefers, for the most part, have no other agenda other than the thrill of sneaking one past and causing a big noise. Until a spokesperson comes forward with a manifesto, we can safely assume that this is the work of the “Jackass” generation, out to disrupt things to show that they can“ (Scarborough). Usually to have fun, griefers go after individuals, rather than the owners and administrators of the virtual world and so fit into Suler’s second type of griefing. These griefers enjoy seeing others get angry and frustrated. As one griefer said: Understanding the griefer mindset begins with this: We don’t take the game seriously at all. It continues with this: It’s fun because you react. Lastly: We do it because we’re jerks and like to laugh at you. I am the fly that kamikazes into your soup. I am the reason you can’t have nice things … . If I make you cry, you’ve made my day. (Drake) They have fun by making the other players mad. “Causing grief is the name of his game. His objective is simple: Make life hell for anyone unlucky enough to be playing with him. He’s a griefer. A griefer is a player bent on purposely frustrating others during a multiplayer game” (G4). “I’m a griefer. It’s what I do,” the griefer says. “And, man, people get so pissed off. It’s great” (G4). Taking Action against Griefers Understanding griefing from the griefer point of view leads us to examine the actions of those being griefed. Suler suggests several pairs of opposing actions that can be taken against griefers, based on his experience in an early social environment called Palace. Many of the steps still being used fit into these types. He first describes preventative versus remedial action. Preventative steps include design features to minimise griefing. The Second Life interface includes the ability to build 3D models and to create software; it also includes a menu for land owners to block those features at will, a design feature that helps prevent much griefing. Remedial actions are those taken by the administrators to deal with the effects of griefing; Linden Lab administrators can shut down whole islands to keep griefer activities from spreading to nearby islands. The second pair is interpersonal versus technical; interpersonal steps involve talking to the griefers to get them to stop ruining the game for others, while technical steps prevent griefers from re-entering the world. The elven community in Second Life strongly supports interpersonal steps; they have a category of members in their community known as guardians who receive special training in how to talk to people bent on destroying the peacefulness of the community or disturbing an event. The creators of Camp Darfur on Better World island also created a force of supporters to fend off griefer attacks after the island was destroyed twice in a week in 2006 (Kenzo). Linden Lab also makes use of technical methods; they cancel accounts so known griefers can not reenter. There were even reports that they had created a prison island where griefers whose antics were not bad enough to be totally banned would be sent via a one-way teleporter (Walsh, “Hidden Virtual World Prison”). Some users of Second Life favour technical steps; they believe that new users should be held a fixed amount of time on the Orientation island which would stop banned users from coming back into the world immediately. The third is to create tools for average users or super users (administrators); both involve software features, some of which are available to all users to help them make the game good for them while others are available only to people with administrator privileges. Average users who own land have a variety of tools available to limit griefing behaviour on their own property. In Second Life, the land owner is often blamed because he or she did not use the tools provided to landowners by Linden Lab; they can ban individual users, remove users from the land, mute their conversation, return items left on the property, and prevent people from building or running scripts. As one landowner said, “With the newbies coming in there, I’ve seen their properties just littered with crap because they don’t know protective measures you need to take as far as understanding land control and access rights” (qtd. in Girard). Super users, those who work for Linden Lab, can remove a player from the game for a various lengths of time based on their behaviour patterns. Responses to griefers can also be examined as either individual or joint actions. Individual actions include those that land owners can take against individual griefers. Individual users, regardless of account type, can file abuse reports against other individuals; Linden Lab investigates these reports and takes appropriate action. Quick and consistent reporting of all griefing, no matter how small, is advocated by most game companies and user groups as fairly successful. Strangely, some types of joint actions have been not so successful. Landowners have tried to form the Second Life Anti-Griefing Guild, but it folded because of lack of involvement. Groups providing security services have formed; many event organisers use this kind of service. (Hoffman). More successful efforts have included the creation of software, such as SLBanLink.com, Karma, and TrustNet that read lists of banned users into the banned list on all participating property. A last category of actions to be taken against griefers, and a category used by most residents of virtual worlds, is to leave them alone—to ignore them, to tolerate their actions. The thinking is that, as with many bullies in real life, griefers want attention; when deprived of that, they will move on to find other amusements. Yelling and screaming at griefers just reinforces their bad behaviour. Users simply teleport to other locations or log off. They warn others of the griefing behaviour using the various in-world communication tools so they too can stay away from the griefers. Most of the actions described above are not useful against griefers for whom a bad reputation is part of their credibility in the griefer community. The users of Second Life who staged the Gray Goo denial of service attack in October, 2005 fit into that category. They did nothing to hide the fact that they wanted to cause massive trouble; they named the self-replicating object that they created Grief Spawn and discussed ways to bring down the world on griefer forums (Wallace) Conclusion The most effective griefing usually involves an individual or small group who are only looking to have fun at someone else’s expense. It’s a small goal, and as long as there are any other users, it is easy to obtain the desired effect. In fact, as word spreads of the griefing and users feel compelled to change their behaviour to stave off future griefer attacks, the griefers have fun and achieve their goal. The key point here is that everyone has the same goal – have fun. Unfortunately, for one group – the griefers – achieving their goal precludes other users from reaching theirs. Political griefers are less successful in achieving their goals. Political creative play as griefing, like other kinds of griefing, is not particularly effective, which is another aspect of griefing as error. Other players react with frustration and violence to the actions of griefers such as deLappe and Velvet-Strike. If griefing activity makes people upset, they are less open to considering the political or economic motives of the griefers. Some complaints are relatively mild; “I’m all for creative protest and what not, but this is stupid. It’s not meaningful art or speaking out or anything of the type, its just annoying people who are never going to change their minds about how awesome they think war is” (Borkingchikapa). Others are more negative: “Somebody really needs to go find where that asshole lives and beat the shit out of him. Yeah, it’s a free country and he can legally pull this crap, but that same freedom extends to some patriot kicking the living shit out of him” (Reynolds). In this type of griefing no one’s goals for using the game are satisfied. The regular users can not have fun, but neither do they seem to be open to or accepting of the political griefer’s message. This pattern of success and failure may explain why there are so many examples of griefing to disrupt rather then the politically motivated kind. It may also suggest why efforts to curb griefing have been so ineffective in the past. Griefers who seek to disrupt for fun would see it as a personal triumph if others organised against them. Even if they found themselves banned from one area, they could quickly move somewhere else to have their fun since whom or where they harass does not really matter. Perhaps not all griefing is in error, rather, only those griefing activities motivated by any other goal than have fun. People invest their time and energy in creating their characters and developing skills. The behaviour of people in these virtual environments has a definite bearing on the real world. And perhaps that explains why people in these virtual worlds react so strongly to the behaviour. So, remember, stay off the beach until they catch the griefers, and if you want to make up the game as you go along, be ready for the other players to point at you and say “Bad, Bad Avatar.” References Bartle, Richard. “Players Who Suit MUDs.” Journal of MUD Research 1.1 (June 1996). 10 Sep. 2007 http://www.mud.co.uk/richard/hcds.htm>. Becker, David. Inflicting Pain on “Griefers.” 13 Dec. 2004. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www.news.com/Inflicting-pain-on-griefers/2100-1043_3-5488403.html>. Borkingchikapa. Playing America’s Army. 30 May 2006. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.metafilter.com/51938/playing-Americas-Army>. Cabron, Lou. John Edwards Attackers Unmasked. 5 Mar. 2007. 29 Apr. 2007 http://www.10zenmonkeys.com/2007/03/05/john-edwards-virtual-attackers-unmasked/>. Cabron, Lou. Who Are Second Life’s “Patriotic Nigas”? 8 Mar. 2007. 30 Apr. 2007 http://www.10zenmonkeys.com/2007/03/08/patriotic-nigras-interview-john-edwards-second-life/>. DeLappe, Joseph. Joseph deLappe. 2006. 10 Aug. 2007. http://www.unr.edu/art/DELAPPE/DeLappe%20Main%20Page/DeLappe%20Online%20MAIN.html>. Drake, Shannon. “Jerk on the Internet.” The Escapist Magazine 15 Nov. 2005: 31-32. 20 June 2007 http://www.escapistmagazine.com/issue/19/31>. Foo, Chek Yang. Redefining Grief Play. 2004. 10 Oct. 2007 http://64.233.167.104/search?q=cache:1mBYzWVqAsIJ:www.itu.dk/op/papers/ yang_foo.pdf+foo+koivisto&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=7&gl=us&client=firefox-a>. Foo, Chek Yang, and Elina Koivisto. Grief Player Motivations. 2004. 15 Aug. 2007 http://www.itu.dk/op/papers/yang_foo_koivisto.pdf>. G4. Confessions of a Griefer. N.D. 21 June 2007 http://www.g4tv.com/xplay/features/42527/Confessions_of_a_Griefer.html>. Girard, Nicole. “Griefer Madness: Terrorizing Virtual Worlds.”_ Linux Insider_ 19 Sep. 2007. 3 Oct. 2007 http://www.linuxinsider.com/story/59401.html>. Hoffman, E. C. “Tip Sheet: When Griefers Attack.” Business Week. 2007. 21 June 2007 http://www.businessweek.com/playbook/07/0416_1.htm>. Kenzo, In. “Comment: Has Plastic Duck Migrated Back to SL?” Second Life Herald Apr. 2006. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www.secondlifeherald.com/slh/2006/04/has_plastic_duc.html>. King, Brad. “Make Love, Not War.” Wired June 2002. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.wired.com/gaming/gamingreviews/news/2002/06/52894>. Koster, Raph. A Theory of Fun for Game Design. Scotsdale, AZ: Paraglyph, 2005. Kotaku. _WoW Funeral Party Gets Owned. _2006. 15 Aug. 2007 http://kotaku.com/gaming/wow/wow-funeral-party-gets-owned-167354.php>. MarketingVox. Second Life Liberation Army Targets Brands. 7. Dec. 2006. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.marketingvox.com/archives/2006/12/07/second-life-liberation-army-targets-brands/>. Mulligan, Jessica, and Bridget Patrovsky. Developing Online Games: An Insider’s Guide. Indianapolis: New Riders, 2003. Reynolds, Ren. Terra Nova: dead-in-iraq. 7 May 2006. 15 Aug. 2007 http://terranova.blogs.com/terra_nova/2006/05/deadiniraq_.html>. Rossingnol, Jim. “A Deadly Dollar.” The Escapist Magazine 15 Nov. 2005: 23-27. 20 June 2007 http://www.escapistmagazine.com/issue/19/23>. Scarborough, Solivar. Mass Spam Issue Inworld Being Investigated. 13 Oct. 2006. 20 June 2007 http://blog.secondlife.com/2006/10/13/mass-spam-issue-inworld-being-investigated/>. Sklar, Urizenus. “Big Brother Opening Hypervent Griefed for 4 Hours.” Second Life Herald 12 Dec. 2006. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.secondlifeherald.com/slh/2006/12/big_brother_ope.html>. Suler, John. The Bad Boys of Cyberspace. 1997. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www-usr.rider.edu/~suler/psycyber/badboys.html>. Taylor, T.L. Play between Worlds: Exploring Online Game Culture. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 2006. Velvet Strike. Velvet-Strike. N.D. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.opensorcery.net/velvet-strike/nonflame.html>. Walker, John. “How to Be a Complete Bastard.” PC Gamer 13 Mar. 2007. 10 Aug. 2007 http://www.computerandvideogames.com/article.php?id=159883&site=pcg>. Wallace, Mark. “The Day the Grid Disappeared.” Escapist Magazine 15 Nov. 2005: 11. 20 June 2007 http://www.escapistmagazine.com/issue/19/11>. Walsh, Tony. Hidden Virtual-World Prison Revealed. 3 Jan. 2006. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www.secretlair.com/index.php?/clickableculture/entry/hidden_virtual_world_prison_revealed/>. Walsh, Tony. Second Life Millionaire Interview Penis-Bombed. 20 Dec. 2006. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www.secretlair.com/index.php?/clickableculture/entry/second_life_millionaire_interview_penis_bombed/>. Warner, Dorothy, and Mike Raiter. _Social Context in Massively-Multiplayer Online Games. _2005. 20 Aug. 2007 http://www.i-r-i-e.net/inhalt/004/Warner-Raiter.pdf>. “World of Warcraft: Funeral Ambush.” 2006. YouTube. 15 Aug. 2007 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31MVOE2ak5w>. Yee, Nicholas. Facets: 5 Motivational Factors for Why People Play MMORPG’s. 2002. 10 Oct. 2007 http://www.nickyee.com/facets/home.html>. Yee, Nicholas. Faces of Grief. 2005. June 2007 http://www.nickyee.com/daedalus/archives/000893.php?page=1>. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gregson, Kimberly. "Bad Avatar!: Griefing in Virtual Worlds." M/C Journal 10.5 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0710/06-gregson.php>. APA Style Gregson, K. (Oct. 2007) "Bad Avatar!: Griefing in Virtual Worlds," M/C Journal, 10(5). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0710/06-gregson.php>.

Kangatarianism is the rather inelegant word coined in the first decade of the twenty-first century to describe an omnivorous diet in which the only meat consumed is that of the kangaroo. First published in the media in 2010 (Barone; Zukerman), the term circulated in Australian environmental and academic circles including the Global Animal conference at the University of Wollongong in July 2011 where I first heard it from members of the Think Tank for Kangaroos (THINKK) group. By June 2017, it had gained enough attention to be named the Oxford English Dictionary’s Australian word of the month (following on from May’s “smashed avo,” another Australian food innovation), but it took the Nine Network reality television series Love Island Australia to raise kangatarian to trending status on social media (Oxford UP). During the first episode, aired in late May 2018, Justin, a concreter and fashion model from Melbourne, declared himself to have previously been a kangatarian as he chatted with fellow contestant, Millie. Vet nurse and animal lover Millie appeared to be shocked by his revelation but was tentatively accepting when Justin explained what kangatarian meant, and justified his choice on the grounds that kangaroo are not farmed. In the social media response, it was clear that eating only the meat of kangaroos as an ethical choice was an entirely new concept to many viewers, with one tweet stating “Kangatarian isn’t a thing”, while others variously labelled the diet brutal, intriguing, or quintessentially Australian (see #kangatarian on Twitter).There is a well developed literature around the arguments for and against eating kangaroo, and why settler Australians tend to be so reluctant to do so (see for example, Probyn; Cawthorn and Hoffman). Here, I will concentrate on the role that ethics play in this food choice by examining how the adoption of kangatarianism can be understood as a bargain struck to help to manage grief in the Anthropocene, and the limitations of that bargain. As Lesley Head has argued, we are living in a time of loss and of grieving, when much that has been taken for granted is becoming unstable, and “we must imagine that drastic changes to everyday life are in the offing” (313). Applying the classic (and contested) model of five stages of grief, first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying in 1969, much of the population of the western world seems to be now experiencing denial, her first stage of loss, while those in the most vulnerable environments have moved on to anger with developed countries for destructive actions in the past and inaction in the present. The next stages (or states) of grieving—bargaining, depression, and acceptance—are likely to be manifested, although not in any predictable sequence, as the grief over current and future losses continues (Haslam).The great expansion of food restrictive diets in the Anthropocene can be interpreted as part of this bargaining state of grieving as individuals attempt to respond to the imperative to reduce their environmental impact but also to limit the degree of change to their own diet required to do so. Meat has long been identified as a key component of an individual’s environmental footprint. From Frances Moore Lappé’s 1971 Diet for a Small Planet through the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organisation’s 2006 report Livestock’s Long Shadow to the 2019 report of the EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems, the advice has been consistent: meat consumption should be minimised in, if not eradicated from, the human diet. The EAT–Lancet Commission Report quantified this to less than 28 grams (just under one ounce) of beef, lamb or pork per day (12, 25). For many this would be keenly felt, in terms of how meals are constructed, the sensory experiences associated with eating meat and perceptions of well-being but meat is offered up as a sacrifice to bring about the return of the beloved healthy planet.Rather than accept the advice to cut out meat entirely, those seeking to bargain with the Anthropocene also find other options. This has given rise to a suite of foodways based around restricting meat intake in volume or type. Reducing the amount of commercially produced beef, lamb and pork eaten is one approach, while substituting a meat the production of which has a smaller environmental footprint, most commonly chicken or fish, is another. For those willing to make deeper changes, the meat of free living animals, especially those which are killed accidentally on the roads or for deliberately for environmental management purposes, is another option. Further along this spectrum are the novel protein sources suggested in the Lancet report, including insects, blue-green algae and laboratory-cultured meats.Kangatarianism is another form of this bargain, and is backed by at least half a century of advocacy. The Australian Conservation Foundation made calls to reduce the numbers of other livestock and begin a sustainable harvest of kangaroo for food in 1970 when the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption was still illegal across the country (Conservation of Kangaroos). The idea was repeated by biologist Gordon Grigg in the late 1980s (Jackson and Vernes 173), and again in the Garnaut Climate Change Review in 2008 (547–48). Kangaroo meat is high in protein and iron, low in fat, and high in healthy polyunsaturated fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid, and, as these authors showed, has a smaller environmental footprint than beef, lamb, or pork. Kangaroo require less water than cattle, sheep or pigs, and no land is cleared to grow feed for them or give them space to graze. Their paws cause less erosion and compaction of soil than do the hooves of common livestock. They eat less fodder than ruminants and their digestive processes result in lower emissions of the powerful greenhouse gas methane and less solid waste.As Justin of Love Island was aware, kangaroo are not farmed in the sense of being deliberately bred, fed, confined, or treated with hormones, drugs or chemicals, which also adds to their lighter impact on the environment. However, some pastoralists argue that because they cannot prevent kangaroos from accessing the food, water, shelter, and protection from predators they provide for their livestock, they do effectively farm them, although they receive no income from sales of kangaroo meat. This type of light touch farming of kangaroos has a very long history in Australia going back to the continent’s first peopling some 60,000 years ago. Kangaroos were so important to Aboriginal people that a wide range of environments were manipulated to produce their favoured habitats of open grasslands edged by sheltering trees. As Bill Gammage demonstrated, fire was used as a tool to preserve and extend grassy areas, to encourage regrowth which would attract kangaroos and to drive the animals from one patch to another or towards hunters waiting with spears (passim, for example, 58, 72, 76, 93). Gammage and Bruce Pascoe agree that this was a form of animal husbandry in which the kangaroos were drawn to the areas prepared for them for the young grass or, more forcefully, physically directed using nets, brush fences or stone walls. Burnt ground served to contain the animals in place of fencing, and regular harvesting kept numbers from rising to levels which would place pressure on other species (Gammage 79, 281–86; Pascoe 42–43). Contemporary advocates of eating kangaroo have promoted the idea that they should be deliberately co-produced with other livestock instead of being killed to preserve feed and water for sheep and cattle (Ellicott; Wilson 39). Substituting kangaroo for the meat of more environmentally damaging animals would facilitate a reduction in the numbers of cattle and sheep, lessening the harm they do.Most proponents have assumed that their audience is current meat eaters who would substitute kangaroo for the meat of other more environmentally costly animals, but kangatarianism can also emerge from vegetarianism. Wendy Zukerman, who wrote about kangaroo hunting for New Scientist in 2010, was motivated to conduct the research because she was considering becoming an early adopter of kangatarianism as the least environmentally taxing way to counter the longterm anaemia she had developed as a vegetarian. In 2018, George Wilson, honorary professor in the Australian National University’s Fenner School of Environment and Society called for vegetarians to become kangatarians as a means of boosting overall consumption of kangaroo for environmental and economic benefits to rural Australia (39).Given these persuasive environmental arguments, it might be expected that many people would have perceived eating kangaroo instead of other meat as a favourable bargain and taken up the call to become kangatarian. Certainly, there has been widespread interest in trying kangaroo meat. In 1997, only five years after the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption had been legalised in most states (South Australia did so in 1980), 51% of 500 people surveyed in five capital cities said they had tried kangaroo. However, it had not become a meat of choice with very few found to eat it more than three times a year (Des Purtell and Associates iv). Just over a decade later, a study by Ampt and Owen found an increase to 58% of 1599 Australians surveyed across the country who had tried kangaroo but just 4.7% eating it at least monthly (14). Bryce Appleby, in his study of kangaroo consumption in the home based on interviews with 28 residents of Wollongong in 2010, specifically noted the absence of kangatarians—then a very new concept. A study of 261 Sydney university students in 2014 found that half had tried kangaroo meat and 10% continued to eat it with any regularity. Only two respondents identified themselves as kangatarian (Grant 14–15). Kangaroo meat advocate Michael Archer declared in 2017 that “there’s an awful lot of very, very smart vegetarians [who] have opted for semi vegetarianism and they’re calling themselves ‘kangatarians’, as they’re quite happy to eat kangaroo meat”, but unless there had been a significant change in a few years, the surveys did not bear out his assertion (154).The ethical calculations around eating kangaroo are complicated by factors beyond the strictly environmental. One Tweeter advised Justin: “‘I’m a kangatarian’ isn’t a pickup line, mate”, and certainly the reception of his declaration could have been very cool, especially as it was delivered to a self declared animal warrior (N’Tash Aha). All of the studies of beliefs and practices around the eating of kangaroo have noted a significant minority of Australians who would not consider eating kangaroo based on issues of animal welfare and animal rights. The 1997 study found that 11% were opposed to the idea of eating kangaroo, while in Grant’s 2014 study, 15% were ethically opposed to eating kangaroo meat (Des Purtell and Associates iv; Grant 14–15). Animal ethics complicate the bargains calculated principally on environmental grounds.These ethical concerns work across several registers. One is around the flesh and blood kangaroo as a charismatic native animal unique to Australia and which Australians have an obligation to respect and nurture. Sheep, cattle and pigs have been subject to longterm propaganda campaigns which entrench the idea that they are unattractive and unintelligent, and veil their transition to meat behind euphemistic language and abattoir walls, making it easier to eat them. Kangaroos are still seen as resourceful and graceful animals, and no linguistic tricks shield consumers from the knowledge that it is a roo on their plate. A proposal in 2009 to market a “coat of arms” emu and kangaroo-flavoured potato chip brought complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau that this was disrespectful to these native animals, although the flavours were to be simulated and the product vegetarian (Black). Coexisting with this high regard to kangaroos is its antithesis. That is, a valuation of them informed by their designation as a pest in the pastoral industry, and the use of the carcasses of those killed to feed dogs and other companion animals. Appleby identified a visceral, disgust response to the idea of eating kangaroo in many of his informants, including both vegetarians who would not consider eating kangaroo because of their commitment to a plant-based diet, and at least one omnivore who would prefer to give up all meat rather than eat kangaroo. While diametrically opposed, the end point of both positions is that kangaroo meat should not be eaten.A second animal ethics stance relates to the imagined kangaroo, a cultural construct which for most urban Australians is much more present in their lives and likely to shape their actions than the living animals. It is behind the rejection of eating an animal which holds such an iconic place in Australian culture: to the dexter on the 1912 national coat of arms; hopping through the Hundred Acre Wood as Kanga and Roo in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh children’s books from the 1920s and the Disney movies later made from them; as a boy’s best friend as Skippy the Bush Kangaroo in a fondly remembered 1970s television series; and high in the sky on QANTAS planes. The anthropomorphising of kangaroos permitted the spectacle of the boxing kangaroo from the late nineteenth century. By framing natural kangaroo behaviours as boxing, these exhibitions encouraged an ambiguous understanding of kangaroos as human-like, moving them further from the category of food (Golder and Kirkby). Australian government bodies used this idea of the kangaroo to support food exports to Britain, with kangaroos as cooks or diners rather than ingredients. The Kangaroo Kookery Book of 1932 (see fig. 1 below) portrayed kangaroos as a nuclear family in a suburban kitchen and another official campaign supporting sales of Australian produce in Britain in the 1950s featured a Disney-inspired kangaroo eating apples and chops washed down with wine (“Kangaroo to Be ‘Food Salesman’”). This imagining of kangaroos as human-like has persisted, leading to the opinion expressed in a 2008 focus group, that consuming kangaroo amounted to “‘eating an icon’ … Although they are pests they are still human nature … these are native animals, people and I believe that is a form of cannibalism!” (Ampt and Owen 26). Figure 1: Rather than promoting the eating of kangaroos, the portrayal of kangaroos as a modern suburban family in the Kangaroo Kookery Book (1932) made it unthinkable. (Source: Kangaroo Kookery Book, Director of Australian Trade Publicity, Australia House, London, 1932.)The third layer of ethical objection on the ground of animal welfare is more specific, being directed to the method of killing the kangaroos which become food. Kangaroos are perhaps the only native animals for which state governments set quotas for commercial harvest, on the grounds that they compete with livestock for pasturage and water. In most jurisdictions, commercially harvested kangaroo carcasses can be processed for human consumption, and they are the ones which ultimately appear in supermarket display cases.Kangaroos are killed by professional shooters at night using swivelling spotlights mounted on their vehicles to locate and daze the animals. While clean head shots are the ideal and regulations state that animals should be killed when at rest and without causing “undue agonal struggle”, this is not always achieved and some animals do suffer prolonged deaths (NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption). By regulation, the young of any female kangaroo must be killed along with her. While averting a slow death by neglect, this is considered cruel and wasteful. The hunt has drawn international criticism, including from Greenpeace which organised campaigns against the sale of kangaroo meat in Europe in the 1980s, and Viva! which was successful in securing the withdrawal of kangaroo from sale in British supermarkets (“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised”). These arguments circulate and influence opinion within Australia.A final animal ethics issue is that what is actually behind the push for greater use of kangaroo meat is not concern for the environment or animal welfare but the quest to turn a profit from these animals. The Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia, formed in 1970 to represent those who dealt in the marsupials’ meat, fur and skins, has been a vocal advocate of eating kangaroo and a sponsor of market research into how it can be made more appealing to the market. The Association argued in 1971 that commercial harvest was part of the intelligent conservation of the kangaroo. They sought minimum size regulations to prevent overharvesting and protect their livelihoods (“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation”). The Association’s current website makes the claim that wild harvested “Australian kangaroo meat is among the healthiest, tastiest and most sustainable red meats in the world” (Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia). That this is intended to initiate a new and less controlled branch of the meat industry for the benefit of hunters and processors, rather than foster a shift from sheep or cattle to kangaroos which might serve farmers and the environment, is the opinion of Dr. Louise Boronyak, of the Centre for Compassionate Conservation at the University of Technology Sydney (Boyle 19).Concerns such as these have meant that kangaroo is most consumed where it is least familiar, with most of the meat for human consumption recovered from culled animals being exported to Europe and Asia. Russia has been the largest export market. There, kangaroo meat is made less strange by blending it with other meats and traditional spices to make processed meats, avoiding objections to its appearance and uncertainty around preparation. With only a low profile as a novelty animal in Russia, there are fewer sentimental concerns about consuming kangaroo, although the additional food miles undermine its environmental credentials. The variable acceptability of kangaroo in more distant markets speaks to the role of culture in determining how patterns of eating are formed and can be shifted, or, as Elspeth Probyn phrased it “how natural entities are transformed into commodities within a context of globalisation and local communities”, underlining the impossibility of any straightforward ethics of eating kangaroo (33, 35).Kangatarianism is a neologism which makes the eating of kangaroo meat something it has not been in the past, a voluntary restriction based on environmental ethics. These environmental benefits are well founded and eating kangaroo can be understood as an Anthropocenic bargain struck to allow the continuation of the consumption of red meat while reducing one’s environmental footprint. Although superficially attractive, the numbers entering into this bargain remain small because environmental ethics cannot be disentangled from animal ethics. The anthropomorphising of the kangaroo and its use as a national symbol coexist with its categorisation as a pest and use of its meat as food for companion animals. Both understandings of kangaroos made their meat uneatable for many Australians. Paired with concerns over how kangaroos are killed and the commercialisation of a native species, kangaroo meat has a very mixed reception despite decades of advocacy for eating its meat in favour of that of more harmed and more harmful introduced species. Given these constraints, kangatarianism is unlikely to become widespread and indeed it should be viewed as at best a temporary exigency. As the climate warms and rainfall becomes more erratic, even animals which have evolved to suit Australian conditions will come under increasing pressure, and humans will need to reach Kübler-Ross’ final state of grief: acceptance. In this case, this would mean acceptance that our needs cannot be placed ahead of those of other animals.ReferencesAmpt, Peter, and Kate Owen. Consumer Attitudes to Kangaroo Meat Products. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 2008.Appleby, Bryce. “Skippy the ‘Green’ Kangaroo: Identifying Resistances to Eating Kangaroo in the Home in a Context of Climate Change.” BSc Hons, U of Wollongong, 2010 <http://ro.uow.edu.au/thsci/103>.Archer, Michael. “Zoology on the Table: Plenary Session 4.” Australian Zoologist 39, 1 (2017): 154–60.“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation.” The Beverley Times 26 Feb. 1971: 3. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article202738733>.Barone, Tayissa. “Kangatarians Jump the Divide.” Sydney Morning Herald 9 Feb. 2010. 13 Apr. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/kangatarians-jump-the-divide-20100209-gdtvd8.html>.Black, Rosemary. “Some Australians Angry over Idea for Kangaroo and Emu-Flavored Potato Chips.” New York Daily News 4 Dec. 2009. 5 Feb. 2019 <https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/eats/australians-angry-idea-kangaroo-emu-flavored-potato-chips-article-1.431865>.Boyle, Rhianna. “Eating Skippy.” Big Issue Australia 578 11-24 Jan. 2019: 16–19.Cawthorn, Donna-Mareè, and Louwrens C. Hoffman. “Controversial Cuisine: A Global Account of the Demand, Supply and Acceptance of ‘Unconventional’ and ‘Exotic’ Meats.” Meat Science 120 (2016): 26–7.Conservation of Kangaroos. Melbourne: Australian Conservation Foundation, 1970.Des Purtell and Associates. Improving Consumer Perceptions of Kangaroo Products: A Survey and Report. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 1997.Ellicott, John. “Little Pay Incentive for Shooters to Join Kangaroo Meat Industry.” The Land 15 Mar. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.theland.com.au/story/5285265/top-roo-shooter-says-harvesting-is-a-low-paid-job/>.Garnaut, Ross. Garnaut Climate Change Review. 2008. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.garnautreview.org.au/index.htm>.Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2012.Golder, Hilary, and Diane Kirkby. “Mrs. Mayne and Her Boxing Kangaroo: A Married Woman Tests Her Property Rights in Colonial New South Wales.” Law and History Review 21.3 (2003): 585–605.Grant, Elisabeth. “Sustainable Kangaroo Harvesting: Perceptions and Consumption of Kangaroo Meat among University Students in New South Wales.” Independent Study Project (ISP). U of NSW, 2014. <https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/isp_collection/1755>.Haslam, Nick. “The Five Stages of Grief Don’t Come in Fixed Steps – Everyone Feels Differently.” The Conversation 22 Oct. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111>.Head, Lesley. “The Anthropoceans.” Geographical Research 53.3 (2015): 313–20.Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia. Kangaroo Meat. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.kangarooindustry.com/products/meat/>.“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised.” The Canberra Times 13 Sep. 1984: 14. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article136915919>.“Kangaroo to Be Food ‘Salesman.’” Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners’ Advocate, 2 Dec. 1954. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134089767>.Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Death and Dying: What the Dying Have to Teach Doctors, Nurses, Clergy, and their own Families. New York: Touchstone, 1997.Jackson, Stephen, and Karl Vernes. Kangaroo: Portrait of an Extraordinary Marsupial. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010.Lappé, Frances Moore. Diet for a Small Planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.N’Tash Aha (@Nsvasey). “‘I’m a Kangatarian’ isn’t a Pickup Line, Mate. #LoveIslandAU.” Twitter post. 27 May 2018. 5 Apr. 2019 <https://twitter.com/Nsvasey/status/1000697124122644480>.“NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption.” Government Gazette of the State of New South Wales 24 Mar. 1993. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page14638033>.Oxford University Press, Australia and New Zealand. Word of the Month. June 2017. <https://www.oup.com.au/dictionaries/word-of-the-month>.Pascoe, Bruce. Dark Emu, Black Seeds: Agriculture or Accident? Broome: Magabala Books, 2014.Probyn, Elspeth. “Eating Roo: Of Things That Become Food.” New Formations 74.1 (2011): 33–45.Steinfeld, Henning, Pierre Gerber, Tom Wassenaar, Vicent Castel, Mauricio Rosales, and Cees d Haan. Livestock’s Long Shadow: Environmental Issues and Options. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, 2006.Trust Nature. Essence of Kangaroo Capsules. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://ncpro.com.au/products/all-products/item/88139-essence-of-kangaroo-35000>.Victoria Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning. Kangaroo Pet Food Trial. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.wildlife.vic.gov.au/managing-wildlife/wildlife-management-and-control-authorisations/kangaroo-pet-food-trial>.Willett, Walter, et al. “Food in the Anthropocene: The EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems.” The Lancet 16 Jan. 2019. 26 Feb. 2019 <https://www.thelancet.com/commissions/EAT>.Wilson, George. “Kangaroos Can Be an Asset Rather than a Pest.” Australasian Science 39.1 (2018): 39.Zukerman, Wendy. “Eating Skippy: The Future of Kangaroo Meat.” New Scientist 208.2781 (2010): 42–5.

The traditional German tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin inhabits an ambiguous narrative borderland, a liminal space between fact and fiction, fantasy and horror, concrete details and elusive mystery. In his study of the Pied Piper in Tradition and Innovation in Folk Literature, Wolfgang Mieder describes how manuscripts and other evidence appear to confirm the historical base of the story. Precise details from a fifteenth-century manuscript, based on earlier sources, specify that in 1284 on the 26th of June, the feast-day of Saints John and Paul, 130 children from Hamelin were led away by a piper clothed in many colours to the Koppen Hill, and there vanished (Mieder 48). Later manuscripts add details familiar today, such as a plague of rats and a broken bargain with burghers as a motive for the Piper’s actions, while in the seventeenth century the first English-language version advances what might also be the first attempt at a “rational” explanation for the children’s disappearance, claiming that they were taken to Transylvania. The uncommon pairing of such precise factual detail with enigmatic mystery has encouraged many theories. These have ranged from references to the Children’s Crusade, or other religious fervours, to the devastation caused by the Black Death, from the colonisation of Romania by young German migrants to a murderous rampage by a paedophile. Fictional interpretations of the story have multiplied, with the classic versions of the Brothers Grimm and Robert Browning being most widely known, but with contemporary creators exploring the theme too. This includes interpretations in Hamelin itself. On 26 June 2015, in Hamelin Museum, I watched a wordless five-minute play, entirely performed not by humans but by animatronic stylised figures built out of scrap iron, against a montage of multilingual, confused voices and eerie music, with the vanished children represented by a long line of small empty shirts floating by. The uncanny, liminal nature of the story was perfectly captured. Australia is a world away from German fairy tale mysteries, historically, geographically, and culturally. Yet, as Lisa M. Fiander has persuasively argued, contemporary Australian fiction has been more influenced by fairy tales than might be assumed, and in this essay it is proposed that major motifs from the Pied Piper appear in several Australian novels, transformed not only by distance of setting and time from that of the original narrative, but also by elements specific to the Australian imaginative space. These motifs are lost children, the enigmatic figure of the Piper himself, and the power of a very particular place (as Hamelin and its Koppen Hill are particularised in the original tale). Three major Australian novels will be examined in this essay: Joan Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1967), Christopher Koch’s The Doubleman (1985), and Ursula Dubosarsky’s The Golden Day (2011). Dubosarsky’s novel was written for children; both Koch’s and Lindsay’s novels were published as adult fiction. In each of these works of fiction, the original tale’s motifs have been developed and transformed to express unique evocations of the Pied Piper theme. As noted by Fiander, fiction writers are “most likely to draw upon fairy tales when they are framing, in writing, a subject that generates anxiety in their culture” (158). Her analysis is about anxieties of place within Australian fiction, but this insight could be usefully extended to the motifs which I have identified as inherent in the Pied Piper story. Prominent among these is the lost children motif, whose importance in the Australian imagination has been well-established by scholars such as Peter Pierce. Pierce’s The Country of Lost Children: An Australian Anxiety explores this preoccupation from the earliest beginnings of European settlement, through analysis of fiction, newspaper reports, paintings, and films. As Pierce observed in a later interview in the Sydney Morning Herald (Knox), over time the focus changed from rural children and the nineteenth-century fear of the vast impersonal nature of the bush, where children of colonists could easily get lost, to urban children and the contemporary fear of human predators.In each of the three novels under examination in this essay, lost children—whether literal or metaphorical—feature prominently. Writer Carmel Bird, whose fiction has also frequently centred on the theme of the lost child, observes in “Dreaming the Place” that the lost child, the stolen child – this must be a narrative that is lodged in the heart and imagination, nightmare and dream, of all human beings. In Australia the nightmare became reality. The child is the future, and if the child goes, there can be no future. The true stories and the folk tales on this theme are mirror images of each other. (7) The motif of lost children—and of children in danger—is not unique to the Pied Piper. Other fairy tales, such as Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood, contain it, and it is those antecedents which Bird cites in her essay. But within the Pied Piper story it has three features which distinguish it from other traditional tales. First, unlike in the classic versions of Hansel and Gretel or Red Riding Hood, the children do not return. Neither are there bodies to find. The children have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. Second, it is not only parents who have lost them, but an entire community whose future has been snatched away: a community once safe, ordered, even complacent, traumatised by loss. The lack of hope, of a happy ending for anyone, is striking. And thirdly, the children are not lost or abandoned or even, strictly speaking, stolen: they are lured away, semi-willingly, by the central yet curiously marginal figure of the Piper himself. In the original story there is no mention of motive and no indication of malice on the part of the Piper. There is only his inexplicable presence, a figure out of fairy folklore appearing in the midst of concrete historical dates and numbers. Clearly, he links to the liminal, complex world of the fairies, found in folklore around the world—beings from a world close to the human one, yet alien. Whimsical and unpredictable by human standards, such beings are nevertheless bound by mysteriously arbitrary rules and taboos, and haunt the borders of the human world, disturbing its rational edges and transforming lives forever. It is this sense of disturbance, that enchanting yet frightening sudden shifting of the border of reality and of the comforting order of things, the essence of transformation itself, which can also be seen at the core of the three novels under examination in this essay, with the Piper represented in each of them but in different ways. The third motif within the Pied Piper is a focus on place as a source of uncanny power, a theme which particularly resonates within an Australian context. Fiander argues that if contemporary British fiction writers use fairy tale to explore questions of community and alienation, and Canadian fiction writers use it to explore questions of identity, then Australian writers use it to explore the unease of place. She writes of the enduring legacy of Australia’s history “as a settler colony which invests the landscape with strangeness for many protagonists” (157). Furthermore, she suggests that “when Australian fiction writers, using fairy tales, describe the landscape as divorced from reality, they might be signalling anxiety about their own connection with the land which had already seen tens of thousands of years of occupation when Captain James Cook ‘found’ it in 1770” (160). I would argue, however, that in the case of the Pied Piper motifs, it is less clear that it is solely settler anxieties which are driving the depiction of the power of place in these three novels. There is no divorce from reality here, but rather an eruption of the metaphysical potency of place within the usual, “normal” order of reality. This follows the pattern of the original tale, where the Piper and all the children, except for one or two stragglers, disappear at Koppen Hill, vanishing literally into the hill itself. In traditional European folklore, hollow hills are associated with fairies and their uncanny power, but other places, especially those of water—springs, streams, even the sea—may also be associated with their liminal world (in the original tale, the River Weser is another important locus for power). In Joan Lindsay’s Picnic at Hanging Rock, it is another outcrop in the landscape which holds that power and claims the “lost children.” Inspired partly by a painting by nineteenth-century Australian artist William Ford, titled At the Hanging Rock (1875), depicting a group of elegant people picnicking in the bush, this influential novel, which inspired an equally successful film adaptation, revolves around an incident in 1900 when four girls from Appleyard College, an exclusive school in Victoria, disappear with one of their teachers whilst climbing Hanging Rock, where they have gone for a picnic. Only one of their number, a girl called Irma, is ever found, and she has no memory of how and why she found herself on the Rock, and what has happened to the others. This inexplicable event is the precursor to a string of tragedies which leads to the violent deaths of several people, and which transforms the sleepy and apparently content little community around Appleyard College into a centre of loss, horror, and scandal.Told in a way which makes it appear that the novelist is merely recounting a true story—Lindsay even tells readers in an author’s note that they must decide for themselves if it is fact or fiction—Picnic at Hanging Rock shares the disturbingly liminal fact-fiction territory of the Piper tale. Many readers did in fact believe that the novel was based on historical events and combed newspaper files, attempting to propound ingenious “rational” explanations for what happened on the Rock. Picnic at Hanging Rock has been the subject of many studies, with the novel being analysed through various prisms, including the Gothic, the pastoral, historiography, and philosophy. In “Fear and Loathing in the Australian Bush,” Kathleen Steele has depicted Picnic at Hanging Rock as embodying the idea that “Ordered ‘civilisation’ cannot overcome the gothic landscapes of settler imaginations: landscapes where time and people disappear” (44). She proposes that Lindsay intimates that the landscape swallows the “lost children” of the novel because there is a great absence in that place: that of Aboriginal people. In this reading of the novel, it is that absence which becomes, in a sense, a malevolent presence that will reach out beyond the initial disappearance of the three people on the Rock to destroy the bonds that held the settler community together. It is a powerfully-made argument, which has been taken up by other scholars and writers, including studies which link the theme of the novel with real-life lost-children cases such as that of Azaria Chamberlain, who disappeared near another “Rock” of great Indigenous metaphysical potency—Uluru, or Ayers Rock. However, to date there has been little exploration of the fairy tale quality of the novel, and none at all of the striking ways in which it evokes Pied Piper motifs, whilst transforming them to suit the exigencies of its particular narrative world. The motif of lost children disappearing from an ordered, safe, even complacent community into a place of mysterious power is extended into an exploration of the continued effects of those disappearances, depicting the disastrous impact on those left behind and the wider community in a way that the original tale does not. There is no literal Pied Piper figure in this novel, though various theories are evoked by characters as to who might have lured the girls and their teacher, and who might be responsible for the disappearances. Instead, there is a powerful atmosphere of inevitability and enchantment within the landscape itself which both illustrates the potency of place, and exemplifies the Piper’s hold on his followers. In Picnic at Hanging Rock, place and Piper are synonymous: the Piper has been transformed into the land itself. Yet this is not the “vast impersonal bush,” nor is it malevolent or vengeful. It is a living, seductive metaphysical presence: “Everything, if only you could see it clearly enough, is beautiful and complete . . .” (Lindsay 35). Just as in the original tale, the lost children follow the “Piper” willingly, without regret. Their disappearance is a happiness to them, in that moment, as it is for the lost children of Hamelin, and quite unlike how it must be for those torn apart by that loss—the community around Appleyard, the townspeople of Hamelin. Music, long associated with fairy “takings,” is also a subtle feature of the story. In the novel, just before the luring, Irma hears a sound like the beating of far-off drums. In the film, which more overtly evokes fairy tale elements than does the novel, it is noteworthy that the music at that point is based on traditional tunes for Pan-pipes, played by the great Romanian piper Gheorge Zamfir. The ending of the novel, with questions left unanswered, and lives blighted by the forever-inexplicable, may be seen as also following the trajectory of the original tale. Readers as much as the fictional characters are left with an enigma that continues to perplex and inspire. Picnic at Hanging Rock was one of the inspirations for another significant Australian fiction, this time a contemporary novel for children. Ursula Dubosarsky’s The Golden Day (2011) is an elegant and subtle short novel, set in Sydney at an exclusive girls’ school, in 1967. Like the earlier novel, The Golden Day is also partly inspired by visual art, in this case the Schoolgirl series of paintings by Charles Blackman. Combining a fairy tale atmosphere with historical details—the Vietnam War, the hanging of Ronald Ryan, the drowning of Harold Holt—the story is told through the eyes of several girls, especially one, known as Cubby. The Golden Day echoes the core narrative patterns of the earlier novel, but intriguingly transformed: a group of young girls goes with their teacher on an outing to a mysterious place (in this case, a cave on the beach—note the potent elements of rock and water, combined), and something inexplicable happens which results in a disappearance. Only this time, the girls are much younger than the characters of Lindsay’s novel, pre-pubertal in fact at eleven years old, and it is their teacher, a young, idealistic woman known only as Miss Renshaw, who disappears, apparently into thin air, with only an amber bead from her necklace ever found. But it is not only Miss Renshaw who vanishes: the other is a poet and gardener named Morgan who is also Miss Renshaw’s secret lover. Later, with the revelation of a dark past, he is suspected in absentia of being responsible for Miss Renshaw’s vanishment, with implications of rape and murder, though her body is never found. Morgan, who could partly figure as the Piper, is described early on in the novel as having “beautiful eyes, soft, brown, wet with tears, like a stuffed toy” (Dubosarsky 11). This disarming image may seem a world away from the ambiguously disturbing figure of the legendary Piper, yet not only does it fit with the children’s naïve perception of the world, it also echoes the fact that the children in the original story were not afraid of the Piper, but followed him willingly. However, that is complicated by the fact that Morgan does not lure the children; it is Miss Renshaw who follows him—and the children follow her, who could be seen as the other half of the Piper. The Golden Day similarly transforms the other Piper motifs in its own original way. The children are only literally lost for a short time, when their teacher vanishes and they are left to make their own way back from the cave; yet it could be argued that metaphorically, the girls are “lost” to childhood from that moment, in terms of never being able to go back to the state of innocence in which they were before that day. Their safe, ordered school community will never be the same again, haunted by the inexplicability of the events of that day. Meanwhile, the exploration of Australian place—the depiction of the Memorial Gardens where Miss Renshaw enjoins them to write poetry, the uncomfortable descent over rocks to the beach, and the fateful cave—is made through the eyes of children, not the adolescents and adults of Picnic at Hanging Rock. The girls are not yet in that liminal space which is adolescence and so their impressions of what the places represent are immediate, instinctive, yet confused. They don’t like the cave and can’t wait to get out of it, whereas the beach inspires them with a sense of freedom and the gardens with a sense of enchantment. But in each place, those feelings are mixed both with ordinary concerns and with seemingly random associations that are nevertheless potently evocative. For example, in the cave, Cubby senses a threateningly weightless atmosphere, a feeling of reality shifting, which she associates, apparently confusedly, with the hanging of Ronald Ryan, reported that very day. In this way, Dubosarsky subtly gestures towards the sinister inevitability of the following events, and creates a growing tension that will eventually fade but never fully dissipate. At the end, the novel takes an unexpected turn which is as destabilising as the ending of the Pied Piper story, and as open-ended in its transformative effects as the original tale: “And at that moment Cubby realised she was not going to turn into the person she had thought she would become. There was something inside her head now that would make her a different person, though she scarcely understood what it was” (Dubosarsky 148). The eruption of the uncanny into ordinary life will never leave her now, as it will never leave the other girls who followed Miss Renshaw and Morgan into the literally hollow hill of the cave and emerged alone into a transformed world. It isn’t just childhood that Cubby has lost but also any possibility of a comforting sense of the firm borders of reality. As in the Pied Piper, ambiguity and loss combine to create questions which cannot be logically answered, only dimly apprehended.Christopher Koch’s 1985 novel The Doubleman, winner of the Miles Franklin Award, also explores the power of place and the motif of lost children, but unlike the other two novels examined in this essay depicts an actual “incarnated” Piper motif in the mysteriously powerful figure of Clive Broderick, brilliant guitarist and charismatic teacher/guru, whose office, significantly, is situated in a subterranean space of knowledge—a basement room beneath a bookshop. Both central yet peripheral to the main action of the novel, touched with hints of the supernatural which never veer into overt fantasy, Broderick remains an enigma to the end. Set, like The Golden Day, in the 1960s, The Doubleman is narrated in the first person by Richard Miller, in adulthood a producer of a successful folk-rock group, the Rymers, but in childhood an imaginative, troubled polio survivor, with a crutch and a limp. It is noteworthy here that in the Grimms’ version of the Pied Piper, two children are left behind, despite following the Piper: one is blind, one is lame. And it is the lame boy who tells the townspeople what he glimpsed at Koppen Hill. In creating the character of Broderick, the author blends the traditional tropes of the Piper figure with Mephistophelian overtones and a strong influence from fairy lore, specifically the idea of the “doubleman,” here drawn from the writings of seventeenth-century Scottish pastor, the Reverend Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle. Kirk’s 1691 book The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies is the earliest known serious attempt at objective description of the fairy beliefs of Gaelic-speaking Highlanders. His own precisely dated life-story and ambiguous end—it is said he did not die but is forever a prisoner of the fairies—has eerie parallels to the Piper story. “And there is the uncanny, powerful and ambiguous fact of the matter. Here is a man, named, born, lived, who lived a fairy story, really lived it: and in the popular imagination, he lives still” (Masson).Both in his creative and his non-fiction work Koch frequently evoked what he called “the Otherland,” which he depicted as a liminal, ambiguous, destabilising but nevertheless very real and potent presence only thinly veiled by the everyday world. This Otherland is not the same in all his fictions, but is always part of an actual place, whether that be Java in The Year of Living Dangerously, Hobart and Sydney in The Doubleman, Tasmania, Vietnam and Cambodia in Highways to a War, and Ireland and Tasmania in Out of Ireland. It is this sense of the “Otherland” below the surface, a fairy tale, mythical realm beyond logic or explanation, which gives his work its distinctive and particular power. And in The Doubleman, this motif, set within a vividly evoked real world, complete with precise period detail, transforms the Piper figure into one which could easily appear in a Hobart lane, yet which loses none of its uncanny potency. As Noel Henricksen writes in his study of Koch’s work, Island and Otherland, “Behind the membrane of Hobart is Otherland, its manifestations a spectrum stretched between the mystical and the spiritually perverted” (213).This is Broderick’s first appearance, described through twelve-year-old Richard Miller’s eyes: Tall and thin in his long dark overcoat, he studied me for the whole way as he approached, his face absolutely serious . . . The man made me uneasy to a degree for which there seemed to be no explanation . . . I was troubled by the notion that he was no ordinary man going to work at all: that he was not like other people, and that his interest couldn’t be explained so simply. (Koch, Doubleman 3)That first encounter is followed by another, more disturbing still, when Broderick speaks to the boy, eyes fixed on him: “. . . hooded by drooping lids, they were entirely without sympathy, yet nevertheless interested, and formidably intelligent” (5).The sense of danger that Broderick evokes in the boy could be explained by a sinister hint of paedophilia. But though Broderick is a predator of sorts on young people, nothing is what it seems; no rational explanation encompasses the strange effect of his presence. It is not until Richard is a young man, in the company of his musical friend Brian Brady, that he comes across Broderick again. The two young men are looking in the window of a music shop, when Broderick appears beside them, and as Richard observes, just as in a fairy tale, “He didn’t seem to have changed or aged . . .” (44). But the shock of his sudden re-appearance is mixed with something else now, as Broderick engages Brady in conversation, ignoring Richard, “. . . as though I had failed some test, all that time ago, and the man had no further use for me” (45).What happens next, as Broderick demonstrates his musical prowess, becomes Brady’s teacher, and introduces them to his disciple, young bass player Darcy Burr, will change the young men’s lives forever and set them on a path that leads both to great success and to living nightmare, even after Broderick’s apparent disappearance, for Burr will take on the Piper’s mantle. Koch’s depiction of the lost children motif is distinctively different to the other two novels examined in this essay. Their fate is not so much a mystery as a tragedy and a warning. The lost children of The Doubleman are also lost children of the sixties, bright, talented young people drawn through drugs, immersive music, and half-baked mysticism into darkness and horrifying violence. In his essay “California Dreaming,” published in the collection Crossing the Gap, Koch wrote about this subterranean aspect of the sixties, drawing a connection between it and such real-life sinister “Pipers” as Charles Manson (60). Broderick and Burr are not the same as the serial killer Manson, of course; but the spell they cast over the “lost children” who follow them is only different in degree, not in kind. In the end of the novel, the spell is broken and the world is again transformed. Yet fittingly it is a melancholy transformation: an end of childhood dreams of imaginative potential, as well as dangerous illusions: “And I knew now that it was all gone—like Harrigan Street, and Broderick, and the district of Second-Hand” (Koch, Doubleman 357). The power of place, the last of the Piper motifs, is also deeply embedded in The Doubleman. In fact, as with the idea of Otherland, place—or Island, as Henricksen evocatively puts it—is a recurring theme in Koch’s work. He identified primarily and specifically as a Tasmanian writer rather than as simply Australian, pointing out in an essay, “The Lost Hemisphere,” that because of its landscape and latitude, different to the mainland of Australia, Tasmania “genuinely belongs to a different region from the continent” (Crossing the Gap 92). In The Doubleman, Richard Miller imbues his familiar and deeply loved home landscape with great mystical power, a power which is both inherent within it as it is, but also expressive of the Otherland. In “A Tasmanian Tone,” another essay from Crossing the Gap, Koch describes that tone as springing “from a sense of waiting in the landscape: the tense yet serene expectancy of some nameless revelation” (118). But Koch could also write evocatively of landscapes other than Tasmanian ones. The unnerving climax of The Doubleman takes place in Sydney—significantly, as in The Golden Day, in a liminal, metaphysically charged place of rocks and water. That place, which is real, is called Point Piper. In conclusion, the original tale’s three main motifs—lost children, the enigma of the Piper, and the power of place—have been explored in distinctive ways in each of the three novels examined in this article. Contemporary Australia may be a world away from medieval Germany, but the uncanny liminality and capacious ambiguity of the Pied Piper tale has made it resonate potently within these major Australian fictions. Transformed and transformative within the Australian imagination, the theme of the Pied Piper threads like a faintly-heard snatch of unearthly music through the apparently mimetic realism of the novels, destabilising readers’ expectations and leaving them with subversively unanswered questions. ReferencesBird, Carmel. “Dreaming the Place: An Exploration of Antipodean Narratives.” Griffith Review 42 (2013). 1 May 2016 <https://griffithreview.com/articles/dreaming-the-place/>.Dubosarsky, Ursula. The Golden Day. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2011.Fiander, Lisa M. “Writing in A Fairy Story Landscape: Fairy Tales and Contemporary Australian Fiction.” Journal of the Association for the Study of Australian Literature 2 (2003). 30 April 2016 <http://openjournals.library.usyd.edu.au/index.php/JASAL/index>.Henricksen, Noel. Island and Otherland: Christopher Koch and His Books. Melbourne: Educare, 2003.Knox, Malcolm. “A Country of Lost Children.” Sydney Morning Herald 15 Aug. 2009. 1 May 2016 <http://www.smh.com.au/national/a-country-of-lost-children-20090814-el8d.html>.Koch, Christopher. The Doubleman. 1985. Sydney: Minerva, 1996.Koch, Christopher. Crossing the Gap: Memories and Reflections. 1987. Sydney: Vintage, 2000. Lindsay, Joan. Picnic at Hanging Rock. 1967. Melbourne: Penguin, 1977.Masson, Sophie. “Captive in Fairyland: The Strange Case of Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle.” Nation and Federation in the Celtic World: Papers from the Fourth Australian Conference of Celtic Studies, University of Sydney, June–July 2001. Ed. Pamela O’Neil. Sydney: University of Sydney Celtic Studies Foundation, 2003. Mieder, Wolfgang. “The Pied Piper: Origin, History, and Survival of a Legend.” Tradition and Innovation in Folk Literature. 1987. London: Routledge Revivals, 2015.Pierce, Peter. The Country of Lost Children: An Australian Anxiety. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999.Steele, Kathleen. “Fear and Loathing in the Australian Bush: Gothic Landscapes in Bush Studies and Picnic at Hanging Rock.” Colloquy 20 (2010): 33–56. 27 July 2016 <http://artsonline.monash.edu.au/wp-content/arts/files/colloquy/colloquy_issue_20_december_2010/steele.pdf>.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment… (Eliot 204) Questions of just what home might mean emerged with unfortunate biting salience during the writing of this article with the vicious attack of a student knocked to the ground by the force of a broken bottle and then kicked mercilessly in the head. If not for the ministrations of a bystander, there would have been one less person on the planet. Such disruptive and distressing incidents shake up our world – not only for the person who experiences the original event but also for those who find themselves as witnesses. Using the given incident as an exemplar, the following paper explores the concept of home in the context of ruptures and breaks for people who inhabit a blended world of the digital and the physical. To focus investigations, the Winnicottian concept of the holding environment provides a novel way of understanding home as a seamless domain of continuity which, in this instance is the worldspace spans the physico-digital divide. Sitting writing a paper about ‘home’ and the manner in which the virtual and the physical worlds are blending, I glanced up and was shocked. It is very easy to sit within the warmth and comfort of academe, especially if you have a nice toasty office in the midst of winter and to postulate about what home might be. Theories and concepts, heater, pc and comfy chair support feelings of being at home, of feeling like you have a place in the world, that you have an academic home, you have a conceptual home and, …just wait a minute… back shortly… just answering an email… and a virtual home, in which you can interact and exist in wholly other ways. The other day, however, I abandoned writing the earlier paper with the disorienting experience of seeing a student at my door, a person who tumbled in amidst a mass of scrambled sentences, bandaged bleeding hands, and a bruised head-kicked face. An overseas student who should have been knocking on my door to tell me that ‘Hey, I’ve finished my exams’ instead arrived to ask for my advice: ‘Someone attacked me the other night and I don’t know what to do.’ Home, at least the home about which I wrote before the shock of meeting a traumatised student, was a concept and reality that had transformed markedly over the last quarter of the twentieth century. It was a concept that in its shifts revealed a parallel between the setting up of share housing and the emergence of virtual/physical world blending. Home, as I construed it was about the move, by people aged up to thirties, who were frequently moving from family homes towards blended environments in which share housing became specific non-related familial space (McNamara & Connell), a space/place replicated by social networking in the domain of the digital. There it was. Leaning on the work of theorists such as Miriam Meyerhoff in relation to communities of practice in a linguistic sense, to the earlier work of Lesley Milroy in relation to social networks, I was set to make an argument that the textual world of the internet and other digital domains was developing in a manner that replicated linguistic – specifically spoken – communities of practice based on speech patterns. Buoyed by the recent discovery of the more recent writing of Line Dubé, Anne Bourhis and Réal Jacob in relation to virtual communities of practice, I was certain that my propositions regarding textual practices had something to offer to the current edition of this journal. Further, my argument would proceed in such a way as to infer that the textual base played out in digital media was advancing into the domain of speech in the physical world to the extent that it was possible to determine who had an active digital life – especially in relation to domains on the net – merely by their vocabulary and their sentence construction. My proposition was that the digital domain had not only blended with the virtual in the manner that Dubé, Bourhis and Jacob suggested, but that textual communication was now a home base for the development of the English language for a broad section of the general populace in English speaking countries. The sudden jar of a physical world shock shook loose the comfortable home of text and theory and challenged what I wrote. What was home for the young student who stood before me? We had spoken of ‘home’ before, of making home in a new country, of how your housemates become your family to a certain extent, of how internet and mobile phones made it easier, how home was really with you wherever you went BUT, with the disaster that was an assault, some of that rhetoric resonated as hollow – rhetoric without substance, cold comfort, no comfort. In this situation, home is a concept tested. Perhaps only in such a context can the boundaries and meanings of home come to the fore. It is to that issue that I will address this version of the paper and for that purpose, I will advance the argument that although there may well be a modified version of home developing for a specific generation or cohort of people, that there remains a need for anchoring in the various domains of engagement. To that end, I will use the theory of psychoanalytic theorist D.W. Winnicott who constructed the concept of the holding environment (Winnicott ‘From Dependence;’ and Seinfeld). This article therefore takes its new springing point from hereon in and starts with a brief exploration of the holding environment by its originating author, reconstructs this as a contextually relevant concept, and then talks into some of the original propositions using the given incident for illustrative purposes. The holding environment as construed by D.W. Winnicott is, under optimal conditions, the first environment that an infant experiences, the warm and caring one provided by a primary caregiver who, for this article will be known as the m/other (“The Concept of the Healthy Individual” 27-28). Within this environment of literal and metaphoric holding, the infant knows nothing other than an all-encompassing domain which includes physical and psychological care, the anticipation and provision of needs, and a titrated introduction to the world of things and people (“From Dependence” 86). From the perspective of the infant and within this circle of holding, the world belongs to the infant and is composed largely of the m/other. Only when there is a break in the continuity of care does the infant notice/perceive a world that is anything other than seamless with her/his own existence. In Winnicott’s schema, if a holding environment operates in an optimal manner, it largely remains invisible (Winnicott, “From Dependence” 86; Winnicott, “The Theory of the Parent-Infant Relationship” 52; Ogden 200). This manner of experiencing the world changes with the developing person so that in adulthood, we experience a range of environments that attend to our various needs, if we are fortunate enough. For example, your office supports your work to a greater or lesser extent and perhaps your partner supports you in a psychological sense, and your personal trainer supports your physical training needs. Other instances of support and holding could include the glasses that support your sight and the car that supports your proclivity for drives in the country and a particular lifestyle. There are therefore, many things, people, institutions, and even phenomena such as birthday celebrations that support different aspects of who we are – our being – and different aspects of our activities – our doing. This mirrors theories developed within the context of sociolinguistics in which authors parallel what people are with social networks and what people do, with communities of practice (Moore 22). In the context of Winnicott and linguistic theory, without those supports, our lives would be different and for many of us, would be diminished. The supports I describe are those I construe as holding environments and I believe that by considering a holding environment as a form of ‘home’ that we can reveal a specific way of understanding not only what a home might be, but also the manner in which it operates when people perceive it to be under threat. In the context of the digital domain, there are many media such as email, chat rooms, twitter, real time chat in a range of venues and digital social networks and virtual worlds that support different aspects of our identities, of things that we want to do, of contacts we make and maintain, and of communication for fun and for business. My initial proposition included the concept that various language forms operate to support and construct our identities and that what digital media provided were various venues for the operation of differing but overlapping holding environments in a textual sense. What do these elements, or those like them mean in the situation in which the student found himself? What does it mean and why was it that despite some time in between, that his primary quest was to seek out a person in the physical domain rather than finding solace online when, as I understood, he spent a great deal of time in digital communication? I believe that although there is a blending of domains – the digital and analogue – that when a holding environment of either variety breaks, fractures or at least reveals cracks, that it is likely that a person will seek redress in both modes and in so doing, will reaffirm what is a vital element for the healthy existence of every person – the maintenance of a sense of home – be that on or offline. Despite the seeking for redress in the mode in which the break occurred, the parallel search for social sanction and acknowledgement in the alternative domain may be just as significant for a slightly different reason. When Winnicott writes about ruptures and breaks, it is about those impingements that destroy continuity (“The Fear of Breakdown” 93) – the break in going on being. In the current context in which a person or community inhabits both the online and offline realms, part of their continuity of being, their worldspace (Hardey 2) is the seamlessness between the domains. It is therefore necessary to bring the sense of rupture/failure that occurs in one domain, across into the other to maintain the meta- holding environment or home. Home is that space where ‘you speak my language,’ whether on or offline, the holding environment is one that adapts to you, that understands your speech/text and responds in a manner predictable and in your own genre under optimal conditions, home meets you where you are and, importantly, is a space and place that when it ruptures, mends in such a way as to your restore your faith in its capacity to perform as a holding environment (“Transitional Objects” 10-11). Winnicott writes that only with an environment that was not perfect, (only with an environment that failed occasionally in a minor way), is it possible for a person to sense that there was a holding environment at all. Further, rather than a person construing this failing as a marker of lack of dependability, that the small failure revealed the significance and value of its effective functioning for most of the time. Additionally, a minor break revealed that the holding environment/home held the potential to respond to some unanticipated and distressing break by supporting the person experiencing it. By operating in this manner, there is now an imaginal space of holding/home. In a sense, this mirrors what other authors such as Thomas Lindif and Milton Shatzer write about when they describe social presence in relation to the manner in which an online arena supports or is perceived to support activities such as communication between peers. One of the most noted and public manifestations of the phenomenon of a failed holding environment becoming mended and therefore stronger was that experienced in several places in relation to terrorist attacks such as that of 2001 in the USA. In relation to the attacks on the twin towers in New York, the people of that city experienced a shattering of the integrity of their holding environment/ their home. However, they also noted – as reported across a range of media (for example: Gamble 1.iii; Grider), a huge outpouring of compassion and caring by their fellow New Yorkers thereby experiencing a certain mending and elevating of the significance of their home city holding environment (Gamble 2.vi). In the context of the aforementioned student being attacked, the break also occurred in the physical domain. Although he sought some form of reassurance online could provide some solace. However, it would leave him with the experience that the physical environment was no longer homelike, that it had failed as a holding environment. That is, home in the physical realm was, for a time, failing to support him. To effect a mending in the physical domain, it was therefore important that he seek out solutions that equally involved the physical world of people – mirroring the break – the assault by a person. What occurred when he visited my office was that he received a physical world hearing and witness to his injuries and then with the aid of colleagues, he received further care, advice and support. One of the consequences of such an experience is that although the possibility of assault is now imaginable, because it has been experienced; there is also the knowledge that assistance is at hand – a situation that may not have been known or predicted before. In some manner therefore, with other imagined ghastly events, there is now an expectation of potential assistance. That imaginal knowing therefore now forms part of his holding environment in his physical world, that form of home that ensures ontological security as mentioned by McNamara and Connell (82). Outrage over incidents in Second Life and in other domains such as myspace predominantly play out in those arenas but, like the assault of the student, also get played out in other arenas, including mainstream media. For example, an attack on the virtual headquarters of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation on Second Life attracted attention in newspapers and other mainstream media (Hutcheon). It seems therefore that not only is it necessary to mend the breaks in a sense within the medium in which the original break occurred but also to reassert the blended domain of the digital and the analogue and the capacity of each to form part of the meta holding environment that exists in contemporary society. There is yet to develop a discourse that links the digital and the physical worlds as constituents of a worldspace (Hardey 2), that can be viewed as a meta- holding environment/home. However, even with the few examples proffered here, it seems apparent that by investigating breaks and ruptures in the lives of people who maintain a life world that spans the digital/physical divide that it might be possible to understand the apparent merging of the two. Further, it may lead to significant observations about the newly emerging worldspace as a holding environment /home in a novel way with leads for the assisting people across the divides that may otherwise have not been considered. The implications for maintaining the seamlessness and continuity of home/holding environment in the instance of natural or person-effected disasters in either domain is the demand for an appropriate response in both. Although this already occurs, it is in an ad hoc manner without a consideration of the significance of mending ruptures and re-enlivening both domains for a sense of ontological security of the worldspace – that is at its very heart, a sense of home. References Dubé, L., A. Bourhis, and R. Jacob. “Towards a Typology of Virtual Communities of Practice.” Interdisciplinary Journal of Information, Knowledge, and Management 1 (2006): 69-93. Eliot, T. S. “East Coker V.” Collected Poems 1909-26. London: Faber, 1974. 202-204. Gamble, Jennifer M. The Aesthetics of Mourning & the Anaesthetics of Trauma: Transformation through Memorial Space. Ph.D. thesis. The University of Sydney, 2006. Grider, Sylvia. “Spontaneous Shrines: A Modern Response to Tragedy and Disaster (Preliminary Observations Regarding the Spontaneous Shrines Following the Terrorist Attacks of September 11, 2001)”. New Directions in Folklore 5 Oct. 2001: 1-10. 1 Dec. 2002 http://www.temple.edu/isllc/newfolk/shrines.html>. Hardey, Mariann. “Going Live: Converging Mobile Technology and the Sociability of the iGeneration.” M/C Journal 10.1 (2007). 2 July 2007 http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0703/09-hardey.php>. Hutcheon, Stephen. “Vandals ‘Bomb’ ABC Island.” Sydney Morning Herald 22 May 2007. 23 May. 2007 http://www.smh.com.au/news/web/vandals-bomb-abc-island/2007/05/22/1179601400256.html>. Lindlif, Thomas R., and Milton J. Shatzer. “Media Ethnography in Virtual Space: Strategies, Limits, and Possibilities.” Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media 42.2 (1998): 170(20). McNamara, Sophie, and John Connell. “Homeward Bound? Searching for Home in Inner Sydney’s Share Houses.” Australian Geographer 38.1 (2007): 71-91. Meyerhoff, Miriam. “Communities of Practice.” Handbook of Language Variation and Change. Eds. J.K. Chambers, Natalie Schilling-Estes and Peter Trudgill. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 2002. 526-548. Milroy, J., and L. Milroy. “Linguistic Change, Social Network and Speaker Innovation.” Journal of Linguistics 21.2 (1985): 229-284. Moore, Emma. Learning Style and Identity: A Sociolinguistic Analysis of a Bolton High School. Unpublished PhD dissertation. Manchester, UK: University of Manchester (2003). Ogden, Thomas H. The Matrix of the Mind: Object Relations and the Psychoanalytic Dialogue. London: Maresfield Library, 1990. Seinfeld, Jeffrey. “Donald Winnicott and the Holding Relationship.” Interpreting and Holding: The Paternal and Maternal Functions of the Psychotherapist. Northvale, New Jersey & London: Jason Aronson, 1993. 101-121. Winnicott, Donald Woods. “The Concept of a Healthy Individual.” D.W. Winnicott: Home Is Where We Start From: Essays by a Psychoanalyst. Eds. Clare Winnicott, Ray Shepherd, and Madeleine Davis. New York: Penguin, 1975 (A talk given to the Royal Medico-Psychological Association, Psychotherapy and Social Psychiatry Section, 8 March 1967). 21-39. ———. “The Fear of Breakdown.” D. W. Winnicott: Psycho-Analytic Explorations. Eds. Clare Winnicott, Ray Shepherd and Madeleine Davis. Vol. 1. London: Karnac Books, 1989 (paper originally written c. 1963). 87-96. ———. “From Dependence towards Independence in the Development of the Individual.” The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment. London: Karnac Books, 2002 (Paper first presented in 1963). 83-92. ———. “The Theory of the Parent-Infant Relationship.” The Maturational Processes and the Facilitating Environment. London: Karnac Books, 2002 (Paper first presented in 1960). 37-55. ———. “Transitional Objects and Transitional Phenomena.” Playing and Reality. London: Brunner-Routledge, 1971/2001. 1-30. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gamble, Jennifer M. "Holding Environment as Home: Maintaining a Seamless Blend across the Virtual/Physical Divide." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/11-gamble.php>. APA Style Gamble, J. (Aug. 2007) "Holding Environment as Home: Maintaining a Seamless Blend across the Virtual/Physical Divide," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/11-gamble.php>.

It’s a portrait of grief, to be sure, but it puts grief in the air, as a cultural atmospheric, without giving us anything to mourn.—— Tom Junod, “The Man Who Invented 9/11”The nearly decade-long attempt by families of 9/11 victims to reclaim the remains of their relatives involves rhetorics of bodilessness, waste, and virtuality that offer startling illustrations of what might be termed “the poetics of grief.” After combining as the WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. in 2002, the families sued the city of New York in 2005. They lost and the case has been under appeal since 2008. WTC Families is asking for nearly one million tons of material to be moved from the Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island in order to sift it for human remains. These remains will then be reclaimed and interred: Proper Burial. But the matter is far less definitive. When a judge hearing the appeal asked how one would prove someone’s identity, the city’s lawyer replied, “You have to be able to particularise and say it’s your body. All that’s left here is a bunch of undifferentiated dust.” The reply “elicited gasps and muttered ‘no’s’ from a crowd whose members wore laminated photos of deceased victims” (Hughes). These laminated displays are an attempt by WTC Families to counteract the notion of the victims as “undifferentiated dust”; the protected, hermetic images are testimony to painful uncertainty, an (always) outmoded relic of the evidentiary self.In the face of such uncertainty, it was not only court audiences who waited for a particular response to the terrorist attacks. Adam Hirsch, reviewer for the New York Sun, claimed that “the writer whose September 11 novel seemed most necessary was Don DeLillo. Mr. DeLillo, more than any other novelist, has always worked at the intersection of public terror and private fear.” DeLillo’s prescience regarding the centrality of terrorism in American culture was noted by many critics in the aftermath of the attack on the World Trade Centre. The novelist even penned an essay for Harper’s in which he reflected on the role of the novelist in the new cultural landscape of the post-9/11 world. In an online book club exchange for Slate, Meghan O’Rourke says, “DeLillo seemed eerily primed to write a novel about the events of September 11. … Rereading some of his earlier books, including the terrorism-riddled Mao II, I wondered, half-seriously, if Mohamed Atta and crew had been studying DeLillo.” If there was any writer who might have been said to have seen it coming it was DeLillo. The World Trade Center had figured in his novels before the 9/11 attacks. The twin towers are a primary landmark in Underworld, gracing the cover of the novel in ghostly black and white. In Players (1977), a Wall Street worker becomes involved in a terrorist plot to bomb the New York Stock exchange and his wife works in the WTC for the “Grief Management Council”—“Where else would you stack all this grief?” (18).ClassificationsAs the WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. trial demonstrates, the reality of the terrorist attacks of September 11 offered an altogether more macabre and less poetic reality than DeLillo’s fiction had depicted. The Fresh Kills landfill serves in Underworld as a metaphor for the accumulated history of Cold War America in the last half-century. Taking in the “man-made mountain,” waste management executive Brian Glassic thinks, “It was science fiction and prehistory”; seeing the World Trade Center in the distance, “he sensed a poetic balance between that idea and this one” (Underworld 184). But the poetic balance DeLillo explores in the 1997 novel has been sundered by the obliteration of the twin towers. Fresh Kills and the WTC are now united by a disquieting grief. The landfill, which closed in 2001, was forced to reopen when the towers collapsed to receive their waste. Fresh Kills bears molecular witness to this too-big collective trauma. “‘They commingled it, and then they dumped it,’ Mr. Siegel [lawyer for WTC Families] said of the remains being mixed with household trash, adding that a Fresh Kills worker had witnessed city employees use that mixture to fill potholes” (Hughes). The revelation is obscene: Are we walking and driving over our dead? The commingling of rubble and human remains becomes a collective (of) contamination too toxic, too overwhelming for conventional comprehension. “You can’t even consider the issue of closure until this issue has been resolved,” says the lawyer representing WTC Families (Hartocollis).Nick Shay, Underworld’s main character, is another waste executive who travels the world to observe ways of dealing with garbage. Of shopping with his wife, Nick says, “Marion and I saw products as garbage even when they sat gleaming on store shelves, yet unbought. We didn’t say, What kind of casserole will that make? We said, What kind of garbage will that make?” (121). This attests to the virtuality of waste, a potentiality of the products – commercial, temporal, biological – that comprise the stuff of contemporary American culture. Synecdoche and metonymy both, waste becomes the ground of hysteron proteron, the rhetorical figure that disorders time and makes the future always present. Like (its) Fresh Kills, waste is science fiction and prehistory.Repeating the apparent causal and temporal inversion of hysteron proteron, Nick’s son Jeff uses his home computer to access a simultaneous future and past that is the internal horizon of Underworld’s historical fiction. Jeff has previously been using his computer to search for something in the video footage of the “Texas Highway Killer,” a serial murderer who randomly shoots people on Texan highways. Jeff tries to resolve the image so that the pixels will yield more, exposing their past and future. “He was looking for lost information. He enhanced and super-slowed, trying to find some pixel in the data swarm that might provide a clue to the identity of the shooter” (118). Searching for something more, something buried, Jeff, like WTC Families, is attempting to redeem the artifactual and the overlooked by reconfiguring them as identity. DeLillo recognises this molecular episteme through the “dot theory of reality”: “Once you get inside a dot, you gain access to hidden information, you slide inside the smallest event. This is what technology does. It peels back the shadows and redeems the dazed and rambling past. It makes reality come true” (177). Like the gleaming supermarket products Nick and Marion see as garbage, the unredeemed opens onto complex temporal and rhetorical orders. Getting inside garbage is like getting “inside a dot.” This approach is not possible for the unplanned waste of 9/11. Having already lost its case, WTC Families will almost certainly lose its appeal because its categories and its means are unworkable and inapplicable: they cannot particularise.PremonitionsIn his 9/11 essay “In the Ruins of the Future,” published in Harper’s a few months after the attacks, DeLillo says “We are all breathing the fumes of lower Manhattan where traces of the dead are everywhere, in the soft breeze off the river, on rooftops and windows, in our hair and on our clothes” (39). DeLillo‘s portrait of molecular waste adumbrates the need to create “counternarratives.” Until the events of 11 September 2001 the American narrative was that of the Cold War, and thus also the narrative of Underworld; one for which DeLillo claims the Bush administration was feeling nostalgic. “This is over now,” he says. “The narrative ends in the rubble and it is left to us to create the counternarrative” (34).DeLillo was already at work on a narrative of his own at the time of the terrorist attacks. As Joseph Conte notes, when the World Trade Center was attacked, “DeLillo, had nearly finished drafting his thirteenth novel, Cosmopolis [… and] shared in the collective seizure of the American mind” (179). And while it was released in 2003, DeLillo sets the novel in 2000 on “a day in April.” If the millennium, the year 2000, has been as Boxall claims the horizon of DeLillo’s writing, the tagging of this “day in April” at the beginning of the novel signals Cosmopolis as a limit-work (4). 9/11 functions as a felt absence in the novel, a binding thing floating in the air, like the shirt that DeLillo will use to begin and end Falling Man; a story that will ‘go beyond’ the millennial limit, a story that is, effectively, the counternarrative of which DeLillo speaks in his 9/11 essay. Given the timing of the terrorist attacks in New York, and DeLillo’s development of his novel, it is extraordinary to consider just how Cosmopolis reflects on its author’s position as a man who should have “seen it coming.” The billionaire protagonist Eric Packer traverses Manhattan by car, his journey a bifurcation between sophistication and banality. Along the way he has an onanistic sexual encounter whilst having his prostate examined, hacks into and deletes his wife’s old money European fortune, loses his own self-made wealth by irrationally betting against the rise of the yen, kills a man, and shoots himself in the hand in front of his assassin. Eric actively moves toward his own death. Throughout Eric’s journey the socially binding integrity of the present and the future is teased apart. He continually sees images of future events before they occur – putting his hand on his chin, a bomb explosion, and finally, his own murder – via video screens in his car and wristwatch. These are, as Conte rightly notes, repeated instances of hysteron proteron (186). His corpse does not herald obsolescence but begins the true life of waste: virtual information. Or, as Eric’s “Chief of Theory” asks, “Why die when you can live on a disk?” (106). There are shades here of Jeff’s pixelated excursion into the video footage of the Texas Highway Killer: “Once you get inside a dot, you gain access to hidden information.” Life at this level is not only virtual, it is particularised, a point (or a collection of points) Eric comes to grasp during the protracted scene in which he watches himself die: “The stuff he sneezes when he sneezes, this is him” (207). In Falling Man, the work in which DeLillo engages directly with the 9/11 attack, the particularised body recurs in various forms. First there is the (now iconic) falling man: the otherwise unknown victim of the terrorist attack who leapt from the WTC and whose descent was captured in a photograph by Richard Drew. This figure was named (particularised) by Tom Junod (who provides the epigram for this essay) as “The Falling Man.” In DeLillo’s novel another Falling Man, a performance artist, re-enacts the moment by jumping off buildings, reiterating the photograph (back) into a bodily performance. In these various incarnations the falling man is serially particularised: photographed, named, then emulated. The falling man is a single individual, and multiple copies. He lives on long after death and so does his trauma. He represents the poetic expression of collective grief. Particularised bodies also infect the terror narrative of Falling Man at a molecular level. Falling Man’s terrorist, Hammad, achieves a similar life-after-death by becoming “organic shrapnel.” The surviving victims of the suicide bomb attack, months later, begin to display signs of the suicide bombers in lumps and sores emerging from their bodies, too-small bits of the attacker forever incorporated. Hammad is thus paired with the victims of the crash in a kind of disseminative and absorptive (rhetorical) structure. “The world changes first in the mind of the man who wants to change it. The time is coming, our truth, our shame, and each man becomes the other, and the other still another, and then there is no separation” (80). RevisionsThe traces of American culture that were already contained in the landfill in Underworld have now become the resting place of the dust and the bodies of the trauma of 9/11. Rereading DeLillo’s magnum opus one cannot help but be struck by the new resonance of Fresh Kills.The landfill showed him smack-on how the waste stream ended, where all the appetites and hankerings, the sodden second thoughts came runneling out, the things you wanted ardently and then did not…. He knew the stench must ride the wind into every dining room for miles around. When people heard a noise at night, did they think the heap was coming down around them, sliding toward their homes, an omnivorous movie terror filling their doorways and windows?The wind carried the stink across the kill…. The biggest secrets are the ones spread before us. (184-5)The landfill looms large on the landscape, a huge pile of evidence for the mass trauma of what remains, those that remain, and what may come—waste in all its virtuality. The “omnivorous movie terror filling their doorways and windows” is a picture of dust-blanketed Downtown NYC that everybody, everywhere, continually saw. The mediatory second sight of sifting the landfill, of combing the second site of the victims for its “sodden second thoughts,” is at once something “you wanted ardently and then did not.” The particles are wanted as a distillate, produced by the frameline of an intentional, processual practice that ‘edits’ 9/11 and its aftermath into a less unacceptable sequence that might allow the familiar mourning ritual of burying a corpse. WTC Families Inc. is seeking to throw the frame of human identity around the unincorporated particles of waste in the Fresh Kills landfill, an unbearably man-made, million-ton mountain. This operation is an attempt to immure the victims and their families from the attacks and its afterlife as waste or recycled material, refusing the ever-present virtual life of waste that always accompanied them. Of course, even if WTC Families is granted its wish to sift Fresh Kills, how can it differentiate its remains from those of the 9/11 attackers? The latter have a molecular, virtual afterlife in the present and the living, lumpy reminders that surface as foreign bodies.Resisting the city’s drive to rebuild and move on, WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. is absorbed with the classification of waste rather than its deployment. In spite of the group’s failed court action, the Fresh Kills site will still be dug over: a civil works project by the NYC Department of Parks & Recreation will reclaim the landfill and rename it “Freshkills Park,” a re-creational area to be twice the size of Central Park—As DeLillo foresaw, “The biggest secrets are the ones spread before us.”ReferencesBoxall, Peter. Don DeLillo: The Possibility of Fiction. London: Routledge, 2006.Conte, Joseph M. “Writing amid the Ruins: 9/11 and Cosmopolis”. The Cambridge Companion to Don DeLillo. Ed. John N. Duvall. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. 179-192.Cowart, David. Don DeLillo: The Physics of Language. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2003.DeLillo, Don. Players. London: Vintage, 1991.———. Mao II. London: Vintage, 1992.———. Underworld. London: Picador, 1997.———. “In the Ruins of the Future”. Harper’s. Dec. 2001: 33-40.———. Cosmopolis. London: Picador, 2003.———. Falling Man. New York: Scribner, 2007.Hartocollis, Anemona. “Landfill Has 9/11 Remains, Medical Examiner Wrote”. 24 Mar. 2007. The New York Times. 7 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/24%20/nyregion/24remains.html›. Hirsch, Adam. “DeLillo Confronts September 11”. 2 May 2007. The New York Sun. 10 May 2007 ‹http://www.nysun.com/arts/delillo-confronts-september-11/53594/›.Hughes, C. J. “9/11 Families Press Judges on Sifting at Landfill”. 16 Dec. 2009. The New York Times. 17 Dec. 2009 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/17/nyregion/17sift.html›.Junod, Tom. “The Man Who Invented 9/11”. 7 May 2007. Rev. of Falling Man by Don DeLillo. Esquire. 28 May 2007 ‹http://www.esquire.com/fiction/book-review/delillo›.O’Rourke, Meghan. “DeLillo Seemed Almost Eerily Primed to Write a Novel about 9/11”. 23 May 2007. Slate.com. 28 May 2007 ‹http://www.slate.com/id/2166831/%20entry/2166848/›.

IllegitimacyBack in 1987, Gregory Bateson argued that:Kurt Vonnegut gives us wary advice – that we should be careful what we pretend because we become what we pretend. And something like that, some sort of self-fulfilment, occurs in all organisations and human cultures. What people presume to be ‘human’ is what they will build in as premises of their social arrangements, and what they build in is sure to be learned, is sure to become a part of the character of those who participate. (178)The human capacity to marginalise and discriminate against others on the basis of innate and constructed characteristics is evident from the long history of discrimination against people whose existence is ‘illegitimate’, defined as being outside the law. What is inside or outside the law depends upon the context under consideration. For example, in societies such as ancient Greece and the antebellum United States, where slavery was legal, people who were constructed as ‘slaves’ could legitimately be treated very differently from ‘citizens’: free people who benefit from a range of human rights (Northup). The discernment of what is legitimate from that which is illegitimate is thus implicated within the law but extends into the wider experience of community life and is evident within the civil structures through which society is organised and regulated.The division between the legitimate and illegitimate is an arbitrary one, susceptible to changing circumstances. Within recent memory a romantic/sexual relationship between two people of the same sex was constructed as illegitimate and actively persecuted. This was particularly the case for same-sex attracted men, since the societies regulating these relationships generally permitted women a wider repertoire of emotional response than men were allowed. Even when lesbian and gay relationships were legalised, they were constructed as less legitimate in the sense that they often had different rules around the age of consent for homosexual and heterosexual couples. In Australia, the refusal to allow same sex couples to marry perpetuates ways in which these relationships are constructed as illegitimate – beyond the remit of the legislation concerning marriage.The archetypal incidence of illegitimacy has historically referred to people born out of wedlock. The circumstances of birth, for example whether a person was born as a result of a legally-sanctioned marital relationship or not, could have ramifications throughout an individual’s life. Stories abound (for example, Cookson) of the implications of being illegitimate. In some social stings, such as Catherine Cookson’s north-eastern England at the turn of the twentieth century, illegitimate children were often shunned. Parents frequently refused permission for their (legitimate) children to play with illegitimate classmates, as if these children born out of wedlock embodied a contaminating variety of evil. Illegitimate children were treated differently in the law in matters of inheritance, for example, and may still be. They frequently lived in fear of needing to show a birth certificate to gain a passport, for example, or to marry. Sometimes, it was at this point in adult life, that a person first discovered their illegitimacy, changing their entire understanding of their family and their place in the world. It might be possible to argue that the emphasis upon the legitimacy of a birth has lessened in proportion to an acceptance of genetic markers as an indicator of biological paternity, but that is not the endeavour here.Given the arbitrariness and mutability of the division between legitimacy and illegitimacy as a constructed boundary, it is policed by social and legal sanctions. Boundaries, such as the differentiation between the raw and the cooked (Lévi-Strauss), or S/Z (Barthes), or purity and danger (Douglas), serve important cultural functions and also convey critical information about the societies that enforce them. Categories of person, place or thing which are closest to boundaries between the legitimate and the illegitimate can prompt existential anxiety since the capacity to discern between these categories is most challenged at the margins. The legal shenanigans which can result speak volumes for which aspects of life have the potential to unsettle a culture. One example of this which is writ large in the recent history of Australia is our treatment of refugees and asylum seekers and the impact of this upon Australia’s multicultural project.Foreshadowing the sexual connotations of the illegitimate, one of us has written elsewhere (Green, ‘Bordering on the Inconceivable’) about the inconceivability of the Howard administration’s ‘Pacific solution’. This used legal devices to rewrite Australia’s borders to limit access to the rights accruing to refugees upon landing in a safe haven entitling them to seek asylum. Internationally condemned as an illegitimate construction of an artificial ‘migration zone’, this policy has been revisited and made more brutal under the Abbot regime with at least two people – Reza Barati and Hamid Khazaei – dying in the past year in what is supposed to be a place of safety provided by Australian authorities under their legal obligations to those fleeing from persecution. Crock points out, echoing the discourse of illegitimacy, that it is and always has been inappropriate to label “undocumented asylum seekers” as “‘illegal’” because: “until such people cross the border onto Australian territory, the language of illegality is nonsense. People who have no visas to enter Australia can hardly be ‘illegals’ until they enter Australia” (77). For Australians who identify in some ways – religion, culture, fellow feeling – with the detainees incarcerated on Nauru and Manus Island, it is hard to ignore the disparity between the government’s treatment of visa overstayers and “illegals” who arrive by boat (Wilson). It is a comparatively short step to construct this disparity as reflecting upon the legitimacy within Australia of communities who share salient characteristics with detained asylum seekers: “The overwhelmingly negative discourse which links asylum seekers, Islam and terrorism” (McKay, Thomas & Kneebone, 129). Some communities feel themselves constructed in the public and political spheres as less legitimately Australian than others. This is particularly true of communities where members can be identified via markers of visible difference, including indicators of ethnic, cultural and religious identities: “a group who [some 585 respondent Australians …] perceived would maintain their own languages, customs and traditions […] this cultural diversity posed an extreme threat to Australian national identity” (McKay, Thomas & Kneebone, 129). Where a community shares salient characteristics such as ethnicity or religion with many detained asylum seekers they can become fearful of the discourses around keeping borders strong and protecting Australia from illegitimate entrants. MethodologyThe qualitative fieldwork upon which this paper is based took place some 6-8 years ago (2006-2008), but the project remains one of the most recent and extensive studies of its kind. There are no grounds for believing that any of the findings are less valid than previously. On the contrary, if political actions are constructed as a proxy for mainstream public consent, opinions have become more polarised and have hardened. Ten focus groups were held involving 86 participants with a variety of backgrounds including differences in age, gender, religious observance, religious identification and ethnicity. Four focus groups involved solely Muslim participants; six drew from the wider Australian community. The aim was to examine the response of different communities to mainstream Australian media representations of Islam, Muslims, and terrorism. Research questions included: “Are there differences in the ways in which Australian Muslims respond to messages about ‘fear’ and ‘terror’ compared with broader community Australians’ responses to the same messages?” and “How do Australian Muslims construct the perceptions and attitudes of the broader Australian community based on the messages that circulate in the media?” Recent examples of kinds of messages investigated include media coverage of Islamic State’s (ISIS’s) activities (Karam & Salama), and the fear-provoking coverage around the possible recruitment of Australians to join the fighting in Syria and Iraq (Cox). The ten focus groups were augmented by 60 interviews, 30 with respondents who identified as Muslim (15 males, 15 female) and 30 respondents from the broader community (same gender divisions). Finally, a market research company was commissioned to conduct a ‘fear survey’, based on an established ‘fear of rape’ inventory (Aly and Balnaves), delivered by telephone to a random sample of 750 over-18 y.o. Australians in which Muslims formed a deliberative sub-group, to ensure they were over-sampled and constituted at least 150 respondents. The face-to-face surveys and focus groups were conducted by co-author, Dr Anne Aly. General FindingsMuslim respondents indicate a heightened intensity of reaction to media messages around fear and terror. In addition to a generalised fear of the potential impact of terrorism upon Australian society and culture, Muslim respondents experienced a specific fear that any terrorist-related media coverage might trigger hostility towards Muslim Australian communities and their own family members. According to the ‘fear survey’ scale, Muslim Australians at the time of the research experienced approximately twice the fear level of mainstream Australian respondents. Broader Australian community Australian Muslim communityFear of a terrorist attackFear of a terrorist attack combines with the fear of a community backlashSpecific victims: dead, injured, bereavedCommunity is full of general victims in addition to any specific victimsShort-term; intense impactsProtracted, diffuse impactsSociety-wide sympathy and support for specific victims and all those involved in dealing with the trauma and aftermathSociety-wide suspicion and a marginalisation of those affected by the backlashVictims of a terrorist attack are embraced by broader communityVictims of backlash experience hostility from the broader communityFour main fears were identified by Australian Muslims as a component of the fear of terrorism:Fear of physical harm. In addition to the fear of actual terrorist acts, Australian Muslims fear backlash reprisals such as those experienced after such events as 9/11, the Bali bombings, and attacks upon public transport passengers in Spain and the UK. These and similar events were constructed as precipitating increased aggression against identifiable Australian Muslims, along with shunning of Muslims and avoidance of their company.The construction of politically-motivated fear. Although fear is an understandable response to concerns around terrorism, many respondents perceived fears as being deliberately exacerbated for political motives. Such strategies as “Be alert, not alarmed” (Bassio), labelling asylum seekers as potential terrorists, and talk about home-grown terrorists, are among the kinds of fears which were identified as politically motivated. The political motivation behind such actions might include presenting a particular party as strong, resolute and effective. Some Muslim Australians construct such approaches as indicating that their government is more interested in political advantage than social harmony.Fear of losing civil liberties. As well as sharing the alarm of the broader Australian community at the dozens of legislative changes banning people, organisations and materials, and increasing surveillance and security checks, Muslim Australians fear for the human rights implications across their community, up to and including the lives of their young people. This fear is heightened when community members may look visibly different from the mainstream. Examples of the events fuelling such fears include the London police killing of Jean Charles de Menezes, a Brazilian Catholic working as an electrician in the UK and shot in the month following the 7/7 attacks on the London Underground system (Pugliese). In Australia, the case of Mohamed Hannef indicated that innocent people could easily be unjustly accused and wrongly targeted, and even when this was evident the political agenda made it almost impossible for authorities to admit their error (Rix).Feeling insecure. Australian Muslims argue that personal insecurity has become “the new normal” (Massumi), disproportionately affecting Muslim communities in both physical and psychological ways. Physical insecurity is triggered by the routine avoidance, shunning and animosity experienced by many community members in public places. Psychological insecurity includes fear for the safety of younger members of the community compounded by concern that young people may become ‘radicalised’ as a result of the discrimination they experience. Australian Muslims fear the backlash following any possible terrorist attack on Australian soil and describe the possible impact as ‘unimaginable’ (Aly and Green, ‘Moderate Islam’).In addition to this range of fears expressed by Australian Muslims and constructed in response to wider societal reactions to increased concerns over radical Islam and the threat of terrorist activity, an analysis of respondents’ statements indicate that Muslim Australians construct the broader community as exhibiting:Fear of religious conviction (without recognising the role of their own secular/religious convictions underpinning this fear);Fear of extremism (expressed in various extreme ways);Fear of powerlessness (responded to by disempowering others); andFear of political action overseas having political effects at home (without acknowledging that it is the broader community’s response to such overseas events, such as 9/11 [Green ‘Did the world really change?’], which has also had impacts at home).These constructions, extrapolations and understandings by Australian Muslims of the fears of the broader community underpinning the responses to the threat of terror have been addressed elsewhere (Green and Aly). Legitimate Australian MuslimsOne frustration identified by many Muslim respondents centres upon a perceived ‘acceptable’ way to be an Australian Muslim. Arguing that the broader community construct Muslims as a homogenous group defined by their religious affiliation, these interviewees felt that the many differences within and between the twenty-plus national, linguistic, ethnic, cultural and faith-based groupings that constitute WA’s Muslim population were being ignored. Being treated as a homogenised group on a basis of faith appears to have the effect of putting that religious identity under pressure, paradoxically strengthening and reinforcing it (Aly, ‘Australian Muslim Responses to the Discourse on Terrorism’). The appeal to Australian Muslims to embrace membership in a secular society and treat religion as a private matter also led some respondents to suggest they were expected to deny their own view of their faith, in which they express their religious identity across their social spheres and in public and private contexts. Such expression is common in observant Judaism, Hinduism and some forms of Christianity, as well as in some expressions of Islam (Aly and Green, ‘Less than equal’). Massumi argues that even the ways in which some Muslims dress, indicating faith-based behaviour, can lead to what he terms as ‘affective modulation’ (Massumi), repeating and amplifying the fear affect as a result of experiencing the wider community’s fear response to such triggers as water bottles (from airport travel) and backpacks, on the basis of perceived physical difference and a supposed identification with Muslim communities, regardless of the situation. Such respondents constructed this (implied) injunction to suppress their religious and cultural affiliation as akin to constructing the expression of their identity as illegitimate and somehow shameful. Parallels can be drawn with previous social responses to a person born out of wedlock, and to people in same-sex relationships: a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ kind of denial.Australian Muslims who see their faith as denied or marginalised may respond by identifying more strongly with other Muslims in their community, since the community-based context is one in which they feel welcomed and understood. The faith-based community also allows and encourages a wider repertoire of acceptable beliefs and actions entailed in the performance of ‘being Muslim’. Hand in hand with a perception of being required to express their religious identity in ways that were acceptable to the majority community, these respondents provided a range of examples of self-protective behaviours to defend themselves and others from the impacts of perceived marginalisation. Such behaviours included: changing their surnames to deflect discrimination based solely on a name (Aly and Green, ‘Fear, Anxiety and the State of Terror’); keeping their opinions private, even when they were in line with those being expressed by the majority community (Aly and Green, ‘Moderate Islam’); the identification of ‘less safe’ and ‘safe’ activities and areas; concerns about visibly different young men in the Muslim community and discussions with them about their public behaviour and demeanour; and women who chose not to leave their homes for fear of being targeted in public places (all discussed in Aly, ‘Australian Muslim Responses to the Discourse on Terrorism’). Many of these behaviours, including changing surnames, restricting socialisation to people who know a person well, and the identification of safe and less safe activities in relation to the risk of self-revelation, were common strategies used by people who were stigmatised in previous times as a result of their illegitimacy.ConclusionConstructions of the legitimate and illegitimate provide one means through which we can investigate complex negotiations around Australianness and citizenship, thrown into sharp relief by the Australian government’s treatment of asylum seekers, also deemed “illegals”. Because they arrive in Australia (or, as the government would prefer, on Australia’s doorstep) by illegitimate channels these would-be citizens are treated very differently from people who arrive at an airport and overstay their visa. The impetus to exclude aspects of geographical Australia from the migration zone, and to house asylum seekers offshore, reveals an anxiety about borders which physically reflects the anxiety of western nations in the post-9/11 world. Asylum seekers who arrive by boat have rarely had safe opportunity to secure passports or visas, or to purchase tickets from commercial airlines or shipping companies. They represent those ethnicities and cultures which are currently in turmoil: a turmoil frequently exacerbated by western intervention, variously constructed as an il/legitimate expression of western power and interests.What this paper has demonstrated is that the boundary between Australia and the rest, the legitimate and the illegitimate, is failing in its aim of creating a stronger Australia. The means through which this project is pursued is making visible a range of motivations and concerns which are variously interpreted depending upon the position of the interpreter. The United Nations, for example, has expressed strong concern over Australia’s reneging upon its treaty obligations to refugees (Gordon). Less vocal, and more fearful, are those communities within Australia which identify as community members with the excluded illegals. The Australian government’s treatment of detainees on Manus Island and Nauru, who generally exhibit markers of visible difference as a result of ethnicity or culture, is one aspect of a raft of government policies which serve to make some people feel that their Australianness is somehow less legitimate than that of the broader community. AcknowledgementsThis paper is based on the findings of an Australian Research Council Discovery Project (DP0559707), 2005-7, “Australian responses to the images and discourses of terrorism and the other: establishing a metric of fear”, awarded to Professors Lelia Green and Mark Balnaves. The research involved 10 focus groups and 60 individual in-depth interviews and a telephone ‘fear of terrorism’ survey. The authors wish to acknowledge the participation and contributions of WA community members and wider Australian respondents to the telephone survey. ReferencesAly, Anne. “Australian Muslim Responses to the Discourse on Terrorism in the Australian Popular Media.” Australian Journal of Social Issues 42.1 (2007): 27-40.Aly, Anne, and Lelia Green. “Fear, Anxiety and the State of Terror.” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 33.3 (Feb 2010): 268-81.Aly, Anne, and Lelia Green. “Less than Equal: Secularism, Religious Pluralism and Privilege.” M/C Journal 11.2 (2008). 15 Oct. 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/32›.Aly, Anne, and Lelia Green. “‘Moderate Islam’: Defining the Good Citizen”. 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