Artykuły w czasopismach na temat „Raiding Project”

AbstractCrop-raiding by primates and bushpigs Potamochoerus porcus is a major cause of human–wildlife conflict around Budongo Forest Reserve, Uganda. In 2006–2007 a project was initiated, with farmer participation, to investigate the efficacy of on-farm techniques to reduce crop-raiding, including guarding and early-warning techniques, fences, plant barriers, trenches, lights and nets. Here, farmers' perceptions of the effectiveness and sustainability of these deterrents were evaluated using semi-structured interviews and direct observations. Factors important to farmers in effective, sustainable and locally appropriate crop-raiding mitigation are that deterrents be cost-effective, easily manipulated, improve guarding efficiency and require minimal labour inputs. Farmers reported paid guards, guard dogs, wire fences, lights and bells/alarms as most effective. This differs from observations that farmers independently maintained certain deterrents that they presumably considered valuable, namely wire fences, guard dogs, bells/alarms, trenches, lights and nets. This evaluation demonstrates the importance of farmers' participation and perceptions in the viability and uptake of crop-raiding deterrents, and the importance of assessing conflict mitigation trials over the long term.

AbstractPrimate crop raiding is a major cause of human-wildlife conflict around the forests of western Uganda. In an attempt to ameliorate the situation a conflict mitigation strategy was established in villages around the Budongo Forest Reserve in 2001. Live-traps were constructed that allowed the identification of crop raiding animals; pest species could be disposed of and threatened species released unharmed. However, by 2004 none of the traps in the study area were functioning and interviews were conducted to assess the reasons for their decline and local people's acceptance of the intervention. Forty-one percent of respondents did not believe the strategy was effective and the majority of local farmers did not accept responsibility for the traps. This was because of operational failures in four areas: (1) the identification of key stakeholders, (2) objective evaluation to assess the efficacy and benefit of the intervention, (3) participatory monitoring and evaluation, and (4) long-term funding commitment by conservation agencies. We examine the impact of these four elements upon the sustainability of the live-trap programme and stress the importance of recognizing and reporting failures to develop effective and acceptable mitigation strategies.

Crop raiding by elephants is widespread across Africa and Asia. Although many traditional and novel methods are used to defend farms there have been few rigorous tests of their efficacy. We provide a comparative quantitative assessment of a range of farm-based mitigation methods implemented during a 4-year project in Transmara District, Kenya. Five experimental trials were established to measure changes in crop raiding after the application of mitigation methods on treatment farms compared with control farms. A combination of early warning to detect elephants before they entered farms, coupled with a front line communal guarding strategy, proved most successful. Non-electrified barriers were expensive and generally ineffective. However, chilli Capsicum spp. grease applied to rope barriers encircling farms completely deterred elephants. Although encouraging, these results require more widespread testing and demonstration to ensure their effectiveness at broader scales.

The study of risks of reducing the competitiveness of construction companies in 2020-2021 through the use of non-market methods of competition, including eco-raiding, requires an in-depth look at their impact on economic efficiency of the entity, which determines the relevance and novelty of this study. The object of the research is non-market methods of competition of construction enterprises in modern conditions. The subject of this study are eco-raiding and eco-terrorism as risk factors for reducing the competitiveness of construction enterprises. The purpose of this work is to substantiate the need to strengthen the role of state control in the process of managing the construction industry in conditions of non-market competition. The practical significance of the results obtained is to determine recommendations for improving the quality of management of the construction industry through increased control over the pre-project processes of housing construction. To achieve this goal were used: system-parametric approach – to the scientific knowledge of modern non-market methods of competition in the construction market of Ukraine, which made it possible to reveal their negative role in strengthening the processes of monopolization; systematic analysis of the causes of illegal construction, which contributed to the formation of recommendations for solving this problem; managerial approach – to the role of the state in terms of strengthening the control function in the construction market. Conclusions. The construction industry is an external identifier of the «health» of the national economy. Unfinished objects reduce the investment attractiveness of the industry for domestic and foreign investors, show a negative overall situation in the domestic market. A significant reason for stopping the construction and bankruptcy of construction companies is eco-raiding - speculation on environmental issues, which blocks the activities of a construction company in order to taking possession of his property. The reasons for eco-raiding lie in the corruption of government agencies and their links with criminals. To overcome eco-raiding in the country it is necessary to form an effective institutional environment, certain legislation, an independent judiciary, which together will strengthen the system of control by public authorities and local governments. The construction industry will play a particularly important role in the post-war period, when domestic industrial and residential infrastructure will need large-scale reincarnation. European society provides for the functioning of economic mechanisms exclusively in market conditions, which should exclude the use of non-market methods of competition not only in the construction sector but also in the domestic economy as a whole.

One of the greatest dangers to agricultural productivity is animal damage to agriculture. Crop raiding has become one of the most antagonistic human-wildlife conflicts as cultivated land has expanded into previous wildlife habitat. Farmers in India endures major risks from pests, natural disasters, and animal damage, all of which result in lesser yields. Traditional farming methods are unsuccessful and hiring guards to watch crops and keep animals at bay is not a practical solution. It is critical to protect crops from animal damage while also redirecting the animal without injuring it, as the safety of both animals and people is essential. To get over these obstacles and accomplish our goal, we employ the deep learning concept of convolutional neural networks, a subfield of computer vision, to identify animals as they enter our farm. The primary goal of this project is to constantly monitor the entire farm using a camera that records the surroundings at all hours of the day. We identify animal infiltration using a CNN algorithm and Xgboost and notify farmers when this occurs.

Abstract This thorough study is both long overdue and comes from an unexpected quarter. Davy is professor of history of law at l’Université Paris-Nanterre. The lawman (lgmaðr) of his title and other legal advisors are well known to readers of the sagas of Icelanders but, as is the case of the master litigator Njáll Þorgeirsson, “Burnt Njall,” it is more as active players in court cases generated by feud than as more elevated and distant patrons of the law as institution. The best-known feature of the office of law speaker, as he is also known, was to have memorized the entire law code, at the pre-literate stage of this society, and to proclaim one third of it each year at the island-wide assembly over which he presided. This is the first modern study of the office of law man and its author is uniquely placed, by virtue of his familiarity with the Icelandic and Norwegian material, to trace its insufficiently studied development. Davy is also alert to the possible origins of law in what began in historical time with the settlement, and social and legal organization of an unpopulated North Atlantic island. As is to be expected, the laws of Norway, where a majority of the settlers originated, would have offered a ready model and there does seem to have been a transfer en bloc of Norwegian jurisprudence. But many of the settler generation would have had experience of raiding, trading, and residence in the British Isles, particularly Ireland, which had its own large body of jurisprudence, possibly dating from the seventh century. Davy’s project is even more ambitious in that he seeks to discover the very foundations of law, its mythical and legendary origins, and conceptual underpinning.

Abstract This thorough study is both long overdue and comes from an unexpected quarter. Davy is professor of the history of law at l’Université Paris-Nanterre. The lawman (lgmaðr) of his title and other legal advisors are well known to readers of the sagas of Icelanders but, as is the case of the master litigator Njáll Þorgeirsson, “Burnt Njall,” it is more as active players in court cases generated by feud than as more elevated and distant patrons of the law as institution. The best-known feature of the office of law speaker, as he is also known, was to have memorized the entire law code, at the pre-literate stage of this society, and to proclaim one third of it each year at the island-wide assembly over which he presided. This is the first modern study of the office of law man and its author is uniquely placed, by virtue of his familiarity with the Icelandic and Norwegian material, to trace its insufficiently studied development. Davy is also alert to the possible origins of law in what began in historical time with the settlement, and social and legal organization of an unpopulated North Atlantic island. As is to be expected, the laws of Norway, where a majority of the settlers originated, would have offered a ready model and there does seem to have been a transfer en bloc of Norwegian jurisprudence. But many of the settler generation would have had experience of raiding, trading, and residence in the British Isles, particularly Ireland, which had its own large body of jurisprudence, possibly dating from the seventh century. Davy’s project is even more ambitious in that he seeks to discover the very foundations of law, its mythical and legendary origins, and conceptual underpinning.

Abstract: Rhesus Macaque (Macaca mulatta) population in India has been on a rise due to their high breeding rate and ability to acclimatize to various environments (Imam 2013). They are often seen in Human habitations especially in agricultural fields, raiding crops and becoming a nuisance to the farmers. According to agricultural department, the marauding macaques have raided agricultural crops worth Rs 185 crore and horticulture crops worth Rs 38 crore in various districts of HP in 2014. To address this menace, sterilization programme is carried out at respective Monkey sterilization centre (MSC’s) established at 8 monkey affected districts across Himachal Pradesh. This study aims to investigate and understand the various behavioural changes that may occur (intra specific, social , feeding, stress/aggression ) in the period of post sterilization of Rhesus macaque. The proposed study site for this project is a Village called Gopalpur located in Kangra District of Himachal Pradesh. For pre-sterilization monitoring, a virgin Troupe was identified and selected for capture based on the MSC’s record on capture locations and sterilized monkeys. The virgin troupe was monitored for their behaviour which included changes and their usual aggression, Feeding, grooming, sleeping, and mating and home range, for a period of 3 weeks. 100 % capture of this troupe was aimed for sterilization at a time. But failure of the same, the remaining population was to be monitored for their behavioural changes due to separation from their parent troupe. Capturing Rhesus of Chamunda Area near the addressed site was challenging due to many reasons which are discussed in the report. Three monkeys were caught successfully out of which two escaped and one turned out to be pregnant. The identified troupe couldn’t be captured and sterilized to study their post behavioural changes. The pregnant monkey was released back at the point of capture as it can’t be sterilized. This study on presterilization behaviour will form a baseline data for future studies on their post-sterilization behavioural changes. The study will also help in streamlining the monkey capturing process. Keywords: Rhesus macaque, Behaviour, Monkey sterilisation centre, MSC, Sterilisation program.

AbstractHuman–elephant conflict is a significant problem in Africa, undermining biodiversity conservation and development efforts. Early warning of crop raiding and a coordinated response from landholders and wildlife authorities are important for effective management of this conflict. Mobile phones have spread rapidly in rural Africa and could potentially be used to improve communication and increase the effectiveness of responses to crop raids by elephants. We analyse changes in patterns of communication around human–elephant conflict incidents before and after the arrival of mobile phone technology in Laikipia County in north-central Kenya, and the performance of mobile phone communication in a trial at three sites. We show that mobile phones can improve communication and reduce human–elephant conflict where there is good mobile coverage and widespread adoption. Conservation projects have much to gain from engaging with mobile phone technology.

This study examines views on economic benefits, local participation in wildlife management and conservation ethic among 267 residents of three chiefdoms in Mambwe district, Eastern Zambia. Results show that 68% of the residents who live in the Lupande Game Management Area are not in any way involved in community wildlife management. For those involved, the main reason advanced for participating was economic benefit (79%). Only a small minority of 17% of the residents participated due to motivations to conserve wildlife. Human-wildlife conflicts induced by wild animal crop raiding, property destruction, and loss of human life, and perceived low or non-existent economic benefits seemingly precluded the development of a conservation ethic among residents. The local chiefs asserted wildlife ownership, lamented low wildlife benefits and justified its illegal uptake. Proponents of community conservation projects could encourage pro conservation attitudes among residents by addressing human-wildlife conflicts and raising awareness on intrinsic values of wildlife.

AbstractThis paper compares the socio-economic impact of warfare on two frontier zones of the sixth-century eastern Roman empire: the central and northern Balkans; and the northern Syrian-Mesopotamian and Armenian borderlands in the East. The theme of war damage is central to historical and archaeological work on the Balkans but plays a comparatively marginal role in research on the East. And yet the eastern provinces were affected by more intensive raiding by larger armies, and at least as regularly as the Balkans. Much of the difference in perception is related to contemporary sources’ exaggerated coverage of ‘barbarian’ raiding on the Balkans, a region traditionally viewed as a neglected backwater by authors such as Procopius. Conversely, such sources portray warfare with the Sassanid Persians in the East through a ‘classicising’ lens, describing at greater length generals’ speeches, battles, campaigns and sieges. Another reason for the disparity in modern discussions of the two regions is the socio-economic recession in the northern Balkans toward the end of the sixth century. This can be at least indirectly linked to the effects of warfare between the empire and the Avar Khaganate and Slavic groups. Recovery from the devastation caused by these groups’ invasions could no longer be funded by the imperial authorities, who, by this stage, were struggling to finance wars on multiple fronts and were feeling the fiscal effects of repeated bouts of bubonic plague. Despite also suffering from this absence of central investment, eastern societies and economies enjoyed a greater degree of continuity in the final decades of the sixth century. This was because non-imperial sources of agricultural and commercial wealth in these areas encouraged elites to invest in recovery projects. Local elites’ and wider populations’ deep-rooted feelings of cultural, linguistic and religious attachment also played a role in their survival. These economic and cultural ties can in part be explained by the fact that, unlike the Balkans, these eastern provinces had enjoyed a long period of peace and stability in the fourth and fifth centuries.

The killing Desert? Drought, Nomadic Traditions and Development Administration with the Turkana. The Turkana are nomadic pastoralists who live in the desert regions of northwestern Kenya. The majority of the Turkana practice no agriculture nor fishing and live exclusively from the products of their livestock (milk, blood and meat). They keep multiple species herds (cattle, camels, goats, sheep and donkeys) in order to buffer the variations in the quality and distribution of vegetal resources and water requirements. The Turkana were one of many affected by several droughts. Although the famine which resulted from the sharp drop in food production was dramatized by international press, insecurity of food availability is characteristic of pastoral production systems. One technique used by the Turkana to exploit an environment where the availability of food is inconsistent, sparse and scattered, is the management of herds composed by many species which can be divided in the dry season into different herds. The second technique used to manage livestock is mobility and raiding cattle from neighbouring ethnic groups. In times of stress the Turkana utilize a system of social ties, obligations and rights which they build up over a lifetime. Important social relationships are reconfirmed periodically via the exchange of livestock between friends. The not integrated new projects in Turkana land could lead to destruction of the ecology, and to a breakdown of the pastoral system and of the system of social ties which has enabled generations of Turkana to cope with the stresses imposed by living in a harsh and unpredictable environment.

Introduction. The significant amount of destruction caused by the war in Ukraine necessitates the involvement of all forms of financial and organizational support for the country's reconstruction process. A tried-and-tested method of attracting resources to this process is a public-private partnership. The intensification of public-private partnerships aims to meet the basic needs of the population during martial law before creating the necessary conditions for economic recovery after the war. Since the war led to the stagnation of the specified process, the obstacles and peculiarities of public-private partnerships in this period need to be researched. Aim and tasks. The purpose of this study is to analyse the impact of martial law conditions on the activation of public-private partnerships to reveal its role in the recovery of the country's economy based on the analysis of available data to identify trends and significant results that can shed light on the activation of the public-private partnership process. This determines the following tasks: to investigate obstacles to the activation of public-private partnership from 2021 to this time, and to establish peculiarities, urgent directions, and prerequisites for implementing projects, measures, methods, and forms of public-private partnership in the specified period. Results. The analysis showed that, in recent years, the contractual discipline of partnership projects has significantly deteriorated, and the range of directions for their implementation has narrowed and does not correspond to the priorities specified in the legislation. Thus, in 2021, only 16% of agreements were realized, 16.6% were terminated, and 61.6% still needed to be implemented. Directions for their implementation are not urgent in wartime conditions. Business activity is restrained by the risks of war, incomplete compliance of the legal framework with the conditions of war, and the intensification of illegal actions against investment objects. In total, 363 court cases related to raiding were initiated in 2023, reflecting a two-fold increase compared to 2022. The identified peculiarities, directions, and prerequisites for the implementation of public-private partnerships intensify the implementation process. Conclusions. Measures to reduce risks and change the approaches to their distribution in partnership agreements have been proposed. It is proposed to introduce an institute of small investors, which will strengthen public control of public-private partnership projects and ensure the attraction of additional private investments in the process of rebuilding the country. This is substantiated by the fact that 61% of the surveyed citizens are ready to participate financially in the reconstruction of the country's infrastructure and 33% are ready to participate if they have a financial opportunity.

In the current conditions of development of market mechanisms for regulating the domestic economy, the issue of the impact of negative factors is more relevant than ever. In addition to Russia's military aggression, the introduction of martial law, and a significant number of forced restrictions on the activities of individuals and legal entities, the negative impact is also exerted by factors related to corruption, illegal enrichment, raiding, concealment of income or part thereof, money laundering, terrorist financing, etc. This situation necessitates the development of measures to reduce corruption, as well as the establishment of ongoing cooperation with international organizations to combat corruption. The purpose of the article is to determine the directions of international cooperation in the field of preventing manifestations of corruption in Ukraine, to study the effectiveness of such cooperation as one of the directions for reducing the level of corruption and the shadow economy, taking into account national and international anti-corruption programs, international experience in combating the legalization of income, money laundering or concealment of profits. The theoretical and practical basis of the study was the research of domestic scholars in the field of international cooperation in the field of combating corruption, legalization of the economy, analytical reports and data of the National Agency for the Prevention of Corruption and the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine, indicators and benefits of cooperation between international organizations. Strategically important countries for Ukraine in recent years have become: Latvia, Germany, Poland, Montenegro, Moldova, and Lithuania. The most active organizations in terms of cooperation are: Financial Action Task Force on Money Laundering (FAFT); Egmont Group of Financial Intelligence Units; Council of Europe (Council of Europe Committee on the Evaluation of Anti-Money Laundering and Counter-Terrorist Financing Measures (MONEYVAL)); European Union; United Nations; World Bank; NATO; Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE); Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD); other international organizations in the field of financial monitoring. The most important areas of cooperation between domestic and international organizations in the field of combating corruption are: the creation of joint projects to combat money laundering and terrorist financing in Ukraine, the development of programs to combat money laundering and concealment of income, joint operations to expose terrorist financing schemes, the war in Ukraine, etc.

The archaeological research at the ancient Demos of Kymissaleis (Rhodes) during the years 2006-2010: A preliminary report. The archaeological research in Kymissala (Rhodes) started in 2006 as a combined project of the Department of Mediterranean Studies, University of the Aegean and the 22nd Ephoreate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities in collaboration with the School of Rural and Surveying Engineering of the National Technical University of Athens. The region, already known in Medieval Times for its antiquities, has suffered great damage during the last two centuries, mainly caused by unprecedented tomb raiding, while only limited scientific research was carried out in the course of the twentieth century. The main object of the new archaeological research in Kymissala is to determine, for the first time, the spatial organisation and the development of a country-side Demos of Rhodes, as well as to look at the way the community exploited natural resources of the area through time. So far parts of the acropolis and the vast central necropolis have been systematically explored through excavation, while a number of sites, comprising the Demos of Kymissaleis, have been located and surveyed.

AbstractIn this “tale” I summarize the major landmarks of my 50-year career watching wild olive baboons (Papio anubis). I review some major discoveries, like baboon hunting and baboon social strategies of competition and defense, that only a creature with a “mind” could manage. My efforts expanded beyond science to include community-based conservation because quite early on these baboons experienced many of the threats of the Anthropocene. My research expanded to include studying crop-raiding by naïve groups of baboons, the first scientific translocation of a primate species, and a detour to study the invasion of a non-indigenous cactus, Opuntia stricta. Throughout I worked with local communities to find solutions to problems that the baboons created, and also to develop new options for their livelihoods. As the baboon research became a long-term project, it depended on a team of Kenyan research assistants who made possible the simultaneous monitoring of up to six baboon troops as well as extensive ecological monitoring. Knowing the ecology, including the impact of the sedentarization of pastoralists in the area, meant we could interpret the process of invasion by a non-indigenous cactus for the first time. Ecological periods allowed comparisons of the same troop over time and different baboon groups during the same ecological phase. Although I began my work before hypothesis testing was the preferred approach, once the paradigm changed, I continued to study and learn what matters to baboons from their perspective. As a result of observing them for 50 years, the baboons showed me that evolution often does not work the way that I had been taught, and it took all my detours and studies to convince me that anecdotes, when they are systematic and comparative, are not stories to be discounted, but evidence, much like Darwin’s natural history. Natural history can reassemble the pieces that quantitative hypothesis testing has teased apart to provide its larger meaning. Today, the lone scientist, like me, is an anachronism because no one person has expertise in the many fields needed to understand and save the primates we care about.

In South Sudan, cattle raiding is an enduring practice among many communities and leads by cultural norms and customs. The issue has become challenging to the development of the livestock sector in the country. For the last 5-6 years 2015 to 2020, thousands of cattle heads were stolen from the cattle camps, many life were lost during the raid, and many developmental projects were immobile. Extension in reducing cattle raiding has been seen as significant by the government, community chiefs of the rural areas, youth leaders, women, and NGOs working in the livestock sector. The improvement of the extension's role is an essential factor for reducing cattle raids among South Sudan communities. The extension can bring development opportunities, facilities, and empowerment. Accordingly, by reviewing the literature, this paper fact out which asset is necessary to reduce cattle raids. Also, the paper examines how an extension could mitigate cattle raiding through mediation. The recompenses of extension as the solution for competing cattle raids have been emphasized. The paper recommends that advisory service should have extensive training program on. on social change, building resilience through community-enhancing livelihoods, and shifting their mindsets from cattle raiding to accumulate wealth to ensure productive asset creation. The Advisory services should work as alarming tools for any expected raiding casualties in their working area.

Man-animal conflict is a very complex issue which not only involves disruption of forest ecosystem but also a very weak legal support system while establishing wildlife corridors in the protected areas. Developmental projects have also taken a heavy toll on the very existence of wildlife and its symbiotic relationship with the forest ecosystem. The most common causes of human-wildlife conflict are livestock predation, crop raiding, loss of human life, animal death, damage to property, and injuries to people and wildlife. There are some valid reasons for increased man-animal conflicts in the recent past and they are changes in land use patterns (change from protected forest patches to agricultural, horticultural, and monoculture plantations) which destroy wildlife, livestock grazing, unscientific structures and practices of forest management in the country, allowing cattle to graze into forest areas and decreased prey base caused by poaching of herbivores leading to carnivores wandering out of forests in search of prey to indulge in cattle lifting and preying on human children.

Abstract Conservation practices in agricultural landscapes can greatly mitigate biodiversity loss. However, agricultural landscapes are embedded in complex, social-ecological systems and therefore require a strong social-ecological approach for effective conservation measures. The Galapagos Islands are globally recognized for their high levels of biodiversity. Nevertheless, in recent years, Galapagos landbirds have suffered rapid declines, specifically in the agricultural zone. Our study is the first to examine the farmers’ perception of landbirds in the agricultural zone of Santa Cruz, Galapagos Islands. We conducted semi-structured interviews with 38 farmers to characterize the relationship between farmers and landbirds including how landbirds affect farmers and farmers’ perceptions of landbirds. The interviewed farmers managed a diverse array of farm types including coffee in agroforestry settings (23.7%), small-scale fruit and vegetable (60.5%) and livestock production (15.8%). We found that 86.9% of farmers had a positive or neutral perception of birds despite 52.6% of farmers finding finches bothersome. The most common techniques farmers employed to deter birds were putting out food and water, using nets to protect seedbeds and crops and using protective tubes around young plants. Our results suggest a positive potential for future conservation work targeted on farmland biodiversity. Future conservation projects should also address disservices and the mitigation of crop raiding by landbirds, the uninformed use of pesticides and other pest issues such as ants and rats.

Abstract For Community‐based Conservation (CBC) projects to be effective in the long‐term, they need to receive the support of the communities involved. Assessing whether CBC governance systems are working effectively is challenging, and it is important to evaluate both the characteristics of these governance systems, and the perceptions of community members. It is also important to understand how factors other than the governance features of individual CBC organizations may affect feelings of satisfaction. Using existing data collected by a local NGO in northern Kenya from 2014 to 2017, we investigated whether characteristics indicative of good governance have increased over time in 28 community‐owned natural resource management & conservation organizations (“conservancies”). We also assessed whether the presence of good governance characteristics, and other factors (whether community members feel safe, conservancy population size, and age of conservancy) predict the degree to which community members reported feeling satisfied with their conservancy. We adapted an existing monitoring dataset that captured governance, management, and administration practices. We created a modified index that focussed on concepts that have been identified in wider literature as being important aspects of the governance of socio‐ecological systems. Our analyses produced the following main findings: Characteristics of good governance significantly increased in conservancies over the study period. Self‐reported satisfaction with a conservancy was most strongly predicted by self‐reported feelings of safety and our measure of good governance. Livestock raiding and land/boundary conflicts appears to be the security issues most closely associated with community members reporting that they feel unsafe. Our adapted measure of governance and analyses provide a more robust assessment of the idea that governance characteristics of conservancies improved in meaningful ways during the study period. However, these analyses also point to the ways in which the monitoring of governance of CBC projects could be improved by incorporating or strengthening assessments of concepts that are known to be of importance in governing the use of natural resources. Our analyses of community members' satisfaction with their conservancies point to the need for CBC projects to consider interactions with other groups in the wider landscape, and to engage with issues of governance at different levels of organization. Read the free Plain Language Summary for this article on the Journal blog.

The Turkana are nomadic pastoralists who live in the desert regions of northwestern Kenya. The majority of the Turkana practice no agriculture nor fishing and live exclusively from the products of their livestock (milk, blood and meat). They keep multiple species herds (cattle, camels, goats, sheep and donkeys) in order to buffer the variations in the quality and distribution of vegetal resources and water requirements. The Turkana were one of many affected by several droughts. Although the famine which resulted from the sharp drop in food production was dramatized by international press, insecurity of food availability is characteristic of pastoral production systems. One technique used by the Turkana to exploit an environment where the availability of food is inconsistent, sparse and scattered, is the management of herds composed by many species which can be divided in the dry season into different herds. The second technique used to manage livestock is mobility and raiding cattle from neighbouring ethnic groups. In times of stress the Turkana utilize a system of social ties, obligations and rights which they build up over a lifetime. Important social relationships are reconfirmed periodically via the exchange of livestock between friends. The not integrated new projects in Turkana land could lead to destruction of the ecology, and to a breakdown of the pastoral system and of the system of social ties which has enabled generations of Turkana to cope with the stresses imposed by living in a harsh and unpredictable environment.KEYWORDS : development administration, drought, Kenya, nomads, traditional pastoralism, Turkana.

AbstractElectric dipole (E1) and spin-magnetic dipole (spin-M1) responses of nuclei have been studied by proton inelastic scattering experiments at forward angles, including zero degrees, at the Research Center for Nuclear Physics (RCNP) by employing a proton beam 295 or 392 MeV and the high-resolution magnetic spectrometer Grand Raiden. The E1 response of nuclei is the most fundamental nuclear response to the external field and is relevant to photo-nuclear reactions. After introducing the relevant nuclear matrix elements and the experimental methods, several recent experimental works are highlighted that include (E1) polarizability and the extraction of the symmetry energy parameters, pygmy dipole resonance, gamma-coincidence measurements, isoscalar and isovector spin-M1 excitations and the np spin correlation in the ground state, and gamma-emission probability for neutral current neutrino detection. A project, PANDORA, is introduced that aims at a systematic study of photo-nuclear reactions and decay branching ratios for light nuclei.

In the framework of the community participation in conservation in Rwanda, a women handcraft cooperative was established in 2011 in the surrounding of Nyungwe National Park in Kitabi sector and Nyamagabe District. It aimed to empower economically and socially wives of former hunters who were themselves relying on natural resources and involved in harvesting different resources in park for making handcraft products. The empowerment was intended to reduce the reliance to natural resources and to contribute to the protection of the park. The objective of the study was to investigate and examine women’s experiences about their empowerment through environmental justice, in terms of distributive and procedural justice and challenges faced by women. In doing so, participants were purposively selected in women handicraft cooperative and in administration bodies. With regards to data collection and analysis, semi-structured interviews and content analysis were used. The findings showed that women are socially and economically empowered. In terms of economic empowerment, access to financial loans, savings, employment and income generating projects are the major indicators of the empowerment. Improved capacity building and family relations are major concerns of social handcraft cooperative members. Regarding the participation of women in decision-making process, the findings are controversial. However, it is still limited because of the dominance of top-down approach that does not consider enough women’s voices and suggestions in decision making. Cooperative women members perceive and consider the process of communication and decision-making as passive because they are almost absent in the monitoring and evaluation processes. The participation of the community members including women only appears through meetings with or without elected representatives. The process of women empowerment is still limited by some challenges such as crop raiding, complicated and slow compensation process, high interest rate and slow process of loan and inadequate communication. The partnership approach is then recommended so as to consider women’s needs and voices in the implementation of natural resources conservation policies.

The Internet has connected people and cultures in a way that, just ten years ago, was unimaginable. Because of the net, materials once scarce are now ubiquitous. Indeed, never before in human history have so many people had so much access to such a wide variety of cultural material, yet far from heralding a new cultural nirvana, we are facing a creative lock-down. Over the last hundred years, copyright term has been extended time and again by a creative industry eager to hold on to the exclusive rights to its most lucrative materials. Previously, these rights guaranteed a steady income because the industry controlled supply and, in many cases, manufactured demand. But now culture has moved from being physical artefacts that can be sold or performances that can be experienced to being collections of 1s and 0s that can be easily copied and exchanged. People are revelling in the opportunity to acquire and experience music, movies, TV, books, photos, essays and other materials that they would otherwise have missed out on; and they picking up the creative ball and running with it, making their own version, remixes, mash-ups and derivative works. More importantly than that, people are producing and sharing their own cultural resources, publishing their own original photos, movies, music, writing. You name it, somewhere someone is making it, just for the love of it. Whilst the creative industries are using copyright law in every way they can to prosecute, shut down, and scare people away from even legitimate uses of cultural materials, the law itself is becoming increasingly inadequate. It can no longer deal with society’s demands and expectations, nor can it cope with modern forms of collaboration facilitated by technologies that the law makers could never have anticipated. Understanding Copyright Copyright is a complex area of law and even a seemingly simple task like determining whether a work is in or out of copyright can be a difficult calculation, as illustrated by flowcharts from Tim Padfield of the National Archives examining the British system, and Bromberg & Sunstein LLP which covers American works. Despite the complexity, understanding copyright is essential in our burgeoning knowledge economies. It is becoming increasingly clear that sharing knowledge, skills and expertise is of great importance not just within companies but also within communities and for individuals. There are many tools available today that allow people to work, synchronously or asynchronously, on creative endeavours via the Web, including: ccMixter, a community music site that helps people find material to remix; YouTube, which hosts movies; and JumpCut:, which allows people to share and remix their movies. These tools are being developed because of the increasing number of cultural movements toward the appropriation and reuse of culture that are encouraging people to get involved. These movements vary in their constituencies and foci, and include the student movement FreeCulture.org, the Free Software Foundation, the UK-based Remix Commons. Even big business has acknowledged the importance of cultural exchange and development, with Apple using the tagline ‘Rip. Mix. Burn.’ for its controversial 2001 advertising campaign. But creators—the writers, musicians, film-makers and remixers—frequently lose themselves in the maze of copyright legislation, a maze complicated by the international aspect of modern collaboration. Understanding of copyright law is at such a low ebb because current legislation is too complex and, in parts, out of step with modern technology and expectations. Creators have neither the time nor the motivation to learn more—they tend to ignore potential issues and continue labouring under any misapprehensions they have acquired along the way. The authors believe that there is an urgent need for review, modernisation and simplification of intellectual property laws. Indeed, in the UK, intellectual property is currently being examined by a Treasury-level review lead by Andrew Gowers. The Gowers Review is, at the time of writing, accepting submissions from interested parties and is due to report in the Autumn of 2006. Internationally, however, the situation is likely to remain difficult, so creators must grasp the nettle, educate themselves about copyright, and ensure that they understand the legal ramifications of collaboration, publication and reuse. What Is Collaboration? Wikipedia, a free online encyclopaedia created and maintained by unpaid volunteers, defines collaboration as “all processes wherein people work together—applying both to the work of individuals as well as larger collectives and societies” (Wikipedia, “Collaboration”). These varied practices are some of our most common and basic tendencies and apply in almost every sphere of human behaviour; working together with others might be described as an instinctive, pragmatic or social urge. We know we are collaborating when we work in teams with colleagues or brainstorm an idea with a friend, but there are many less familiar examples of collaboration, such as taking part in a Mexican wave or standing in a queue. In creative works, the law expects collaborators to obtain permission to reuse work created by others before they embark upon that reuse. Yet this distinction between ‘my’ work and ‘your’ work is entirely a legal and social construct, as opposed to an absolute fact of human nature, and new technologies are blurring the boundaries between what is ‘mine’ and what is ‘yours’ whilst new cultural movements posit a third position, ‘ours’. Yochai Benkler coined the term ‘commons-based peer production’ (Benkler, Coase’s Penguin; The Wealth of Nations) to describe collaborative efforts, such as free and open-source software or projects such as Wikipedia itself, which are based on sharing information. Benkler posits this particular example of collaboration as an alternative model for economic development, in contrast to the ‘firm’ and the ‘market’. Benkler’s notion sits uncomfortably with the individualistic precepts of originality which dominate IP policy, but with examples of commons-based peer production on the increase, it cannot be ignored when considering how new technologies and ways of working interact with existing and future copyright legislation. The Development of Collaboration When we think of collaboration we frequently imagine academics working together on a research paper, or musicians jamming together to write a new song. In academia, researchers working on a project are expected to write papers for publication in journals on a regular basis. The motto ‘publish or die’ is well known to anyone who has worked in academic circle—publishing papers is the lifeblood of the academic career, forming the basis of a researcher’s status within the academic community and providing data and theses for other researchers to test and build upon. In these circumstances, copyright is often assigned by the authors to a journal and, because there is no direct commercial outcome for the authors, conflicts regarding copyright tend to be restricted to issues such as reuse and reproduction. Within the creative industries, however, the focus of the collaboration is to derive commercial benefit from the work, so copyright issues, such as division of fees and royalties, plagiarism, and rights for reuse are much more profitable and hence they are more vigorously pursued. All of these issues are commonly discussed, documented and well understood. Less well understood is the interaction between copyright and the types of collaboration that the Internet has facilitated over the last decade. Copyright and Wikis Ten years ago, Ward Cunningham invented the ‘wiki’—a Web page which could be edited in situ by anyone with a browser. A wiki allows multiple users to read and edit the same page and, in many cases, those users are either anonymous or identified only by a nickname. The most famous example of a wiki is Wikipedia, which was started by Jimmy Wales in 2001 and now has over a million articles and over 1.2 million registered users (Wikipedia, “Wikipedia Statistics”). The culture of online wiki collaboration is a gestalt—the whole is greater than the sum of the parts and the collaborators see the overall success of the project as more important than their contribution to it. The majority of wiki software records every single edit to every page, creating a perfect audit trail of who changed which page and when. Because copyright is granted for the expression of an idea, in theory, this comprehensive edit history would allow users to assert copyright over their contributions, but in practice it is not possible to delineate clearly between different people’s contributions and, even if it was possible, it would simply create a thicket of rights which could never be untangled. In most cases, wiki users do not wish to assert copyright and are not interested in financial gain, but when wikis are set up to provide a source of information for reuse, copyright licensing becomes an issue. In the UK, it is not possible to dedicate a piece of work to the public domain, nor can you waive your copyright in a work. When a copyright holder wishes to licence their work, they can only assign that licence to another person or a legal entity such as a company. This is because in the UK, the public domain is formed of the ‘leftovers’ of intellectual property—works for which copyright has expired or those aspects of creative works which do not qualify for protection. It cannot be formally added to, although it certainly can be reduced by, for example, extension of copyright term which removes work from the public domain by re-copyrighting previously unprotected material. So the question becomes, to whom does the content of a wiki belong? At this point traditional copyright doctrines are of little use. The concept of individuals owning their original contribution falls down when contributions become so entangled that it’s impossible to split one person’s work from another. In a corporate context, individuals have often signed an employment contract in which they assign copyright in all their work to their employer, so all material created individually or through collaboration is owned by the company. But in the public sphere, there is no employer, there is no single entity to own the copyright (the group of contributors not being in itself a legal entity), and therefore no single entity to give permission to those who wish to reuse the content. One possible answer would be if all contributors assigned their copyright to an individual, such as the owner of the wiki, who could then grant permission for reuse. But online communities are fluid, with people joining and leaving as the mood takes them, and concepts of ownership are not as straightforward as in the offline world. Instead, authors who wished to achieve the equivalent of assigning rights to the public domain would have to publish a free licence to ‘the world’ granting permission to do any act otherwise restricted by copyright in the work. Drafting such a licence so that it is legally binding is, however, beyond the skills of most and could be done effectively only by an expert in copyright. The majority of creative people, however, do not have the budget to hire a copyright lawyer, and pro bono resources are few and far between. Copyright and Blogs Blogs are a clearer-cut case. Blog posts are usually written by one person, even if the blog that they are contributing to has multiple authors. Copyright therefore resides clearly with the author. Even if the blog has a copyright notice at the bottom—© A.N. Other Entity—unless there has been an explicit or implied agreement to transfer rights from the writer to the blog owner, copyright resides with the originator. Simply putting a copyright notice on a blog does not constitute such an agreement. Equally, copyright in blog comments resides with the commenter, not the site owner. This reflects the state of copyright with personal letters—the copyright in a letter resides with the letter writer, not the recipient, and owning letters does not constitute a right to publish them. Obviously, by clicking the ‘submit’ button, commenters have decided themselves to publish, but it should be remembered that that action does not transfer copyright to the blog owner without specific agreement from the commenter. Copyright and Musical Collaboration Musical collaboration is generally accepted by legal systems, at least in terms of recording (duets, groups and orchestras) and writing (partnerships). The practice of sampling—taking a snippet of a recording for use in a new work—has, however, changed the nature of collaboration, shaking up the recording industry and causing a legal furore. Musicians have been borrowing directly from each other since time immemorial and the student of classical music can point to many examples of composers ‘quoting’ each other’s melodies in their own work. Folk musicians too have been borrowing words and music from each other for centuries. But sampling in its modern form goes back to the musique concrète movement of the 1940s, when musicians used portions of other recordings in their own new compositions. The practice developed through the 50s and 60s, with The Beatles’ “Revolution 9” (from The White Album) drawing heavily from samples of orchestral and other recordings along with speech incorporated live from a radio playing in the studio at the time. Contemporary examples of sampling are too common to pick highlights, but Paul D. Miller, a.k.a. DJ Spooky ‘that Subliminal Kid’, has written an analysis of what he calls ‘Rhythm Science’ which examines the phenomenon. To begin with, sampling was ignored as it was rare and commercially insignificant. But once rap artists started to make significant amounts of money using samples, legal action was taken by originators claiming copyright infringement. Notable cases of illegal sampling were “Pump Up the Volume” by M/A/R/R/S in 1987 and Vanilla Ice’s use of Queen/David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” in the early 90s. Where once artists would use a sample and sort out the legal mess afterwards, such high-profile litigation has forced artists to secure permission for (or ‘clear’) their samples before use, and record companies will now refuse to release any song with uncleared samples. As software and technology progress further, so sampling progresses along with it. Indeed, sampling has now spawned mash-ups, where two or more songs are combined to create a musical hybrid. Instead of using just a portion of a song in a new composition which may be predominantly original, mash-ups often use no original material and rely instead upon mixing together tracks creatively, often juxtaposing musical styles or lyrics in a humorous manner. One of the most illuminating examples of a mash-up is DJ Food Raiding the 20th Century which itself gives a history of sampling and mash-ups using samples from over 160 sources, including other mash-ups. Mash-ups are almost always illegal, and this illegality drives mash-up artists underground. Yet, despite the fact that good mash-ups can spread like wildfire on the Internet, bringing new interest to old and jaded tracks and, potentially, new income to artists whose work had been forgotten, this form of musical expression is aggressively demonised upon by the industry. Given the opportunity, the industry will instead prosecute for infringement. But clearing rights is a complex and expensive procedure well beyond the reach of the average mash-up artist. First, you must identify the owner of the sound recording, a task easier said than done. The name of the rights holder may not be included in the original recording’s packaging, and as rights regularly change hands when an artist’s contract expires or when a record label is sold, any indication as to the rights holder’s identity may be out of date. Online musical databases such as AllMusic can be of some use, but in the case of older or obscure recordings, it may not be possible to locate the rights holder at all. Works where there is no identifiable rights holder are called ‘orphaned works’, and the longer the term of copyright, the more works are orphaned. Once you know who the rights holder is, you can negotiate terms for your proposed usage. Standard fees are extremely high, especially in the US, and typically discourage use. This convoluted legal culture is an anachronism in desperate need of reform: sampling has produced some of the most culturally interesting and financially valuable recordings of the past thirty years, so should be supported rather than marginalised. Unless the legal culture develops an acceptance for these practices, the associated financial and cultural benefits for society will not be realised. The irony is that there is already a successful model for simplifying licensing. If a musician wishes to record a cover version of a song, then royalty terms are set by law and there is no need to seek permission. In this case, the lawmakers have recognised the social and cultural benefit of cover versions and created a workable solution to the permissions problem. There is no logical reason why a similar system could not be put in place for sampling. Alternatives to Traditional Copyright Copyright, in its default structure, is a disabling force. It says that you may not do anything with my work without my permission and forces creators wishing to make a derivative work to contact me in order to obtain that permission in writing. This ‘permissions society’ has become the norm, but it is clear that it is not beneficial to society to hide away so much of our culture behind copyright, far beyond the reach of the individual creator. Fortunately there are fast-growing alternatives which simplify whilst encouraging creativity. Creative Commons is a global movement started by academic lawyers in the US who thought to write a set of more flexible copyright licences for creative works. These licenses enable creators to precisely tailor restrictions imposed on subsequent users of their work, prompting the tag-line ‘some rights reserved’ Creators decide if they will allow redistribution, commercial or non-commercial re-use, or require attribution, and can combine these permissions in whichever way they see fit. They may also choose to authorise others to sample their works. Built upon the foundation of copyright law, Creative Commons licences now apply to some 53 million works world-wide (Doctorow), and operate in over 60 jurisdictions. Their success is testament to the fact that collaboration and sharing is a fundamental part of human nature, and treating cultural output as property to be locked away goes against the grain for many people. Creative Commons are now also helping scientists to share not just the results of their research, but also data and samples so that others can easily replicate experiments and verify or refute results. They have thus created Science Commons in an attempt to free up data and resources from unnecessary private control. Scientists have been sharing their work via personal Web pages and other Websites for many years, and additional tools which allow them to benefit from network effects are to be welcomed. Another example of functioning alternative practices is the Remix Commons, a grassroots network spreading across the UK that facilitates artistic collaboration. Their Website is a forum for exchange of cultural materials, providing a space for creators to both locate and present work for possible remixing. Any artistic practice which can reasonably be rendered online is welcomed in their broad church. The network’s rapid expansion is in part attributable to its developers’ understanding of the need for tangible, practicable examples of a social movement, as embodied by their ‘free culture’ workshops. Collaboration, Copyright and the Future There has never been a better time to collaborate. The Internet is providing us with ways to work together that were unimaginable even just a decade ago, and high broadband penetration means that exchanging large amounts of data is not only feasible, but also getting easier and easier. It is possible now to work with other artists, writers and scientists around the world without ever physically meeting. The idea that the Internet may one day contain the sum of human knowledge is to underestimate its potential. The Internet is not just a repository, it is a mechanism for new discoveries, for expanding our knowledge, and for making links between people that would previously have been impossible. Copyright law has, in general, failed to keep up with the amazing progress shown by technology and human ingenuity. It is time that the lawmakers learnt how to collaborate with the collaborators in order to bring copyright up to date. References Apple. “Rip. Mix. Burn.” Advertisement. 28 April 2006 http://www.theapplecollection.com/Collection/AppleMovies/mov/concert_144a.html>. Benkler, Yochai. Coase’s Penguin. Yale Law School, 1 Dec. 2002. 14 April 2006 http://www.benkler.org/CoasesPenguin.html>. ———. The Wealth of Nations. New Haven: Yape UP, 2006. Bromberg & Sunstein LLP. Flowchart for Determining when US Copyrights in Fixed Works Expire. 14 Apr. 2006 http://www.bromsun.com/practices/copyright-portfolio-development/flowchart.htm>. DJ Food. Raiding the 20th Century. 14 April 2006 http://www.ubu.com/sound/dj_food.html>. Doctorow, Cory. “Yahoo Finds 53 Million Creative Commons Licensed Works Online.” BoingBoing 5 Oct. 2005. 14 April 2006 http://www.boingboing.net/2005/10/05/yahoo_finds_53_milli.html>. Miller, Paul D. Rhythm Science. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2004. Padfield, Tim. “Duration of Copyright.” The National Archives. 14 Apr. 2006 http://www.kingston.ac.uk/library/copyright/documents/DurationofCopyright FlowchartbyTimPadfieldofTheNationalArchives_002.pdf>. Wikipedia. “Collaboration.” 14 April 2006 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collaboration>. ———. “Wikipedia Statistics.” 14 April 2006 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Statistics>. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Charman, Suw, and Michael Holloway. "Copyright in a Collaborative Age." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/02-charmanholloway.php>. APA Style Charman, S., and M. Holloway. (May 2006) "Copyright in a Collaborative Age," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/02-charmanholloway.php>.

As 2008 marks the tenth anniversary of M/C Journal, there is opportunity to take stock and reflect on its impact and value. So too, can we revisit its archives and recover some of its best material in rediscovery. Such a process allows for recovery of certain trends and movements that could be said to characterise the preceding decade. While measuring time in ten year blocks is essentially an artificial exercise, it can also be seen as a practical means of stimulating reflection on what has been recovered. This is important to consider at a time when speed is increasingly of the essence in all aspects of life, but especially in media and cultural production, as well as academic production. In such a climate, time to recover is increasingly sparse, with the focus sometimes overwhelmingly on the future. In this context, recovering the past is often only partial recovery: a process of raiding that past for fragments applicable to an imagined future, a recasting of memories in brighter lights. Still, recovering something may give it new life, in different colours or a different wrapping. Implicit in the other meaning of the concept of recovery is that of ‘loss’, whereby recovery directly implies a sense of healing. This may be letting go of the past, understanding, and reconciling the interconnections between private and global landscapes of healing - culturally, physically, spiritually. For this issue of M/C Journal, we invited submissions that would address the process of 'recovery' from a wide variety of angles. We gave a number of examples of what that might include: recovery of cultural artefacts; recovery after prolonged periods of dominant political ideologies; recovery of memory; recovery after war or personal loss; and ultimately, the role of both 'old' and 'new' media in all such processes. We ended the call for papers with something of a ‘battle cry’: let us recover! Given the dual strands of meaning attached to recovery, that of recovering or repurposing the past, and that of recovery in the healing sense, it was the latter which provided inspiration for most of the articles submitted. Moreover, within the ‘healing’ papers, there was a strong emphasis on healing in the medical sense of the word, which provided an interesting insight into the power of the connotations of the word in its medical context. When we initially decided on ‘recover’ as the theme in late 2007, the choice was primarily related to the political context at the time, pre-global financial crisis – clearly. The ALP had finally succeeded in ending the ‘Howard years’, and the atmosphere seemed to be brimming with a sense of relief, fresh starts and new beginnings. Put another way, there seemed to be a need for recovery, at least in a political sense, and this is where we expected the primary focus to be. Instead, and apart from the ‘medical papers’, we received an eclectic mix of interpretations of recovery, which is reflected in the variety of papers that ultimately make up this issue. The political slant on recovery was the direction suggested to the author of our feature article, Brian Musgrove, who graciously accepted. While a good number of his ink-infused arrows are clearly aimed at the ‘Howard years’, Musgrove’s feature article covers a much wider and more ambitious terrain. Indeed, it brings together the different ‘recovery’ trajectories outlined above, in that it recovers multiple theories and the memory thereof, and in the process it shows us glimpses of ways to ‘recover’ from the culture wars. The culture wars are identified here as the underlying ideological impetus behind the ‘politics of contempt’: let us recover indeed!Musgrove’s call to recover the role of the Frankfurt School in enlivened critical efforts to “expose the machinations of contempt and its aesthetic ruses” historicises mass-mediated reality in Australia, the “land of the long weekend”, sounding an affirmation of thought, of lived experience, as exceeding conformity to ritualised “values”. And, as Martine Hawkes conveys, in “What is Recovered”, sometimes these thoughts and experiences remain unforgettable, inconclusive, in their promise.Like Musgrove, Hawkes responds to an encounter with the mass-mediated interview but this time, the subject is a survivor of the Srebrenica genocide, Saidin Salkić, who remembers “the smell of his father’s jumper, or the flowers growing in his mother’s garden”. Is this, sometimes, the sound of recovery? Loss, as an impossible utterance: “the lacuna in testimony.” Moving through her own encounter with the ruptured archival process, Hawkes turns to Derrida. She explores ways in which his “departure from the examination of the structure and institution of the archive”, traces a line through the dust of memory. In her theoretical journey, Hawkes comes to “a secret which can never be told, but which is hope.” And hope, then, turns out to live beyond verbal description, but is recovered, nevertheless. A related form of recovery is the focus of “From Loss of Objects to Recovery of Meanings: Online Museums and Indigenous Cultural Heritage”, in which Jeremy Pilcher and Saskia Vermeylen explore “how museums can be transformed into cultural centres that ‘decolonise’ their objects while simultaneously providing social agency to marginalised groups such as the San.” Pilcher and Vermeylen argue that providing agency to the social relations linking objects with people, places, and memories may be possible within the online environment. They argue that opportunities for engagement between marginalised Indigenous groups, such as the San, and multiple audiences, “may be enabled through the generation of multiple narratives within online museums”. Echoing Hawkes, Pilcher and Vermeylen observe how recovery of lived experience as cultural artefact carries an impossibility inherent in representation, in “that any form of representation or displaying restricts meaning.” In a sense, Pilcher and Vermeylen’s focus on the recovery of artefacts and their cultural value, and indeed the different cultural value ascribed to such artefacts, is continued in Ashton’s paper, albeit in an entirely different context. Ashton takes the 2008 Game On exhibition in Melbourne as his starting point to explore the ‘cultural heritage’ of games development, and attempts to locate this heritage within an identified (Nintendo) push to create a wider appeal that would be inclusive enough to feature “granny on the Wii”. This wider appeal in turn needs to be reconciled with a ‘bedroom geek culture’ that has provided the foundations for today’s billion dollar gaming industry. It is important then, as Ashton suggests, to recover a “eulogised and potentially mythical past”, but not as something that is ‘frozen’ in the past, but rather as something that continues to play a vital part in the gaming industry’s expanding “cultures of innovation and creative vibrancy”. It is such creative vibrancy and its importance to resisting what Brian Musgrove describes, in his feature article, as the repetition of conformist ritual and imposed “values” that concerns Steve Collins in “Recovering Fair Use”. He argues that “copyright enforcement has spun out of control” but that two recent cases “suggest that fair use has not fallen by the wayside and may well recover.” The two ‘medical’ interpretations of recovery (by Anthony McCosker, and Philip Neilsen and Ffion Murphy) both explore the ‘healing power’ of writing. In McCosker’s case, this is not necessarily about physical recovery, as some of the subjects he discusses sadly do not physically recover. However, the ‘illness blogs’ in his paper, regardless of whether the subjects ultimately recover, appear to provide an important space to mediate illness and help them record experiences and “stage their recovery or deterioration in a publicly accessible space”. McClosker identifies an interesting tension between private and public spaces here. Because these blogs are public, they can be seen as a political tool to raise awareness about particular forms of illness, and at the same time provide opportunities to build ‘communities of practice’ of people who are forced to deal with similar issues. However, while they are public, the individual nature of blogs, and their relation to their distant cousin ‘the diary’, create a paradox whereby their authors “attempt to recover a stable sense of self through discourse that frames the writer’s suffering, treatment, and healing in a deeply personal form.” In many cases it is precisely the public nature of the blog that paradoxically creates the anonimity needed to recover a sense of self amidst extreme personal upheaval. Neilsen and Murphy’s paper discusses the initial findings of a pilot study that aims to design and conduct “life-writing” workshops for a group of people with severe mental illness. This is a collaborative transdisciplinary project where a creative writer and teacher guided the session in consultation with, and monitored by, experienced mental health professionals. Echoing McCosker’s paper, there is an interesting exploration here of the different ways in which ‘recovery’ is defined, an oscillation between objective indicators of recovery, and the subjective experience of recovery, which are not always in alignment. Life-writing potentially allows individuals to express their subjective, lived experience of recovery. Initial outcomes suggest that siginificant elements of recovery (for example feelings of enhanced agency and creativity) can be achieved through life-writing workshops. The final paper (by Emily Bowles-Smith) approaches recovery from a rather different and more literary angle. Bowles-Smith addresses some of the difficulties that scholars like herself face when they attempt to recover early modern women’s writing. She uses the manuscript poetry of Elizabeth Wilmot, Countess of Rochester (1651-1681), as a case study. Wilmot’s poetry survives in a manuscript that she and her husband produced together. This frames Bowles-Smith’s paper to some extent as ‘feminist recovery work’, but this is only the starting point. As she argues, “like the writings of many early modern women, Wilmot’s manuscript poetry challenges assumptions about the intersections of gender, sexuality, and authorship”. Ultimately, each of these are subject of Bowles-Smith’s successful recovery work, whereby Wilmot re-surfaces in three-dimensional form, rather than simply as ‘author’ or ‘sexual body’. Overall then, to return to the initial ‘battle cry’ for this issue, we ask ourselves: have we recovered yet? The answer for us is a tentative and partial “yes”, with the help of some excellent authors. We are therefore confident there is plenty on offer for the reader here that will stimulate recovery, in all senses of the word, long into the future. We would like to sincerely thank all the reviewers for their prompt and excellent reviews, and a special thanks to Susanne Slavick for allowing us to use ‘Reconstruction (Beirut)’ as the wonderful image for this issue.

There is an old Danish fable that says that the Devil was watching when God created the earth, and that, as the creation progressed, he became increasingly agitated over the wondrous achievements he was made to witness. At the end of it all, the Devil turned to God, and said, ‘Now, watch this.’ He created Iceland. It’s a vision of the country that resembles my own. I have always thought of Iceland as the island apart. The place that came last in the earth’s construction, whoever the engineer, and so remains forever distant. Perhaps that’s because, for me, Iceland is a home far from home. It is the country that I am from, and the place to which I am always tending—in my reading, my travels, and my thoughts. But since we left when I was ten, I am only ever in Iceland for mere glimpses of the Devil’s work, and always leave wanting more, some kind of deeper involvement. Perhaps all of his temptations are like that. Iceland’s is an inverted landscape, stuck like a plug on the roof of the Earth, revealing all the violence and destruction of the layers beneath. The island expands as the tectonic plates beneath it move. It grows by ten centimetres a year, but in two different directions—one towards the States, and the other towards Europe. I have noticed something similar happening to me. Each year, the fissure is a little wider. I come to be more like a visitor, and less like the one returning to his birthplace. I last visited in February just gone, to see whether Iceland was still drifting away from me and, indeed, from the rest of the world. I was doing research in Germany, and set aside an extra week for Reykjavík, to visit friends and family, and to see whether things were really as bad as they appeared to be from Brisbane, where I have lived for most of my life. I had read countless bleak reports of financial ruin and social unrest, and yet I couldn’t suppress the thought that Iceland was probably just being Iceland. The same country that had fought three wars over cod; that offered asylum to Bobby Fischer when no-one else would take him; and that allowed Yoko Ono to occupy a small island near Reykjavík with a peace sculpture made of light. Wasn’t it always the country stuck out on its own, with a people who claimed their independent spirit, and self-reliance, as their most-prized values? No doubt, things were bad. But did Iceland really mean to tie itself closer to Europe as a way out of the economic crisis? And what would this mean for its much-cherished sense of apartness? I spent a week of clear, cold days talking to those who made up my Iceland. They all told me what I most wanted to hear—that nothing much had changed since the financial collapse in 2008. Yes, the value of the currency had halved, and this made it harder to travel abroad. Yes, there was some unemployment now, whereas before there had been none. And, certainly, those who had over-extended on their mortgages were struggling to keep their homes. But wasn’t this the case everywhere? If it wasn’t for Icesave, they said, no-one would spare a thought for Iceland. They were referring to the disastrous internet bank, a wing of the National Bank of Iceland, which had captured and then lost billions in British and Dutch savings. The result was an earthquake in the nation’s financial sector, which in recent years had come to challenge fishing and hot springs as the nation’s chief source of wealth. In a couple of months in late 2008, this sector all but disappeared, or was nationalised as part of the Icelandic government’s scrambling efforts to salvage the economy. Meanwhile, the British and Dutch governments insisted on their citizens’ interests, and issued such a wealth of abuse towards Iceland that the country must have wondered whether it wasn’t still seen, in some quarters, as the Devil’s work. At one point, the National Bank—my bank in Iceland—was even listed by the British as a terrorist organization. I asked whether people were angry with the entrepreneurs who caused all this trouble, the bankers behind Icesave, and so on. The reply was that they were all still in London. ‘They wouldn’t dare show their faces in Reykjavík.’ Well, that was new, I thought. It sounded like a different kind of anger, much more bitter than the usual, fisherman’s jealous awareness of his neighbours’ harvests. Different, too, from the gossip, a national addiction which nevertheless always struck me as being rather homely and forgiving. In Iceland, just about everyone is related, and the thirty or so bankers who have caused the nation’s bankruptcy are well-known to all. But somehow they have gone too far, and their exile is suspended only by their appearances in the newspapers, the law courts, or on the satirical T-shirts sold in main street Laugavegur. There, too, you saw the other side of the currency collapse. The place was buzzing with tourists, unusual at this dark time of year. Iceland was half-price, they had been told, and it was true—anything made locally was affordable, for so long unthinkable in Iceland. This was a country that had always prided itself on being hopelessly expensive. So perhaps what was being lost in the local value of the economy would be recouped through the waves of extra tourists? Certainly, the sudden cheapness of Iceland had affected my decision to come, and to stay in a hotel downtown rather than with friends. On my last full day, a Saturday, I joined my namesake Kári for a drive into the country. For a while, our conversation was taken up with the crisis: the President, Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson, had recently declined to sign a bill that ensured that Iceland repaid its debts to the British and Dutch governments. His refusal meant a referendum on the bill in the coming March. No-one doubted that the nation would say no. The terms were unfair. And yet it was felt that Iceland’s entry into the EU, and its adoption of the Euro in place of the failed krónur, were conditional on its acceptance of the blame apportioned by international investors, and Britain in particular. Britain, one recalled, was the enemy in the Cod Wars, when Iceland had last entered the international press. Iceland had won that war. Why not this one, as well? That Iceland should suddenly need the forgiveness and assistance of its neighbours was no surprise to them. The Danes and others had long been warning Icelandic bankers that the finance sector was massively over-leveraged and bound for failure at the first sign of trouble in the international economy. I remember being in Iceland at the time of these warnings, in May 2007. It was Eurovision Song Contest month, and there was great local consternation at Iceland’s dismal showing that year. Amid the outpouring of Eurovision grief, and accusations against the rest of Europe that it was block-voting small countries like Iceland out of the contest, the dire economic warnings from the Danes seemed small news. ‘They just didn’t like the útrásarvíkingar,’ said Kári. That is, the Danes were simply upset that their former colonial children had produced offspring of their own who were capable of taking over shops, football clubs, and even banks in main streets of Copenhagen, Amsterdam and London. With interests as glamorous as West Ham United, Hamleys, and Karen Millen, it is not surprising that the útrásarvíkingar, or ‘Viking raiders’, were fast attaining the status of national heroes. Today, it’s a term of abuse rather than pride. The entrepreneurs are exiled in the countries they once sought to raid, and the modern Viking achievement, rather like the one a thousand years before, is a victim of negative press. All that raiding suddenly seems vain and greedy, and the ships that bore the raiders—private jets that for a while were a common sight over the skies of Reykjavík—have found new homes in foreign lands. The Danes were right about the Icelandic economy, just as they’d been right about the Devil’s landscaping efforts. But hundreds of years of colonial rule and only six decades of independence made it difficult for the Icelanders to listen. To curtail the flight of the new Vikings went against the Icelandic project, which from the very beginning was about independence. A thousand years before, in the 870s, Iceland had been a refuge. The medieval stories—known collectively as the sagas—tell us that the island was settled by Norwegian chieftains who were driven out of the fjordlands of their ancestors by the ruthless King Harald the Fair-Haired, who demanded total control of Norway. They refused to humble themselves before the king, and instead took the risk of a new life on a remote, inhospitable island. Icelandic independence, which was lost in the 1260s, was only regained in full in 1944, after Denmark had fallen under German occupation. Ten years later, with the war over and Iceland in the full stride of its independence, Denmark began returning the medieval Icelandic manuscripts that it had acquired during the colonial era. At that point, says the common wisdom, Icelanders forgave the Danes for centuries of poor governance. Although the strict commercial laws of the colonial period had made it all but impossible for Icelanders to rise out of economic hardship, the Danes had, at least, given the sagas back. National sovereignty was returned, and so too the literature that dated back to the time the country had last stood on its own. But, most powerfully, being Icelandic meant being independent of one’s immediate neighbours. Halldór Laxness, the nation’s Nobel Laureate, would satirize this national characteristic in his most enduring masterpiece, Sjálfstætt fólk, or Independent People. It is also what the dominant political party of the independence period, Sjálfstæðisflokkurinn, The Independence Party, has long treasured as a political ideal. To be Icelandic means being free of interference. And in a country of independent people, who would want to stop the bankers on their raids into Europe? Or, for that matter, who was now going to admit that it was time to join Europe instead of emphasizing one’s apartness from it? Kári and I turned off the south road out of Reykjavík and climbed into the heath. From here, the wounds of the country’s geological past still dominated the surface of the land. Little wonder that Jules Verne claimed that the journey to the centre of the world began on Snæfellsnes, a peninsula of volcanoes, lava, and ice caps on a long arm of land that extends desperately from the west of the island, as if forever in hope of reaching America, or at the very least Greenland. It was from Snæfellsnes that Eirík the Red began his Viking voyages westwards, and from where his famous son Leif would reach Vínland, the Land of Vines, most probably Newfoundland. Eight hundred years later, during the worst of the nation’s hardships—when the famines and natural disasters of the late eighteenth century reduced the nation almost to extinction—thousands of Icelanders followed in Leif’s footsteps, across the ‘whale road’, as the Vikings called it, to Canada, and mainly Winnipeg, where they recreated Iceland in an environment arguably even more hostile than the one they’d left. At least there weren’t any volcanoes in Winnipeg. In Iceland, you could never escape the feeling that the world was still evolving, and that the Devil’s work was ongoing. Even the national Assembly was established on one of the island’s most visible outward signs of the deep rift beneath—where a lake had cracked off the heath around it, which now surrounded it as a scar-scape of broken rocks and torn cliffs. The Almannagjá, or People’s Gorge, which is the most dramatic part of the rift, stands, or rather falls apart, as the ultimate symbol of Icelandic national unity. That is Iceland, an island on the edge of Europe, and forever on the edge of itself, too, a place where unity is defined by constant points of separation, not only in the landscape as it crunches itself apart and pushes through at the weak points, but also in a persistently small social world—the population is only 320,000—that is so closely related that it has had little choice but to emphasise the differences that do exist. After a slow drive through the low hills near Thingvellir, we reached the national park, and followed the dirt roads down to the lake. It’s an exclusive place for summerhouses, many of which now seem to stand as reminders of the excesses of the past ten years: the haphazardly-constructed huts that once made the summerhouse experience a bit of an adventure were replaced by two-storey buildings with satellite dishes, spa baths, and the ubiquitous black Range Rovers parked outside—the latter are now known as ‘Game Overs’. Like so much that has been sold off to pay the debts, the luxury houses seem ‘very 2007,’ the local term for anything unsustainable. But even the opulent summerhouses of the Viking raiders don’t diminish the landscape of Thingvellir, and a lake that was frozen from the shore to about fifty metres out. At the shoreline, lapping water had crystallized into blue, translucent ice-waves that formed in lines of dark and light water. Then we left the black beach for the site of the old Assembly. It was a place that had witnessed many encounters, not least the love matches that were formed when young Icelanders returned from their Viking raids and visits to the courts of Scandinavia, Scotland, Ireland, and England. On this particular day, though, the site was occupied by only five Dutchmen in bright, orange coats. They were throwing stones into Öxará, the river that runs off the heath into the Thingvellir lake, and looked up guiltily as we passed. I’m not sure what they felt bad about—throwing stones in the river was surely the most natural thing to do. On my last night, I barely slept. The Saturday night street noise was too much, and my thoughts were taken with the ever-apart Iceland, and with the anticipation of my returning to Brisbane the next day. Reykjavík the party town certainly hadn’t changed with the financial crisis, and nor had my mixed feelings about living so far away. The broken glass and obscenities of a night out didn’t ease until 5am, when it was time for me to board the Flybus to Keflavík Airport. I made my way through the screams and drunken stumblers, and into the quiet of the dark bus, where, in the back, I could just make out the five Dutchmen who, the day before, Kári and I had seen at Thingvellir, and who were now fast asleep and emitting a perfume of vodka and tobacco smoke that made it all the way to the front. It had all seemed too familiar not to be true—the relentless Icelandic optimism around its independence, the sense that it would always be an up-and-down sort of a place anyway, and the jagged volcanoes and lava fields that formed the distant shadows of the half-hour drive to the airport. The people, like the landscape, were fixed on separation, and I doubted that the difficulties with Europe would force them in any other direction. And I, too, was on my way back, as uncertain as ever about Iceland and my place in it. I returned to the clinging heat and my own separation from home, which, as before, I also recognized as my homecoming to Brisbane. Isn’t that in the nature of split affinities, to always be nearly there but never quite there? In the weeks since my return, the Icelanders have voted by referendum to reject the deal made for the repayment of the Icesave debts, and a fresh round of negotiations with the British and Dutch governments begins. For the time being, Iceland retains its right to independence, at least as expressed by the right to sidestep the consequences of its unhappy raids into Europe. Pinning down the Devil, it seems, is just as hard as ever.

IntroductionThis article is about the transformation of coffee, from having no place in the everyday lives of the people of Bangladesh, to a new position as a harbinger of liberal values and Western culture. The context is a group of Australian photojournalism students who embarked on a month-long residency in Bangladesh; the content is a Nescafé advertisement encouraging the young, middle-class Bangladesh audience to consume coffee, in a marketing campaign that promotes “my first cup.” For the Australian students, the marketing positioning of this advertising campaign transformed instant coffee into a strange and unfamiliar commodity. At the same time, the historic association between Bangladesh and tea prompted one of the photographers to undertake her own journey to explore the hidden side of that other Western staple. This paper explores the tradition of tea culture in Bangladesh and the marketing campaign for instant coffee within this culture, combining the authors’ experiences and perspectives. The outline of the Photomedia unit in the Bachelor of Creative Industries degree that the students were working towards at Edith Cowan University (ECU) in Australia states that:students will engage with practices, issues and practicalities of working as a photojournalist in an international, cross cultural context. Students will work in collaboration with students of Pathshala: South Asian Institute of Photography, Dhaka Bangladesh in the research, production and presentation of stories related to Bangladeshi society and culture for distribution to international audiences (ECU). The sixteen students from Perth, living and working in Bangladesh between 5 January and 7 February 2012, exhibited a diverse range of cultures, contexts, and motivations. Young Australians, along with a number of ECU’s international students, including some from Norway, China and Sweden, were required to learn first-hand about life in Bangladesh, one of the world’s poorest and most densely populated countries. Danielle Fusco and ECU lecturer Duncan Barnes collaborated with staff and students of Pathshala, South Asian Media Institute (Pathshala). Their recollections and observations on tea production and the location are central to this article but it is the questions asked by the group about the marketing of instant coffee into this culture that provides its tensions. Fusco completed a week-long induction and then travelled in Bangladesh for a fortnight to research and photograph individual stories on rural and urban life. Barnes here sets the scene for the project, describing the expectations and what actually happened: When we travel to countries that are vastly different to our own it is often to seek out that difference; to go in search of the romanticised ideals that have been portrayed as paradise in films, books and photographs. “The West” has long been fascinated with “The East” (Said) and for the past half century, since the hippie treks to Marrakesh and Afghanistan, people have journeyed overland to the Indian sub-continent, both from Europe and from Australia, yearning for a cultural experience they cannot find at home. Living in Perth, Western Australia, sometimes called the most isolated capital city in the world, that pull to something “different” is like a magnet. Upon arrival in Dhaka, you find yourself deliciously overwhelmed by the heavy traffic, the crowded markets, the spicy foods and the milky lassie drinks. It only takes a few stomach upsets to make your Western appetite start kicking in and you begin craving things you have at home but that are hard to find in Bangladesh. Take coffee for example. I recently completed a month-long visit to Bangladesh, which, like India, is a nation of tea drinkers. Getting any kind of good coffee requires that you be in what expatriates call “the Golden Triangle” of Dhaka city—within the area contained by Gulshan-Banani-Baridhara. Here you find the embassies and a sizeable expatriate community that constitutes a Western bubble unrepresentative of Bangladesh beyond these districts. Coffee World is an example of a Western-style café chain that, as the name suggests, serves coffee beverages. It has trouble making a quality flat white. The baristas are poorly trained, the service is painfully slow, yet the prices are comparable to those in the West. Even with these disadvantages, it is frequented by Westerners who also make use of the free WiFi. In contrast, tea is available at every road junction for around 5 cents Australian. It’s ready in seconds: the kettle is always hot due to a constant turnover of local customers. It was the history of tea growing in Bangladesh, and a desire to know more about a commodity that people in the West take for granted, that most attracted Fusco’s interest. She chose to focus on Bangladesh’s oldest commercial tea garden (plantation) Sylhet, which has been in production since 1857 (Tea Board). As is the case with many tea farms in the Indian sub-continent, the workers at Sylhet are part of Bangladesh’s Hindu minority. Fusco left Dhaka and travelled into the rural areas to investigate tea production: Venturing into these estates from the city is like entering an entirely different world. They are isolated places, and although they are close in distance, they are completely separate from the main city. Spending time in the Khadim tea estate amongst the plantations and the workers’ compounds made me very aware of the strong relationship that exists between them. The Hindu teaching of Samsara refers to the continuous cycle of repeated birth, life, death and rebirth [Hinduism], which became a metaphor for me, for this relationship I was experiencing. It is clear that neither farm [where the tea is grown] nor village [which houses the people] could live without each other. The success and maintenance of the tea farm relies on the workers just as much as the workers rely on the tea gardens for their livelihood and sustenance. Their life cycles are intertwined and in synch. There are many problems in the compounds. The people are extremely poor. Their education opportunities are limited, and they work incredibly hard for very little money for their entire lives. They are bound to stay and work here and as those generations before them, were born, worked and died here, living their whole lives in the community of the tea farm. By documenting the lives of the people, I realised I was documenting the process of the lives of the tea trees at the same time. This is how I met Lolita.Figure 1. Bangladeshi tea worker, Lolita, stands in a small section of the Khadim tea plantation in the early morning. Sylhet, Bangladesh (Danielle Fusco, Jan. 2012). This woman emulated everything I was seeing and feeling about the village and the garden. She spoke about the reliance on the trees, especially because of the money and, therefore, the food, they provide for her and her husband. I became aware of the injustice of this system because the workers are paid so little while this industry is booming. It was obvious that life here is far from perfect, but as Lolita explains, they make do. She has worked on the tea estate for decades. As her husband is no longer working, she is the primary income earner. They are able, however, to live in relative comfort now their children have all married and left and it is just the two of them. Lolita describes that money lies within these trees. Money for her means that she can eat that day. Money for the managers means industrial success. Either way, whether it is in the eyes of the individual or the industry, tea always comes down to Taka [the currency of Bangladesh]. Marketing Coffee in a Culture of Tea and Betel Nut With such a strong culture of tea production and consumption and a coffee culture just existing on the fringe, a campaign by Nescafé to encourage Bangladeshi consumers to have “my first cup” of Nescafé instant coffee at the time of this study captured the imagination of the students. How effective can the marketing of Nescafé instant coffee be in a society that is historically a producer and consumer of tea, and which also still embraces the generations-old use of the betel nut as an everyday stimulant? Although it only employs some 150,000 (Islam et al.) in a nation of 150 million people, tea makes an important contribution to the Bangladesh economy. Shortly after the 1971 civil war, in which East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) became independent from West Pakistan (now Pakistan), the then-Chairman of the Bangladesh Tea Board, writing in World Development, commented:In the highly competitive marketing environment of today it is extremely necessary for the tea industry of Bangladesh to increase production by raising the per acre yield, improve quality by adoption of finer plucking standards and modernization of factories and reduce per unit cost of production so as to be able to sell more of our teas to foreign markets and thereby earn higher amounts of much needed foreign exchange for the country as well as generate additional resources within the industry for ploughing back for further development (Ali 55). In Bangladesh, tea is a cash crop that, even in the 1970s following vicious conflicts, is more than capable of meeting local demand and producing an export dividend. Coffee is imported commodity that, historically, has had little place in Bangladeshi life or culture. However important tea is, it is not the traditional Bangladesh stimulant. Instead, over the years, when people in the West would have had a cup of tea or coffee and/or a cigarette, most Bangladeshis have turned to the betel nut. A 2005 study of 100 citizens from Araihazar, Bangladesh, conducted by researchers from Columbia University, found that coffee consumption is “very low in this population” (Hafeman et al. 567). The purpose of the study was to assess the impact of betel quids (the wad of masticated nut) and the chewing of betel nuts, upon tremor. For this reason, it was important to record the consumption of stimulants in the 98 participants who progressed to the next stage of the study and took a freehand spiral-drawing test. While “26 (27%) participants had chewed betel quids, 23 (23%) had smoked one or more cigarettes, [and] 14 (14%) drank tea; on that day, only 1 (1%) drank caffeinated soda, and none (0%) drank coffee” (Hafeman et al. 568). Given its addictive and carcinogenic properties (Sharma), the people who chewed betel quids were more likely to exhibit tremor in their spiral drawings than the people who did not. As this (albeit small) study suggests, the preferred Bangladeshi stimulant is more likely to be betel or tobacco rather than a beverage. Insofar as hot drinks are consumed, Bangladesh citizens drink tea. This poses a significant challenge for multinational advertisers who seek to promote the consumption of instant coffee as a means of growing the global market for Nescafé. Marketing Nescafé to Bangladesh In Dhaka, in January 2012, the television campaign slogan for Nescafé is “My first cup”, with the tagline, “Time you started.” This Nescafé television commercial (NTC) impressed itself upon the Australian visitors, both in terms of its frequency of broadcast and in its referencing of Western culture and values. (The advertisement can be viewed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2E8mFX43oAM). The NTC’s three stars, Vir Das, Purab Kohli, and leading Bollywood actress Deepika Padukone, are highly-recognisable to young Bangladeshi audiences and the storyline is part of a developing series of advertisements which together form a mini-soap opera, like that used so successfully to advertise the Nescafé Gold Blend brand of instant coffee in the West in the 1980s to 1990s (O’Donohoe 242; Beale). The action takes place in Kohli’s affluent, Western-style apartment. The drama starts with Das challenging Kohli regarding whether he has successfully developed a relationship with his attractive neighbour, Padukone. Using a combination of local language with English words and sub-titles, the first sequence is captioned: “Any progress with Deepika, or are you still mixing coffee?” Suggesting incredulity, and that he could do better, Das asks Kohli, according to the next subtitle, “What are you doing dude?” The use of the word “dude” clearly refers to American youth culture, familiar in such movies as Dude, where’s my car? This is underlined by the immediate transition to the English words of “bikes … biceps … chest … explosion.” Of these four words only “chest” is pronounced in the local tongue, although all four words are included as captions in English. Kohli appears less and less impressed as Das becomes increasingly insistent, with Das going on to express frustration with Kohli through the exclamation “u don’t even have a plan.” The use of the text-speak English “u” here can be constructed as another way of persuading young Bangladeshi viewers that this advertisement is directed at them: the “u” in place of “you” is likely to annoy their English-speaking elders. Das continues speaking in his mother tongue, with the subtitle “Deepika padukone [sic] is your neighbour and you are only drinking coffee,” with the subsequent subtitle emphasising: “Deepika and only coffee.” At this point, Padukone enters the apartment through the open door without knocking and confidently says “Hi.” Kohli explains the situation by responding (in English, and subtitled) “my school friend, Das”. Padukone, in turn, responds in a friendly way to both men (in English, and subtitled) “You guys want to have coffee?” Instead of responding directly to this invitation, Das models to Kohli what it is to take the initiative in this situation: what it is to have a plan. “Hello” (he says, in English and subtitled) “I don’t have coffee but I have a plan. You and me, my bike, right now, hit the town, party!” Kohli looks down at the floor, embarrassed, while Padukone looks quizzically at him over Das’s shoulder. Kohli smiles, and points to himself and Padukone, clearly excluding Das: “I will have coffee” (in English, and subtitle). “Better plan”, exclaims Padukone, “You and me, my place, right now, coffee.” She looks challengingly at Das: “Right?,” a statement rather than a request, and exits, with Kohli following and Das left behind in the apartment. Cue voice-over (not a subtitle, but in-screen speech bubble) “[It’s] time you started” (spoken) “the new Nescafé” (shot change) “My first cup” (with an in-screen price promotion). This commercial associates coffee drinking with Western values of social and personal autonomy. For young women in the traditional Muslim culture of Bangladesh, it suggests a world in which they are at liberty to spend time with the suitors they choose, ignoring those whom they find pushy or inappropriate, and free to invite a man back to “my place, right now” for coffee. The scene setting in this advertisement and the use of English in both the spoken and written text suggests its target is the educated middle class, and indicates that sophisticated, affluent, trend-setters drink coffee as a part of getting to know their neighbours. In line with this, the still which ends the commercial promotes the Facebook page “Know your neighbours.” The flirtatious nature of the actors in the advertisement, the emphasis on each of the male characters spending time alone with the female character, and the female character having both power and choice in this situation is likely to be highly unacceptable to traditional Bangladeshi parental values and, therefore, proportionately more exciting to the target audience. The underlying suggestion of “my first cup” and “time you started” is that the social consumption of that first cup of coffee is the “first step” to becoming more Western. The statement also has overtones of sexual initiation. The advertisement aligns itself with the world portrayed in the Western media consumed in Bangladesh, and the implication is that—even if Western liberal values are not currently a possible choice for all—it is at least feasible to start on the journey towards these values through drinking that first cup of coffee. Unbeknownst to the Bangladesh audience, this Nescafé marketing strategy echoes, in almost all material particulars, the same approach that was so successful in persuading Australians to embrace instant coffee. Khamis, in her essay on Australia and the convenience of instant coffee, argues that, while in 1928 Australia had the highest per capita consumption of tea in the world, this had begun to change by the 1950s. The transformation in the market positioning of coffee was partly achieved through an association between tea and old-fashioned ‘Britishness’ and coffee and the United States: this discovery [of coffee] spoke to changes in Australia’s lifestyle options: the tea habit was tied to Australia’s development as a far-flung colonial outpost, a daily reminder that many still looked to London as the nation’s cultural capital: the growing appeal of instant coffee reflected a widening and more nuanced cultural palate. This was not just ‘another’ example of the United States postwar juggernaut; it marks the transitional phase in Australia’s history, as its cultural identity was informed less by the staid conservativism of Britain than the heady flux of New World glamour (219). Coffee was associated with the USA not simply through advertising but also through cultural exposure. By 1943, notes Khamis, there were 120,000 American service personnel stationed in Australia and she quotes Symons (168) as saying that “when an American got on a friendly footing with an Australian family he was usually found in the kitchen, teaching the Mrs how to make coffee, or washing the dishes” (168, cited in Khamis 220). The chances were that “the Mrs”—the Australian housewife—felt she needed the tuition: an Australian survey conducted by Gallup in March 1950 indicated that 55 per cent of respondents at that time had never tried coffee, while a further 24 per cent said they “seldom” consumed it (Walker and Roberts 133, cited in Khamis 222). In a newspaper article titled, “Overpaid, Oversexed and Over Here”, Munro describes the impact of exposure to the first American troops based in Australia during this time, with a then seven year old recalling: “They were foreign, quite a different culture from us. They spoke more loudly than us. They had strange accents, cute expressions, they were really very exotic.” The American troops caused consternation for Australian fathers and boyfriends. Dulcie Wood was 18 when she was dating an American serviceman: They had more money to spend (than Australian troops). They seemed to have plenty of supplies, they were always bringing you presents—stockings and cartons of cigarettes […] Their uniforms were better. They took you to more places. They were quite good dancers, some of them. They always brought you flowers. They were more polite to women. They charmed the mums because they were very polite. Some dads were a bit more sceptical of them. They weren’t sure if all that charm was genuine (quoted in Munro). Darian-Smith argues that, at that time, Australian understanding of Americans was based on Hollywood films, which led to an impression of American technological superiority and cultural sophistication (215-16, 232). “Against the American-style combination of smart advertising, consumerism, self-expression and popular democracy, the British class system and its buttoned-up royals appeared dull and dour” writes Khamis (226, citing Grant 15)—almost as dull and dour as 1950s tea compared with the postwar sophistication of Nescafé instant coffee. Conclusion The approach Nestlé is using in Bangladesh to market instant coffee is tried and tested: coffee is associated with the new, radical cultural influence while tea and other traditional stimulants are relegated to the choice of an older, more staid generation. Younger consumers are targeted with a romantic story about the love of coffee, reflected in a mini-soap opera about two people becoming a couple over a cup of Nescafé. Hopefully, the Pathshala-Edith Cowan University collaboration is at least as strong. Some of the overseas visitors return to Bangladesh on a regular basis—the student presentations in 2012 were, for instance, attended by two visiting graduates from the 2008 program who were working in Bangladesh. For the Australian participants, the association with Pathshala, South Asian Media Institute, and Drik Photo Agency brings recognition, credibility and opportunity. It also offers a totally new perspective on what to order in the coffee queue once they are home again in Australia. Postscript The final week of the residency in Bangladesh was taken up with presentations and a public exhibition of the students’ work at Drik Picture Agency, Dhaka, 3–7 February 2012. 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