Artigos de revistas sobre o tema "Marion High School"

The food at the All-College Dining Commons (ACDC) at Vassar College stinks. Not that is literally smells foul; it just isn’t very good. The high-achieving community college students in the Exploring Transfer Program (ET) eat breakfast and dinner there for the five weeks that they are studying at Vassar. Ironically, the course I co-taught in ET for two summers, with the Chair of Environmental Studies, is entitled Feast or Famine: Food, Society, Environment. This course is a survey of issues concerning food systems, such as industrial farming, the role of agricultural lobbyists in Washington, overfishing, food sovereignty in developing countries, food stamps, food deserts, the USDA, FDA, WTO, IMF, etc. And yet, with all of the knowledge the students are gleaning from authors like Marion Nestle, Michael Pollan, Wendell Berry and myriad others, they have to eat the crappy food at ACDC. We have had students in this course from Argentina, Bosnia, Bourkina Faso, China, El Salvador, Ghana, Guyana, Haiti, Italy, Mexico, Pakistan, Poland, the Philippines, Sweden, Uzbekistan, and Vietnam. They come from community colleges mostly in the New York area, but also from as far away as Boston, Maine, Los Angeles, and Diné Community College, which is on a Navajo reservation in Northern Arizona. This program—over 30 years old and with over 1,000 alumni—is a sort of academic boot camp for community college students who hope to transfer to an elite liberal arts college, a Research 1 university, or an Ivy League school. It’s a full scholarship program during which they take two courses in five weeks, each team-taught by a community college professor and a Vassar professor. “AC/DC” seems an apt metaphor for the ET program; not for its pop-metal connotations but because of the fact that it demands that students that are accustomed to operating in one current suddenly adjust to quite another. The question that arises out of the experience of eating ACDC, though—of being low-income, immigrant, first-generation college students, studying at one of the whitest and most expensive schools in the country and yet being forced to eat poor food—is “how do they develop a sense of personal agency,” since that is what the transition through community college and onto a school like Vassar requires.

“The first impression is that Marin is a wealthy community, but if you dig in, you find a significant population of poor families here. And there is a very big need to address them.” – Michael Watenpaugh, Superintendent of San Rafael City Schools When you enter the grounds of Marin County Community School (MCCS), you see security patrolling the premises. The students may be on probation, house arrest, or have general behavior issues deemed unfit for regular public school. High-risk youth in Marin County generally are referred to MCCS, an alternative education facility, in hopes of providing the student a second chance to earn a high school diploma and a better future. MCCS, located in San Rafael, California provides an educational program geared towards intensive instruction in English/Language Arts and Mathematics with a focus on developing pro-social skills through the integration of services that address an array of issues such as mental health, aggression, substance abuse, and occupational programs. MCCS partners with many social behavior programs in order to establish a better learning environment.

Social capital research has demonstrated the value of relationships and networks to enhance college opportunity for first-generation students. While most work has focused on individual students and their ties, high schools play a critical role in social capital processes by connecting students to external college access organizations and resources. This case study employs Mario Small’s organizational brokerage theory to investigate social capital formation among college-bound first-generation youth in an urban high school. Specifically, we explore how the school itself brokered college-going resources through its partner organizations. Findings illustrate a range of passive and active brokerage strategies that influenced the quantity and quality of available resources, and in turn, the amount of student agency required to secure social capital gains.

Strengthening character education in the Formal Education Unit is carried out by optimizing the function of the trip-center education partnership which includes schools, families, and communities. The implementation of KDP which optimizes the function of the education trip center is carried out with a class-based or integrated approach through learning activities, school culture, and the community. Research Type This research is a qualitative descriptive research type. Descriptive research is research that is intended to investigate circumstances, conditions, or other things that have been mentioned, the results of which are presented in the form of a research report. Based on the results of research and data analysis conducted by researchers regarding the strategy for implementing character education at SMAN 1 Maron, it can be concluded that the implementation of character education at SMAN 1 Maron is carried out in an integrated manner in every school activity through three main channels, namely 1) integrated through learning activities , 2) integrated through extracurricular activities, 3) integrated through cultural and habituation activities

Given the limited evidence of school closure effectiveness in containing the pandemic and the consequences for young people, reopening schools with appropriate measures is essential. This overview aimed to describe the main measures planned for the 2020–2021 academic year within the WHO European Region. A rapid systematic review of scientific databases was also performed. The websites of the government, Ministry of Health, and Ministry of Education of European Region countries were searched through 1 October for official documents about the prevention and management of suspected cases/confirmed cases in primary and secondary schools. To find further suggestions, a rapid systematic review was conducted through 20 October searching Pubmed, Scopus, and Embase. There were 23 official documents. France, Luxembourg, Malta, Ireland, Italy, Portugal, the UK, Spain, and San Marino were considered. Performing the rapid review, 855 records were identified and 7 papers were finally selected. The recommendations mostly agreed. However, there was no consensus on the criteria for the return to school of students that tested positive, and the flexibility between attendance at school and remote education for high-risk children often varied. School closure was commonly considered as the very last resort for COVID-19 control. Studies are required to evaluate the impact of different recommendations during this autumn term.

This research is a qualitative research that designed to uses the class action research (CAR). This research was conducted in the ten grader the students of Senior High School I Maron Probolinggo unnecessary to make the teaching and learning programs that have been designed. The researcher is the teacher of the ten grader the students of Senior High School I Maron Probolinggo. Therefore, besides the teacher as researcher, the teacher also as observer. However, to overcome the limitations of the teacher they do observation, they asked their friends and colleagues to become an observer also serves as a collaborator.The main problem of this research is the “How to improve the writing description skills of ten grader the students Senior High School I Maron through inquiry strategy ?” the problem break down into three things, (1) how did the improvement process of learning to write the description of the ten grader the students of Senior High School I Maron Probolinggo through inquiry strategy? (2) how do you learn to write the description of the results that is increase in the ten grader the students of Senior High School I Maron Probolinggo through inquiry strategy? The results showed as follows. (1) there has been an increase in the process of learning to write description through inquiry strategy. The activities that may include the pre-write stage, To develop the outline of, revision, and editing. The implementation of this class action is recorded and observed by the researchers but before the execution of the cycle I course of research had not reached yet the desired goal because the achieved results is not perfection yet. In the Cycle I, the process of learning to description writing through the inquiry strategy has been good and interesting but still found that need to get attention with regards to the class action research. While the processing of learning to description writing cycle II through inquiry strategy has been very good, (2) The improvement in the achievement of learning to write the description appears that if before the application of cycle I the students who have not achieved completion or who obtained a score below 70 as many as 21 children or 61.8%, in cycle I that decreased to 8 or 23.5% , and in cycle II the student's score was above 70. The completion increased from 13 children or 38.2% at the first reflection to 26 children or 76.5% in cycle I, and it is increased to 34 children or 100% in cycle II. The lowest value at the first reflection and cycle I is the same as 60 and in cycle II it is increases to 70. The highest score is increased from 75 at the first reflection to 85 in cycle I and it is increased to 90 in cycle II. The classical average is increased from 66.6 to 71.5 and it is also increased to 76.2 in cycle II.

Presenting Prof. Marian Walczak’s achievements concentrated on the field of Polish Teachers’ Union and the history of education. The presentation of Prof. Marian Walczak’s biography and achievements in all fields of his rich academic activity, especially in the scope of the history of Polish Teachers’ Union, underground teaching, the activity of high schools and education as well as the martyrdom of Polish teachers during the Nazi occupation. Moreover, the results of the professor’s research into the history of Polish education after WWII have also been presented. The achievements of Prof. Marian Walczak were significant. He is remembered by posterity for his activity in the history of Polish Teachers’ Union and the history of education in the 20th century.

"Marian Popu was born in 1889 in the village of Diviciorii Mici in Solnoc-Dăbâca County and came from a Romanian family of intellectuals, his father being a teacher. He attended primary school in his native village and then attended secondary and high school in Gherla. After graduating from high school, in 1909 he enrolled in the ‘Ludovika’ Honvéd Military Academy in Budapest. Here he attended classes for three years and graduated in 1912, obtaining the rank of second lieutenant. Among his teachers there was also Lieutenant-Colonel Aurél Stromfeld, who would later be his regimental commander on the Galician front. In 1914, at the outbreak of the First World War, Marian Popu was promoted to the rank of lieutenant major and was sent to the Galician front at the head of a subunit of the Honvéd Infantry Regiment no. 32 of Dej. In 1914–1915, the Romanian officer reached this front four times. Each time he fought on the front line. His memory recalls the grim reality of the war, the entry into the front line of battle, the marches, the cold, the terrible death of his comrades but also the periods of convalescence spent in the military hospitals of Vienna and Dej. Here he was treated three times due to illness, exhaustion and the fact that he was shot in the arm during the offensive of May 1915. After the stabilization of the front, in the fall of 1915, Lieutenant Marian Popu reached the front line on defensive fighting positions in a forest in the area of Bedrykivti, on the banks of the Tupa River. Here he remained until June 1916, when he was forced to retreat after the start of the offensive led by Russian General Alexei Brusilov."

Background/Context Urban public high schools serving low-SES communities historically have underserved nondominant culturally and linguistically diverse students by divesting them of social and cultural resources and delivering impoverished curriculum and instruction. Associated with such subtractive schooling, many Latinx youth have suffered from academic disengagement and limited academic success and futures. Focus of Study This study investigates one school's efforts to promote Latinx students’ academic and intellectual engagement through a schoolwide system of performance-based assessments (PBAs) that featured meaningful, embodied, discourse-rich activities, many of which occurred beyond classrooms during after-school hours. We examine the scope of PBA opportunity across the school and the ways educators enacted PBAs to optimize nondominant students’ engagement. We also report the organizational structures that enabled the PBA system and some implementation challenges/tensions. Setting This study features Mario Molina High, a small urban Title 1 public California school serving 262 students, of whom 90% received free/reduced-price lunches, 76% were Latinx, and 33% were emergent bilinguals. MHS emphasized an explicit social justice mission and had a record of some success with Latinx students, as measured by graduation and college-going rates, course completion for admission to California universities, and standardized achievement tests. Research Design We treat MHS as a “critical case,” holding strategic importance to the problem on which the study focuses. Using qualitative methods, we employed a bi-level design to uncover links between school organization and instruction. Data Collection and Analysis We drew on 240 hours of school observations, with special attention to PBA enactments. We also drew on 45 interviews with key stakeholders; faculty survey responses; school documents; student work; and email list communications. Our analysis involved thematic coding, memos, metamatrices, and situated/discourse analyses. Findings/Results MHS's PBAs drew school actors out of the spatial/temporal boundaries of classrooms and fostered serious, spirited, interactive spaces for learning. Three aspects of PBAs—authentic audiences, embodied action, and dialogic argumentation—transformed these assessments into what we call performance-based engagements (PBEs). This shift enhanced students’ engagement and contributed to a schoolwide culture of engaged learning. We argue that sustained participation in PBEs encouraged students to experiment with and adopt expanded practice-based identities as critical thinkers and change agents. Conclusions/Recommendations Our study suggests how the schoolwide implementation of dynamic, innovative, and culturally sustaining forms of assessment can expand and revivify traditional school learning in ways that promote the academic and intellectual engagement of historically underserved students.

The paper looks at the origin of the identical motives in the poems "At Sea" by Jovan Dučić and "Destiny" by Miloš Crnjanski. A dominant poetic image of a ship carried and broken by waves on a rough sea is a product of the poets' youthful phase and demonstrates the evolution of their poetic systems. Resorting to a traditional topos is interpreted as a consequence of literary, historical, and poetic turmoil of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but also as a consequence of an imanent poetic development, i.e. the phenomenon which Mario Praz calls "the education of sensibility". Given that these two poets are canonical writers, and constitute an indespensable part of all primary and high school textbooks, our wish is to show the path of their poetic maturation.

On January 27, 1898, the 17th issue of “Collier’s Weekly” published the Prologue to the famous novel by Henry James The Turn of the Screw. This novel about a difficult relationship between a young governess and two orphaned children (Flora and Miles) convinces the reader that Demons really exist and Evil embodies various characters. At times it takes the form of a benefactor. The paper is an attempt to reconstruct three mechanisms of ideology which after WWII modified collective awareness. These three mechanisms, as three vices, stabilized and enabled to rebuild the insight of the immature individuals. The first one – the ideological vice of the press – initiated every day and often banal press releases; the second one – ideological educational vise – evolved from the school curricula, especially of the Polish language; the third one – the ideological reading vice – was the most hidden and treacherous, oppressed in the context of extracurricular reading. The influence of the first of them is illustrated by the analysis of exemplary press releases on a summer camp of 1947, the second one talks about the curriculum of the Polish language teaching process in 1949 in the 11-grade high school, and the ideological influences are discussed in the comments about the message of Marian Brandys’s Wyprawy do Arteku (1953).

This article assesses the contribution to ocean mixing by the marine biosphere at both high and low Reynolds numbers Re= uℓ/ ν. While back-of-the-envelope estimates have suggested that swimming marine organisms might generate as much high-Reynolds-number turbulence as deep-ocean tide- and wind-generated internal waves, and that turbulent dissipation rates of O(10−5W kg−1) (Re ∼ 105) could be produced by aggregations of organisms ranging from O(0.01 m) krill to O(10 m) cetaceans, comparable to strong wind and buoyancy forcing near the surface, microstructure measurements do not find consistently elevated dissipation associated with diel vertically migrating krill. Elevated dissipation rates are associated with schools of O(0.1– 1 m) fish but with low mixing coefficients ( γ ∼ 0.002–0.02, as compared with γ ∼ 0.2 for geophysical turbulence). Likewise, viscously induced drift at low Reynolds numbers produces little mixing of temperature, solutes, dissolved nutrients, and gases when realistic swimmers and molecular scalar diffusion are taken into account. The conclusion is that, while the marine biosphere can generate turbulence, it contributes little ocean mixing compared with breaking internal gravity waves.

El presente estudio de alcance explicativo, realizado bajo un diseño cuasiexperimental de preprueba-posprueba y grupo control, determinó el efecto de un programa de entrenamiento interválico aeróbico de alta intensidad (HIIT) que utilizó juegos motores y circuitos sociomotrices, durante 16 semanas (tres sesiones semanales) para el incremento del consumo de oxígeno pico (VO2pico) y disminución del índice de masa corporal (IMC) y porcentaje de grasa (%GC) en niñas con sobrepeso u obesidad de 10 y 11 años de la sede Marino Dávalos de la Institución Educativa Moderna de Tuluá, distribuidas en dos grupos, experimental (n=8) y control (n=8). Entre los resultados más importantes, se destaca el aumento del VO2pico en 3.6 ml/kg/min, la disminución del IMC en 1.62 y del %GC donde se apreció una disminución del 3.72% en el grupo experimental; mientras que en el grupo control, no se observaron modificaciones estadísticamente significativas; concluyendo el estudio que el programa HIIT que utilizó como medio los juegos motores y circuitos sociomotrices, presentó efectos significativos en el incremento del VO2pico y disminución del IMC y el %GC de las niñas con sobrepeso u obesidad, validando de esta manera la hipótesis de investigación, con niveles de significancia estadística (p< .05) para la prueba de muestras relacionadas (p= .000 para el VO2pico, p=.000 para %GC y p=.000 para IMC). Abstract. The present explanatory scope study, carried out under a quasi-experimental design of pretest-posttest and control group, determined the effect of a high intensity aerobic interval training (HIIT) program that used motor games and sociomotor circuits, for 16 weeks (three sessions weekly) for the increase in peak oxygen consumption (VO2peak) and decrease in body mass index (BMI) and percentage of fat (% GC) in overweight or obese girls of 10 and 11 years of age from the Marino Dávalos headquarters of the Institution Educativa Moderna de Tuluá, divided into two groups, experimental (n = 8) and control (n = 8). Among the most important results, the increase in VO2peak by 3.6 ml/kg/min, the decrease in BMI by 1.62 and the% GC where a decrease of 3.72% was observed in the experimental group stand out; while in the control group, no statistically significant changes were observed; The study concluded that the HIIT program that used motor games and sociomotor circuits as a means, presented significant effects in the increase of the VO2peak and decrease of the BMI and the% GC of the girls with overweight or obesity, thus validating the research hypothesis. , with levels of statistical significance (p <.05) for the test of related samples (p = .000 for VO2peak, p = .000 for % GC and p = .000 for BMI).

Background The COVID-19 pandemic has resulted in social isolation, which has a potential negative impact on the educational routines (eg, the suspension of face-to-face appointments) and mental health of medical students. The Mario Pinotti II (MPII) study is a 24-week observational study that conducted scheduled telephone calls every 2 weeks to verify the occurrence of COVID-19 in patients with rheumatic diseases on chronic hydroxychloroquine therapy (from March 29, 2020, to September 30, 2020). The effects of voluntarily participating in a research project (ie, one that involves interactions via telephone contact with patients, professors, rheumatologists, and colleagues) on the daily lives and mental health of medical students requires evaluation. Objective As medical students are professionals in training and have a high level of responsibility in terms of handling the emotional and physical aspects of several diseases, this study aims to evaluate the impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic and participation in the MPII study on the educational routines and mental health of medical students. Methods A web-based survey was carried out to perform a cross-sectional comparative assessment of medical students who participated in the MPII study and their colleagues who were not involved in the MPII study. Participants from both groups were matched based on sex, age, and medical school. The web questionnaire was developed by a panel composed of graduate medical students, rheumatologists, medical school professors, and a psychology professor. The questionnaire included details on demographic and life habits data and evaluated participants' impressions of the MPII study and the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on their educational routines and medical training. In addition, depression, anxiety, and stress were evaluated using the Brazilian version of the Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Scale (DASS)-21, and currently, the DASS-21 scores are grouped as those that indicate a low, moderate, or high risk of mental distress. This project was approved by the Federal University of São Paulo Ethics Committee (CAAE: 34034620.0.0000.5505). Results Data were collected from both medical student groups from July 20 to August 31, 2020. Data extraction was completed in September 2020. The data analysis is ongoing. We expect the results to be published in the first semester of 2021. Conclusions This study will provide insight into the effects of participating in a research project on depression, anxiety, and stress, which will be determined by applying the DASS-21 to a large sample of Brazilian undergraduate medical students. We will also evaluate the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on medical students’ educational routines and medical training. International Registered Report Identifier (IRRID) DERR1-10.2196/24617

Commentary works are of great importance in the effort to understand and interpret the material of hadith and sunnah. Therefore, throughout history, many scholars used great efforts in terms of correct understanding and commenting of hadiths; and as a result, they concentrated on annotating activities, which have targeted to explain every expression in hadiths. These activities each region continued in the Republic period, too, as did in previous centuries; and some scholars became prominent. One of them is Ömer Fevzi Mardin. Ömer Fevzi, as a member of well-known deep-rooted family with the name of Mardin, and who was born in Mardin in 1878, is the son of Mardinizâde Seyyid Arif Pasha. His mother Zarife Khanım in the daughter of Bedirhan Pasha from Bedirhanoğuls family. And his grandfather, Seyyid Yusuf Sıdkî Mardin is one of the sheiks of Nakshibendî or Kadirî tariqat; he served as a qadi‘asker during the reign of II Abdulhamid. This family, which was known as Mardinîzades, have also been mentioned as ağazades (sons of aga) as a tribute to Ağa Çelebi. Ömer Fevzi, who grew up in such a family that was close to mysticism and denomination and acquainted with state affairs, initially had education in military schools being affected from his family and acted as a soldier for years. Ömer Fevzi, who participated in Arûsi Selâmi denomination in Libya during Tripoli war, became the sheikh and pir of this denomination during the Republic period. His closeness as a military origin person brought together itself that some high rank officers of the Republic period and directors joined this denomination. As is the case, Ömer Fevzi, who was criticized due to several views he adopted and some fatwas that he submitted, was exposed to several allegations and accusations like missionary. Ömer Fevzi, who was quite good at in the fields of military and mysticism, was interested in the sciences of hadith; and he wrote a work named as Hadith Sharifs Classified-Annotated According to Subjects. In this study, based on the work called Hadis-i Şerifler (Hadiths Sharifs), which is one of the examples of hadith commentary literature of the Republican period, the author's interpretation technique and commentary method was revealed; and hadith commentary of the period was investigated through this example. In the study, benefitting from documentation method the works of the author were found out, and the necessary hadith inferences were made while some of the narrations mentioned in the work, which are the subject of this study, were discussed. After the investigation, the following results were attained: In this work, the author, moving from several sources especially Sahih Bukhari, compiled nearly 1635 hadiths and annotated them. One of the important properties that attracts attention in the work is that the author did not make use of classical and contemporary hadith annotations. Therefore, the explanations given place in the work consist of the personal comments and assessments of the author. According to this, the hadiths are particularly commented considering the unity of the Qur’an and Sunna; and within these terms, several methods were followed. That some words that were present in the text of hadith and difficult to be understood were explained and that he tried to make the hadiths to be understood in terms of Holy Book by attributing Israeli sources, Torah, Bible or Zabur and that sebeb-i vurûd (the reason that a hadith was uttered) was pointed and that jurisprudential provisions were deducted from hadiths and that interpretations related to kalam, mysticism and wisdom were given place and that the views of scholars were referred and that sociological, psychological analyses were done are some of them. However, when the general structure of the work is examined, it is seen that mystical and philosophical interpretations are more dominant. This seems to have arisen from the fact that the author is of a religious sect and mysticism origin.

O presente trabalho trata-se de um estudo de caso acerca da proposta didática realizada no componente curricular de geografia, em uma escola pública de Ensino Médio, na qual se fez uso da geotecnologia Google My Maps como ferramenta didática para estudar a microbacia hidrográfica do Riacho dos Macacos e das Timbaúbas, localizada em Juazeiro do Norte, Ceará. Para o aprofundamento desta discussão, baseamo-nos nas contribuições teóricas de Rosa (2005), Pontuschka, Paganelli e Cacete (2007), Fitz (2008), Seemann e Carvalho (2017), Cavalcanti (2019), Júnior, Martins e Frozza (2020) e Marinho (2021). A proposta didática foi realizada em três etapas: a. abordagem ao tema Recursos Hídricos; b. conhecendo a ferramenta Google My Maps para a análise da microbacia hidrográfica; c. socialização da experiência anterior e identificação, análise e registro no Google My Maps de aspectos explorados durante as aulas, dando origem ao mapa colaborativo da microbacia estudada. A partir dessas etapas, observou-se maior interação dos alunos com a ferramenta usada, maior envolvimento durante a aula com as atividades propostas e maior assimilação das questões estudas com o espaço de vivido. Em suma, a proposta didática utilizando o Google My Maps nas aulas de Geografia se mostrou exitosa, fazendo dela recomendável ao ensino. Palavras-chave Geotecnologias, Ensino de Geografia, Proposta Didática, Google My Maps. Geotechnology and teaching Geographty: a proposal to study the hydrographic basin using Google My Maps in High School Abstract The present work is a case study about the didactic proposal carried out in the curricular component of Geography, in a public high school, in which Google My Maps geotechnology was used as a didactic tool to study watershed of Riacho dos Macacos and Timbaúbas, located in Juazeiro do Norte, Ceará. To deepen this discussion, we rely on the theoretical contributions of Rosa (2005), Pontuschka, Paganelli and Cacete (2007), Fitz (2008), Seemann and Carvalho (2017), Cavalcanti (2019), Júnior, Martins and Frozza (2020) and Marino (2021). The didactic proposal was carried out in three stages: a. approach to the topic of Water Resources; b. knowing the Google My Maps tool for the analysis of the watershed; c. socialization of previous experience and identification, analysis and registration in Google My Maps of aspects explored during the classes, giving rise to the collaborative map of the studied microbasin. From these stages, there was greater interaction of students with the tool used, greater involvement during the class with the proposed activities and greater assimilation of the issues studied with the living space. In short, the didactic proposal using Google My Maps in Geography classes proved to be successful, making it recommendable for teaching. Keywords Geotechnologies, Teaching of Geography, Didactic Proposal, Google My Maps.

International Business Research wishes to acknowledge the following individuals for their assistance with peer review of manuscripts for this issue. Their help and contributions in maintaining the quality of the journal are greatly appreciated.International Business Research is recruiting reviewers for the journal. If you are interested in becoming a reviewer, we welcome you to join us. Please find the application form and details at http://recruitment.ccsenet.org and e-mail the completed application form to ibr@ccsenet.org.Reviewers for Volume 10, Number 4 Abderrazek Hassen Elkhaldi, University of Sousse, TunisiaAlina Badulescu, University of Oradea, RomaniaAlireza Athari, Eastern Mediterranean University, IranAmaresh C. Das, Southern University at New Orleans, USAAmran Awang, Head of Entrepreneurship Center, MalaysiaAndrea Carosi, University of Sassari, ItalyAnna Paola Micheli, Univrtsity of Cassino and Southern Lazio, ItalyAntônio André Cunha Callado, Universidade Federal Rural de Pernmabuco, BrazilArash Riasi, University of Delaware, USAAshford C Chea, Benedict College, USABenjamin James Inyang, University of Calabar, NigeriaBrian Sheehan, Thaksin University, AustraliaBruno Marsigalia, University of Casino and Southern Lazio, ItalyCheng Jing, eBay, Inc. / University of Rochester, USACristian Marian Barbu, “ARTIFEX” University, RomaniaEva Mira Bolfíková, Univerzity of P. J. Šafárik in Košice, Slovak Republic,Fevzi Esen, Istanbul Medeniyet University, TurkeyFrancesco Ciampi, Florence University, ItalyGeorgeta Dragomir, “Danubius” University of Galati, RomaniaGianluca Ginesti, University of Naples “FEDERICO II”, ItalyGiuseppe Russo, University of Cassino and Southern Lazio, ItalyHanna Trojanowska, Warsaw University of Technology, PolandHerald Monis, Milagres College, IndiaIvo De Loo, Nyenrode Business University, The NetherlandsKaren Gulliver, Argosy University, Twin Cities, USAKherchi Ishak, University of Hassiba Ben Bouali De Chlef, AlgeriaLadislav Mura, University of Ss. Cyril and Methodius in Trnava, SlovakiaLuisa Pinto, University of Porto School of Economics, PortugalMansour Esmaeil Zaei, Panjab University, India/IranManuela Rozalia Gabor, “Petru Maior” University of Tîrgu Mureş Romania, RomaniaMarcelino José Jorge, Evandro Chagas Clinical Research Institute of Oswaldo Cruz Foundation, BrazilMaria Teresa Bianchi, UNIVERSITY OF ROME “LA SAPIENZA”, ItalyMiriam Jankalová, University of Zilina, SlovakiaMohamed Abdel Rahman Salih, Taibah University, Saudi ArabiaMohsen Malekalketab Khiabani, University Technology Malaysia, MalaysiaMongi Arfaoui, University of Monastir, TunisiaMuath Eleswed, American University of Kuwait, USAOzgur Demirtas, Turkish Air Force Academy, TurkeyProsper Senyo Koto, Dalhousie University, CanadaRadoslav Jankal, University of Zilina, SlovakiaRoberto Campos da Rocha Miranda, University Center Iesb, BrazilRosa Lombardi, Sapienza University of Rome, ItalySerhii Kozlovskiy, Donetsk National University, UkraineSumathisri Bhoopalan, Sastra University, IndiaWejdene Yangui, Institute of High Business Studies of Sfax _ Tunisia (IHEC), TunisiaWing-Keung Wong, Asia University, Taiwan, China

Resumo: O ensino da disciplina de Filosofia constitui no exercício/atividade filosófica na sala de aula, pois através desta atividade buscar-se-á criar, inventar, reinventar e produzir novos saberes e ações que se configurem como uma experiência filosófica. A experiência do filosofar proporciona uma maior flexibilidade entre o pensar e o agir, tendo como finalidade a constituição do si do alunado. Como praticamente a aula de Filosofia no Ensino Médio consiste numa aula expositiva, a relação entre professor e o aluno, entre aquele que “explica” e aquele que “compreende” sugere a busca de algo em comum: interpretar o texto. Por certo, o primeiro e mais elementar trabalho de interpretação é captar aquilo que o autor se propôs ao escrever determinado texto. Por esta razão buscamos investigar quais são as contribuições de uma hermenêutica no Ensino Médio, tendo como finalidade a busca de uma “ferramenta” (hermenêutica) que o professor possa oferecer para seu alunado, proporcionando-lhes um meio de compreender a eles mesmos e o mundo em que estão inseridos, o papel da hermenêutica e sua contribuição para a vida dos alunos é a de auxiliá-los na compreensão da realidade que eles vivenciam, para que possam desenvolver uma melhor vivência em sociedade. Palavras-chave: Apropriação. Filosofar. Hermenêutica. Mundo do Texto. Abstract: The teaching of the discipline of Philosophy constitutes in the exercise/philosophical activity in the classroom, because through this activity will seek to create, invent, reinvent and produce new knowledge and actions that are configured as a philosophical experience. The experience of philosophizing provides a greater flexibility between thinking and acting, having as purpose the constitution of the student's self. As practically the Philosophy class in High School is an expositive class, the relationship between teacher and student, between the one who "explains" and the one who "understands" suggests the search for something in common: to interpret the text. Of course, the first and most elementary work of interpretation is to capture what the author proposed in writing a particular text. For this reason we seek to investigate the contributions of a hermeneutics in High School, aiming at the search for a "tool" (hermeneutics) that the teacher can offer to his / her student, providing them with a way to understand themselves and the the role of hermeneutics and their contribution to students' lives is to help them understand the reality they experience, so that they can develop a better experience in society. Keywords: Appropriation. To philosophize. Hermeneutics. World of Text. REFERÊNCIAS GENTIL, Hélio Salles. Historicidade e compreensão das narrativas de ficção a partir da hermenêutica de Paul Ricoeur. In. PAULA, Adna Candido de; SPERBER, Frankl(Organizadoras). Teoria literária e hermenêutica Ricoeuriana: um diálogo possível. Dourados, MS: UFGD, 2011, p. 177-193. GRODIN, Jean. Qué es la hermenéutica? Tradução de Antoni Martinez Riu. Barcelona: Editora Herder, 2008. KAMESAR, Adam. Biblical Interpretation in Philo. In. KAMESAR, Adam. (org.). The Cambridge Companion to Philo. Cambridge: Editora University Press, 2009, p. 65-91. ORÍGENES. Tratado sobre os princípios. São Paulo: Paulus, 2012. RICŒUR, Paul. O si-mesmo como outro. São Paulo: Editora WMF Marins Fontes, 2014. RICŒUR, Paul. O conflito das interpretações: ensaios de hermenêutica. Rio de Janeiro: Imago, 1978. RICŒUR, Paul. El discurso de la acción. 2ª ed. Madrid: Cátedra, 1988. RICŒUR, Paul. Teoria da interpretação: o discurso e o excesso de significação. Lisboa: Edições 70, 2000. RICŒUR, Paul. Del texto a la acción: ensayos de hermenêutica II. Editora: Fondo de Cultura Económica. México, 2002. RICŒUR, Paul. Hermeneutica e acción: de la hermenêutica del texto la hermenêutica de la acción. Buenos Aires: Editora Prometeo, 2008. RICŒUR, Paul. Historia y narratividad. Barcelona: Editora Paidós, 1999. RICOEUR, Paul. The Text as Dynamic Identity. In: VALDÉS, Mario J.; MILLER, Owen J. (eds.). Identity of the Literary Text. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985. 175-186. RICŒUR, Paul. A hermenêutica bíblica. São Paulo: Editora Loyola, 2006. RICŒUR, Paul. Retórica, poética y hermenêutica. Madrid: Universidade autònoma de Madrid, 1997. SCHLEIERMACHER, Friedrich D.E. Hermenêutica: arte e técnica da interpretação. Petrópolis: Editora Vozes, 1999. UNESCO. Aprender a viver juntos: nós falhamos? Brasília: UNESCO, IBE, 2003. Disponivel em: http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0013/001313/131359por.pdf Acesso: 22/04/2018 THIOLLENT, Michel. Metodologia da pesquisa-ação. São Paulo: Editora Cortez, 1986.

'Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive.’ Sir Walter Scott (Marmion, 1808) Think of scientific misconduct in the UK and Malcolm Pearce – one of the most high-profile cases – comes immediately to mind. Malcolm Pearce was an assistant editor of the British Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, and a senior lecturer at St George's Medical School, when two fraudulent papers were published in the journal. A whistleblower at the hospital was the catalyst for an investigation that led to Pearce being fired, found guilty of serious professional misconduct by the General Medical Council, and struck off.1 The professor of the department, Geoffrey Chamberlain, who was also President of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists and Editor of the journal, resigned from both positions as he was named as an author on one of the fraudulent papers. He reportedly did not know that his name was on the manuscript and, in his defence, it was not unusual at the time for Heads of Department to have ‘gift’ authorship on the department’s publications, despite not making any contribution. Regardless, both were disgraced. Scientific misconduct has many faces and its true prevalence is unknown, although many agree that it is increasing. Is it because researchers are committing more publication crimes, or are we just better at discovering them? In the race to find a home for articles, are authors getting lazy, sloppy and making more mistakes? In the era of online publications reaching wider audiences, mistakes are easier to detect and report, and beware if Clare Francis stumbles across such misdemeanours… Since 2010 an individual (or perhaps even a group) whose gender, identity and occupation are unknown, but who operate under the name ‘Clare Francis’, has upped the ante and flagged hundreds of suspected cases of potential fraud across the globe. Notorious among journal editors as a relentless whistleblower and crusader against text and image fraud, some of Francis’ tips have resulted in corrections and retractions. For example, a 2006 paper in the Journal of Cell Biology was retracted after Francis raised concerns years after publication about image manipulation, which were validated by the publisher. .2 But why does it happen? Why not? Researchers are human and subject to the same frailties as in other walks of life. If a measure of a good academic is solely the number of articles they have published, then – when quantity is rewarded over quality – scientific misconduct may reveal a glimpse of the pressure researchers are under. It is worth remembering that, despite the stress of the ‘publish or perish’ culture, scientific misconduct is unacceptable in any guise and likely to be discovered, with embarrassing if not downright career- and reputation-destroying consequences. Good publishing etiquette is ultimately down to the integrity and moral sensibilities of researchers and authors. In this excellent article about some of the ‘sins’ of publishing, Philippa Benson, who has kindly written for this series before, provides a thought-provoking insight into scientific misconduct. Jyoti Shah Commissioning Editor References Lock S. Lessons from the Pearce affair: handling scientific fraud. BMJ 1995; 310: 1,547. Retraction notice. J Cell Biol 2013; 200: 359. doi:10.1083/jcb.2005070832003r.

The search for improvements in the quality of physics teaching requires the constant teacher training and use of different methodologies in their pedagogical practice. In this sense, the work is the result of a pedagogical practice developed with students of the second year of high school in a public school located in the municipality of Sinop / MT. The objective of this work is to relate thermodynamics to the energetic processes of the human body through research activities, seeking to contribute to students' autonomy in the construction and reconstruction of knowledge in the physics discipline. For the development of the same, research activities were carried out in a differentiated space of learning and the students were instigated to carry out several researches in the internet and in other sources, trying to convert the food ingested and the physical activities realized in calories. In order to evaluate the students' previous and later knowledge, they form conceptual maps before and after the test. The results indicate that the applied methodology motivated the students, with greater involvement, criticality and responsibility with proposed activities. Addressing content in different learning spaces has helped students feel responsible for their learning.ResumoA busca por melhorias na qualidade de ensino de física exige do professor constante formação e uso de diferentes metodologias em sua prática pedagógica. Neste sentido, o trabalho apresentado é resultado de uma prática desenvolvida com alunos do 2º ano do Ensino Médio de uma escola pública localizada no município de Sinop/MT, durante a intervenção pedagógica de uma mestranda do Mestrado Profissional em Ensino de Ciências Exatas da Univates. O objetivo é relacionar a Termodinâmica aos processos energéticos do corpo humano por meio de atividades investigativas, buscando contribuir com a autonomia dos estudantes na construção e reconstrução de conhecimentos na disciplina de física. Para o desenvolvimento do mesmo, foram realizadas atividades de investigação em um espaço diferenciado de aprendizagem e os alunos foram instigados a realizar diversas pesquisas na internet e em outras fontes, buscando, principalmente, que os alunos convertessem a quantidade de alimentos ingeridos e as atividades físicas realizadas em calorias ingeridas e gastas. Para avaliar os conhecimentos prévios e posteriores dos alunos foram construídos mapas conceituais pré e pós-teste. Os resultados apontam que a metodologia aplicada, motivou os estudantes, havendo maior envolvimento, criticidade e reponsabilidade com a realização das atividades propostas. Pode-se inferir que abordar os conteúdos em diferentes espaços de aprendizagem contribuiu para que os estudantes se sentissem responsáveis pelo seu aprendizado.Keywords: Research activities, Conceptual Maps, Differentiated learning spaces, Human body.Palavras-chave: Atividades investigativas, Mapas Conceituais, Espaços diferenciados de aprendizagem, Corpo humano.ReferencesANTUNES, C. Professores e professauros: reflexões sobre a aula e práticas pedagógicas diversas. Petrópolis: Vozes, 2014.ARAÚJO, Ulisses F. A quarta revolução educacional: a mudança de tempos, espaços e relações na escola a partir do uso de tecnologias e da inclusão social. ETD: Educação temática digital, Campinas, v. 12, 2011.BARBOSA, Eduardo Fernandes; MOURA, Dácio Guimarães de. Metodologias ativas de aprendizagem na educação profissional e tecnológica. Boletim Técnico do Senac, v. 39, n. 2, p. 48-67, 2013.BASSOLI, Fernanda. Atividades práticas e o ensino-aprendizagem de ciência (s): mitos, tendências e distorções. Ciência & Educação (Bauru), v. 20, n. 3, 2014.BERBEL, N. A. N. As metodologias ativas e a promoção da autonomia de estudantes. Semina: Ciências Sociais e Humanas, 32 (1), p. 25 – 40, 2011.BIAGINI, Beatriz; MACHADO, Clodoaldo. A experimentação no ensino de ciências em duas escolas municipais de Florianópolis/SC. Revista da SBENBio, n. 7, 2014.BIANCONI, M. Lucia; CARUSO, Francisco. Educação não-formal. Ciência e Cultura, v. 57, n. 4, p. 20-20, 2005.CARRASCOSA et al. Papel de la actividade experimental en la educación científica. Caderno Brasileiro de Ensino de Física, v. 23, n. 2, p. 157-181, ago. 2006.DEMO, P. Educar pela pesquisa. 9. ed. Campinas, SP: Autores associados, 2011.DULLIUS, M. M.; MARCHI, M. I.; HAETINGER, C. Metodologias para o Ensino de Ciências Exatas. In: X ENCONTRO SOBRE INVESTIGAÇÃO NA ESCOLA, 2010, Rio Grande. Anais do X Encontro sobre Investigação na Escola, 2010.GOHM, M. G. Educação não-formal e cultura política. Impactos sobre o associativismo do terceiro setor. São Paulo, Cortez. 1999.HALLIDAY, D.; RESNICK, R.; WALKER, J. Fundamentos de Física: gravitação, ondas e termodinâmica. Volume 2. 6ª edição. Rio de Janeiro: Editora LTC, 2002.JACOBUCCI, Daniela Franco Carvalho. Contribuições dos espaços não formais de educação para a formação da cultura científica. Em extensão, v. 7, n. 1, 2008.MARIN, Maria José Sanches et al. Aspectos das fortalezas e fragilidades no uso das metodologias ativas de aprendizagem. Rev bras educ med, v. 34, n. 1, p. 13-20, 2010.PECOTCHE, C. B. G. Logosofia: ciência e método. São Paulo: Ed. Logosófica, 2011.TALAIA, M. A. R., 2004. O Conforto Humano e as Alterações Ambientais. Proceedings of the XXVIII Jornadas Científicas, La Meteorologia y El Clima Atlânticos, 5º Encuentro Hispano-Luso de Meteorologia: La Meteorologia y Climatologia en los Sectores Público y Privado. CDROM, ISBN: 84-8320-261-1, Badajoz, Espanha, pp. 474-483.TAVARES, Romero. Construindo mapas conceituais. Revista Ciência e Cognição, Rio de Janeiro, RJ, v.12, nov. de 2007. Disponível em: http://repositorio.furg.br/bitstream/handle/1/577/O.V.Epistemol%C3%B3gico.como.Instrumento.Metodol%C3%B3gico.pdf?sequence=1. Acesso em 02 set. 2016.VIEIRA, Valéria; BIANCONI, M. Lucia; DIAS, Monique. Espaços não-formais de ensino e o currículo de ciências. Ciência e Cultura, v. 57, n. 4, p. 21-23, 2005.ZÔMPERO, A. F.; LABURU, C. E. Atividades investigativas no ensino de ciências: aspectos históricos e diferentes abordagens. Ensaio: pesquisa em educação em ciências, Belo Horizonte, v. 13, n. 3, p. 67-80, 2011. Disponível em: <http://www.portal.fae.ufmg.br/seer/index.php/ensaio/article/view/309/715>. Acesso em: 01 ago. 2017.

IntroductionIndian Literature with its multiplicity of languages and the plurality of cultures dates back to 3000 years ago, comprising Vedas, Upanishads, Puranas and Epics like Ramayana and Mahabharata. India has a strong literary tradition in various Indian regional languages like Sanskrit, Prakrit, Pali, Hindi, Marathi, Bengali, Oriya, Tamil, Kannada, Telugu, Malayalam and so on. Indian writers share oral tradition, indigenous experiences and reflect on the history, culture and society in regional languages as well as in English. The first Indian novel in English is Bankim Chandra Chatterjee’s Rajmohan’s Wife (1864). Indian Writing in English can be viewed in three phases - Imitative, First and Second poets’ phases. The 20th century marks the matrix of indigenous novels. The novels such as Mulk Raj Anand’s Untouchable (1935), Anita Nair’s Ladies Coupé (2001), and Khuswant Singh’s Memories of Madness: Stories of 1947 (2002) depict social issues, vices and crises (discrimination, injustice, violence against women) in India. Indian writers, and their contribution to world literature, are popular in India and abroad.Researchers are keen on analysing the works of Indian writers from historical, cultural, social perspectives and on literary theories (Post-Colonialism, Postmodernity, Cultural Studies). The enormity of the cultural diversity in India is reflected in Indian novels, plays, dramas, short stories and poems. This collection of articles attempts to capture the diversity of the Indian land/culture/landscape. It focuses on the history of India, partition, women’s voices, culture and society, and science and technology in Indian narratives, documentaries and movies.Special Issue: An Overview“Whatever has happened, has happened for goodWhatever is happening, is also for goodWhatever will happen, shall also be good.”- The Bhagavad-Gita.In the Mahabharata’s Kurukshetra battlefield, Lord Krishna counsels Arjuna on how everything that happens, regardless of whether it is good or bad, happens for a reason.Indian Literature: Past, Present and Future portrays the glorious/not-so-glorious times in history, the ever-changing crisis/peace of contemporary and hope for an unpredictable future through India’s literary and visual narratives. It focuses on comparison across cultures, technological advancements and diverse perspectives or approaches through the work of art produced in/on India. It projects India’s flora, fauna, historical monuments and rich cultural heritage. It illustrates how certain beliefs and practices come into existence – origin, evolution and present structure from a historical perspective. Indian Literature: Past, Present and Future gives a moment to recall, rectify and raise to make a promising future. This collection attempts to interpret various literary and visual narratives which are relevant at present.The Epics Reinterpreted: Highlighting Feminist Issues While Sustaining Deep Motif, examines the Women characters in the Epics – Ramayana and Mahabharata. It links the present setting to the violence against women described in the Epics Carl Jung’s archetypes are highlighted in a few chosen characters (Sita, Amba, Draupati). On one note, it emphasises the need for women to rise and fight for their rights.Fictive Testimony and Genre Tension: A Study of ‘Functionality’ of Genre in Manto’s Toba Tek Singh, analyses the story as a testimony and Manto as a witness. It discusses the ‘Testimony and Fictive Testimony’ in Literature. It explains how the works are segregated into a particular genre. The authors conclude that the testimony is to be used to understand or identify with the terror.Tangible Heritage and Intangible Memory: (Coping) Precarity in the select Partition writings by Muslim Women, explores the predicament of women during the Partition of India through Mumtaz Shah Nawaz’s The Heart Divided (1990) and Attia Hosain’s Sunlight on a Broken Column (2009). It addresses ‘Feminist Geography’ to escape precarity. It depicts a woman who is cut off from her own ethnic or religious group and tries to conjure up her memories as a means of coping with loneliness and insecurity.Nation Building Media Narratives and its Anti-Ecological Roots: An Eco-Aesthetic Analysis of Khushwant Singh’s Train to Pakistan, analyses the post-Partition trauma in the fictional village, Mano Majra. It illustrates the cultural and spiritual bond between Mano Majrans — the inhabitants of Mano Majra — and nature (the land and river). It demonstrates how the media constructs broad myths about culture, religion, and nation. According to the authors, Mano Majrans place a high value on the environment, whilst the other boundaries are more concerned with nationalism and religion.Pain and Hopelessness among Indian Farmers: An Analysis of Deepa Bhatia’s Nero’s Guests documents the farmers’ suicides in India as a result of debt and decreased crop yield. The travels of Sainath and his encounters with the relatives of missing farmers have been chronicled in the documentary Nero’s Guests. It uses the Three Step Theory developed by David Klonsky and Alexis May and discusses suicide as a significant social issue. The authors conclude that farmers are the foundation of the Indian economy and that without them, India’s economy would collapse. It is therefore everyone’s responsibility—the people and the government—to give farmers hope so that they can overcome suicidal thoughts.The link between animals and children in various cultures is discussed in The New Sociology of Childhood: Animal Representations in Leslie Marmon Silko’s Garden in the Dunes, Amazon’s Oh My Dog, and Netflix’s Mughizh: A Cross-Cultural Analysis. It examines the chosen works from the perspectives of cross-cultural psychology and the New Sociology of Childhood. It emphasises kids as self-sufficient, engaged, and future members of society. It emphasises universal traits that apply to all people, regardless of culture. It acknowledges anthropomorphized cartoons create a bond between kids and animals.Life in Hiding: Censorship Challenges faced by Salman Rushdie and Perumal Murugan, explores the issues sparked by their writings. It draws attention to the aggression and concerns that were forced on them by the particular sect of society. It explains the writers’ experiences with the fatwa, court case, exile, and trauma.Female Body as the ‘Other’: Rituals and Biotechnical Approach using Perumal Murugan’s One Part Woman and Matrubhoomi: A Nation Without Women, questions the society that limits female bodies for procreation and objectification. It talks about how men and women are regarded differently, as well as the cultural ideals that apply to women. It explains infertility, which is attributed to women, as well as people’s ignorance and refusal to seek medical help in favour of adhering to traditional customs and engaging in numerous rituals for procreation.Life and (non) Living: Technological and Human Conglomeration in Android Kunjappan Version 5.25, explores how cyborgs and people will inevitably interact in the Malayalam film Android Kunjappan Version 5.25. It demonstrates the advantages, adaptability, and drawbacks of cyborgs in daily life. It emphasises how the cyborg absorbs cultural and religious notions. The authors argue that cyborgs are an inevitable development in the world and that until the flaws are fixed, humans must approach cyborgs with caution. The Challenges of Using Machine Translation While Translating Polysemous Words, discusses the difficulty of using machine translation to translate polysemous words from French to English (Google Translate). It serves as an example of how the machine chooses the formal or often-used meaning rather than the pragmatic meaning and applies it in every situation. It demonstrates how Machine Translation is unable to understand the pragmatic meaning of Polysemous terms because it is ignorant of the cultures of the source and target languages. It implies that Machine Translation will become extremely beneficial and user-friendly if the flaws are fixed.This collection of articles progresses through the literary and visual narratives of India that range from historical events to contemporary situations. It aims to record the stories that are silenced and untold through writing, film, and other forms of art. India’s artistic output was influenced by factors such as independence, partition, the Kashmir crisis, the Northeast Insurgency, marginalisation, religious disputes, environmental awareness, technical breakthroughs, Bollywood, and the Indian film industry. India now reflects a multitude of cultures and customs as a result of these occurrences. As we examine the Indian narratives produced to date, we can draw the conclusion that India has a vast array of tales to share with the rest of the world.Guest Editorial BoardGuest Editor-in-ChiefDr. Bhuvaneswari R, Associate Professor, School of Social Sciences and Languages, Vellore Institute of Technology, Chennai. She has pursued her master’s at the University of Madras, Chennai and doctoral research at HNB Central University, Srinagar. Her research areas of interest are ELT, Children/Young Adult Literature, Canadian writings, Indian literature, and Contemporary Fiction. She is passionate about environmental humanities. She has authored and co-authored articles in National and International Journals.Guest EditorsCynthiya Rose J S, Assistant Professor (Jr.), School of Social Sciences and Languages, Vellore Institute of Technology, Chennai. Her research interests are Children’s Literature, Indian Literature and Graphic Novels.Maria Baptist S, Assistant Professor (Jr.), School of Social Sciences and Languages, Vellore Institute of Technology, Chennai. His research interests include Crime/Detective fiction and Indian Literature.MembersDr. Sufina K, School of Science and Humanities, Sathyabama Institute of Science and Technology, Chennai, IndiaDr. Narendiran S, Department of Science and Humanities, St. Joseph’s Institute of Technology, Chennai, India

The cardiac surgery is the youngest surgical specialty that has emerged in the early period of the 20th century. Surprisingly, however, it is also the first surgical specialty that seems to be the first to disappear in a way or another in the second half of the 21st century. Even if the optimists consider this will never happen, it is expected that cardiac surgery will suffer a radical metamorphosis, which makes the realists say that this field of surgery will actually disappear.Before the beginning of the 20th century, the surgeons around the world have been convinced that human heart is untouchable. Remarkable surgeons of the 19th century like Theodor Billroth – the founder of the Viennese school of surgery- said in 1863 that “ Any surgeon that dares to perform surgery on the heart will fail and will lose the appreciation of his colleagues” [1]. This statement reveals the general opinion of that time, that the human heart is the center of the soul, of life itself and therefore it should never be touched. Considering this, Sharman stated in 1902 in „The American Journal of Medical Association” : “even though the heart lies at a few centimeters beneath the skin, it took 2400 years for surgery to reach this distance” [2].Ironically, the same year that English surgeon Stephan Paget stated that “probably the human heart is boundary that nature set for any kind of surgery -1896- was also the year when Ludwig Rehn, a German surgeon from Frankfurt, managed to successfully repair a right ventricular wound, signing the birth certificate of the cardiac surgery [3]. Since then the myth that the human heart can’t be touched by surgeons vanished and the sacred center of the heart has been opened…Two distinct periods of cardiac surgery can be identified over the next 100 years. The first period is the so called “surgery on a closed heart”, before the invention of extracorporeal circulation. In this heroic period, the first interventions that involved the pericardium were performed.In the first years of the 20th century, Alexis Carell imagined the experimental basis of cardio-vascular surgery. He invented the vascular sutures, demonstrated the possibility of organ transplantation and imagined coronary surgery. As recognition of his fundamental work he received the Nobel prize for medicine and physiology in 1912. Although he never performed surgery on humans, Alexis Carell remains to this day the first surgeon in history that was awarded with this prestigious prize [4].Surgery of the pericardium started in 1920 with Ludwig Rehn and Ferdinand Sauerbruch [5]. The first surgical approach of the aortic valve was realized by Theodor Tyffier in Paris in 1912 [6]. He succeeded to enlarge an aortic stenosis through a purse on the anterior wall of the aorta. In 1923, in Boston, USA, Elliot Cuttler realized the first instrumental mitral valve valvulotomy on a 12 year old girl [7]. Using a specially modified forceps, and the apex of the left ventricle as the initial approach, he managed to successfully open the mitral valve commissures and then to close the incision on the left ventricle. The first digital mitral valve commissurotomy through the left appendage was performed in 1925 by Sir Henry Soutar[8]. Catastrophic results ( 90% mortality) lead surgeons to abandon this procedure for the next 25 years. In 1948, Charles P. Bailey (Philadelphia), Dwight E. Harken (Boston) and Russell Brock (London) realized the first successful mitral valve commissurotomy [9,10].The first ligature of patent arterial duct was performed by Robert Edward Gross. This procedure took place at Harvard Medical School and Children’s Hospital from Boston, Massachusetts, in 1938 [11].Palliative treatment of the Fallot tetralogy started with the first systemic-pulmonary shunt,realized by Alfred Blalock in 1944 at John Hopkins Hospital [12]. The idea of subclavio-pulmonaryanastomosis was born with the contribution of Hellen Taussig, founder of pediatric cardiology.Treatment of aortic coarctation was independently realized by Edward Gross and Clarance Crafoord in 1945. Both surgeons managed to excised the diseased segment of the aorta and then performed an end to end anastomosis of the aorta [13].Sir Thomas Holmes-Sellors in 1947 and Russel Brock in 1948 realized the first pulmonary valvevalvulotomy [10].In our country, professor Nicolae Hortolomei was the first to perform surgery on the heart atColtea Hospital. He legated a patent arterial duct, excised an aortic coarctation and successfullyrealized in 1953 a digitally mitral valve commissurotomy [14].The second period of cardiac surgery began with the developing of the extracorporeal circulation.This technology allowed stopping the heart and keeping the patient alive, using a device thatmanage to circulate and oxygenate the blood. This ensemble composed of a pomp and anoxygenator was called “the extracorporeal circulation machine” and made possible the future development of “open cardiac surgery”.In 1946 Wilfred G. Bigelow (Toronto, Canada ), demonstrated the role of hypothermia inincreasing the tissue resistance to hypoxemia. This concept is fundamental in the development of extracorporeal circulation [15]. The first procedure on an open heart was realized by John Lewis from University of Minnesota, Mineapolis USA, on 2 september 1952. He used profund hypotermia and occlusion of the caval veins, without using extracorporeal circulation. Using this technique he closed an interatrial septal defect in a 6 year old boy. Time was his biggest limitation, because the heart could not be stoped for more than 8-10 minutes.On 6 may 1953, John H. Gibbon realised the first open heart surgery using an extracorporealcirculation machine [16]. He succesfully closed and interatrial septal deffect on an 18 years old girl.Unfortunatly he lost the following 4 patients, and he decided to abandon this king of surgery after20 years of research.A year later, on the 26th of March 1954 at „University of Minesotta” from Mineapolis USA, C.Walton Lillehei closed an inteventricluar septal defect on a child using the so called “crossedcirculation technique”. In this procedure, he connected the patient’s circulaton to his fathercirculation, trying to repoduce the fetal circulation [17]. Using this technique he operated 45patients, being the first surgeon that closed ventricular septal defects, corrected the commonatrioventricular canal and treated the Fallot tetralogy. Finding a compatible match for the “cross circulation” was the biggest limit of this technique. This method was untill the developement of liver and renal transplant, the only kind of surgery that could reach 200% mortality rate and was abandoned later due to ethical considerations.Starting from 1955, John Kirkling (Mayo Clinic), used the extracorporeal circulation machine(pomp - oxigenator) [18]. He used the Mayo-Gibbon-IBM type, and this technology began to beused all over the world.In Romania, the first surgical procedure on the heart using an extracorporeal circulation machinewas realized in 1961 at Fundeni Hospital (Bucharest). A remarkable team composed of professor Voinea Marinescu and professor Dan Setlacec, closed an atrial septal defect on an 18 years old boy.The extracorporeal machine was handled by Marian Ionescu, and the anesthesia was managed by professor George Litarczek. The patient is still living.Surgery of the cardiac valves started in 1960 when Albert Starr realized the first mitral valvereplacement [19].Without a doubt coronary artery bypass grafting is the most widly spread type of cardiac surgery.Initially introduced by Michael DeBakey and later perfected by Renee Favaloro in 1960, thisprocedure remains one of the most frequent and best studied type of surgery in medicine [20].A crucial moment in the history of cardiac surgery is represented by the first cardiac transplanton human performed by Christian Barnard in 1967[21]. This achievement consecrate cardiacsurgery as a high performace field and made the cardiac surgen a public figure. In this moment, thelove story between cardiac surgery and media started. Most probably the majority of active cardiac surgeons of this generation owe Christiaan Barnard their option for choosing this field and this medical specialty her huge succes.It is considered that the maximum moment of cardiac surgery is the year 1986 when worldwide over 2000 procedures on the open heart were performed daily.But new discoveries started to appear in the cardiovascular field. In the 70s percutaneous procedures were invented. Andreas Gruntzig realized in 1977 the first coronary angioplasty and coronary stents were implanted in 1986 by Puel and Sigwart. Development on interventional cardiology was exponential and nowadays at the European Association of Cardiothoracic Surgery simposium about the future of cardiac surgery, 90% of the cardiac surgeons stated that they would prefer the coronary stent over coronar artery bypass grafting surgery if they would have to choose as patients.Starting with 2003 when was realised the first transcatheter aortic valve implantation (TAVI), the exclusive field of cardiac valve surgery is partialy claimed by interventional cardiology [23].The field of aortic anevrisms and acute dissections falls from cardiac surgery also to interventional cardiology after the developement of endoaortic stent grafts [24,25].As a consequence the number of coronary artery bypass grating procedures falls 28% between 1997 and 2004 in the USA. Meanwhile coronary percutaneos procedures rises with 121% [24,28]. Also it is possible that for the first time in history, the number of cardiac surgeons will decrease untill 2020 [24.28].But cardiac surgery extends in to new fields in order to survive. For exemple, one of the future aspect is the treatment of cardiac insuffiency. It is estimated that over 5 milion americans have cardiac insuffiency [26] and cardiac transplantation is the solution for these patients. Unfortunately, the number of donors falls, and this is no longer an effective solution. Multiple devices are designed in order to help the heart, ranging from univentricular asist devices to artificial hearts. This devices can act as a bridge to cardiac transplantation or they can be the solution for patients that are not eligible for cardiac transplantation.Surgical treatment of atrial fibrilation remains a solid options for patients with this disease which have a high risk of emboly or progression to cardiac insufficiency [27].The field of corection of congenital cardiac malformations lessens because of early diagnostic and possibility to end the pregnancy. But there are surgical treatments for children that are born with complex congenital heart malformations with optimal results.The development of minimally invasive techniques, robotics and hybrid ones represents the response of cardiac surgery to interventional cardiology.Apparently, cardiac surgery and interventional cardiology are merging. More and more patients are heald in hybrind operating rooms, using hybrid techniques. The concept of “heart teams” emerges- a team made of cardiologists, cardiac surgeons and cardiac anesthesiologists. Probably, in the future will exist only a cardiologist-cardiac surgeon or a cardiac surgeon-cardiologist, either way a specialist in cardiovascular medicine.The conclusion isn’t pessimistic. As long as there will be patients, doctors will be needed. It remains to be seen if they will be surgeons, interventional cardiologists or just cardiologists.Certainly, general anesthesia, opeaning the mediastinum through median sternotomy using an electic saw and circulating the patients blood through the extracorporeal circulation machine, not to mention stopping the heart, isn’t the future.But introducing needls in arteries, wires in the aorta and pen sprins into the coronary isn’t also the future.Without a doubt, the future belongs to physicians that will cure cardiovascular disease with pills or even better just with advices...

Problem 1 was submitted by Dene Lawson, 26221 South Nottingham Drive, Sun Lakes, AZ 85248-0928. Problems 2–5 were prepared by Harry Simon, 701 Viola Street, Eunice, LA 70535-4339. Problems 6–13 and 23–27 were contributed by Boyd Henry, 600 South 18th Avenue, Caldwell, ID 83605. Problems 14–16 were provided by Enrico Uva, Outreach Schools, 1741 de Biencowt, Montreal, PQ H4E 1T4. Problems 17 and 22 were submitted by Bob Kinner, Hamilton High School, 1165 Eaton Avenue, Hamilton, OH 45013. Problems 18 and 20 and 28–30 were contributed by the falll994 Honors Problem Solving Class of Clarion University of Pennsylvania: Lyru1 Anderson, Tonnie R. Anderson, Nicole Bell, Lori Bessetti, Dipendra N. Bhattacharya, Kimberly Casper, Christopher Collins, Amanda Glaz, Kelly Gould, Julie Grove, Jessica Hackett, Scott Hunsberger, Rebecca Kelley, Melissa Klinginsmith, Bryan Lohr, Bobbie Manross, Jennifer Nicholes, Jeremy Peffer, Rosalyn Rapsinski, Marion Russell, Shane Sanders, Natalie Skalsky, Rebecca Smith, Samuel Thoma, Billie Jo Wells, and Stephen Westover. Problem 19 was contributed by Gene Zirkel, Nassau Community College, Garden City, NY 11530. Problem 21 was submitted by William D. Jamski, Indiana University Southeast, 4201 Grant Line Road, New Albany, IN 47150-6405.

Lewis, Marion. Kaugjagjuk. Iqaluit: Inhabit Media, 2011. Print. Kaugjagjuk is a re-telling of a traditional story about an orphan who is ill-treated by a village and then grows up to save them. Variants of this story are told across the Arctic and are found in other cultures. In western cultures, this is the story that underpins the adage, “be kind to your office boy, he may come back as your supervisor”. Often in other Arctic versions the story ends with the grown-up boy taking revenge for his mistreatment, however Iqualuit-born Marion Lewis specifically chose a version that is “a brave story - an inspirational story”. The lesson that Lewis wants us to learn from the story is that “even the smallest and most downtrodden of us – may overcome neglect and great difficulties”. Illustrator Kim Smith has done an excellent job of capturing the moon-lit scenes of the Arctic winter nights. However, her renditions of Inuit people make them look Asian. The faces are very angular and the eyes have a pronounced upward slant. Everyone in the book looks a little scary, even Kaugjagjuk’s benevolent and loving father. Everyone else, including most images of the growing Kaugjagjuk look like “evil bad guys” from manga. This is perhaps not surprising, given that this is Smith’s first children’s book and that she usually illustrates comics. Apart from the orphan-who-survives theme which occurs in many different Inuit stories, this story also contains the legend of Taqqiq or “the Man in the Moon”, whose job it is to “watch over all who sleep” and to “reflect light onto all deeds and to record both the good and bad deeds of all those who sleep under the moon’s gaze”. Taqqiq takes human form and trains the young Kaugjagjuk as he becomes a man. While this is undoubtedly a traditional story, the associated commentary about how “the moon does not emit its own light” is probably a modern knowledge addition to the traditional knowledge of the legend. While presented as an illustrated children’s book, the text is at an upper senior high school reading level. The story is intended to be shared by an adult with children, mirroring the way that it would have been told to a child by an elder. This is a good first work that not only entertains, but also preserves the legend. Highly recommended for public and school libraries. Highly Recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: Sandy CampbellSandy is a Health Sciences Librarian at the University of Alberta, who has written hundreds of book reviews across many disciplines. Sandy thinks that sharing books with children is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Early stage technology startups rely critically on talented scientists and engineers to commercialize new technologies. And yet these startups compete with established technology firms to hire the best workers. Theories of ability sorting predict that high-ability workers will choose jobs in established firms that offer greater complementary assets and higher pay, leaving low-ability workers to take lower paying and riskier jobs in startups. We propose an alternative view in which heterogeneity in both worker ability and preferences enable startups to hire talented workers who have a taste for a startup work environment even at lower pay. Using a longitudinal survey that follows 2,394 science and engineering PhDs from graduate school into their first industrial employment, we overcome common empirical challenges by observing ability and stated preferences prior to entry into the labor market. We find that both ability and career preferences strongly predict startup employment with high-ability workers who prefer startup employment being the most likely to work in a startup. We show that this partly reflects dual selection effects whereby worker preferences result in a large pool of startup job applicants and startups make job offers to the most talented workers. Additional analyses confirm that startup employees earn approximately 17% lower pay. This gap is greatest for high-ability workers and persists over workers’ early careers, suggesting that they accept a negative compensating differential in exchange for the nonpecuniary benefits of startup employment. Data on job attributes and stated reasons for job choice further support this interpretation. This paper was accepted by Toby Stuart, entrepreneurship and innovation. Funding: This work was supported by the National Science Foundation SciSIP Award [Grant 1262270] and the Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation (Junior Faculty Fellowship). Supplemental Material: The online appendix and data are available at https://doi.org/10.1287/mnsc.2023.4868 .

The recent emergence of primary school generalist teachers with physical education (PE) expertise has addressed calls for some form of specialisation in primary PE provision in Ireland ( Marron et al., 2018 ). It was hoped that these teachers could advance the quality of PE taught within schools, through their own teaching and by supporting colleagues ( Ní Chróinín, 2018 ). Despite PE specialism graduates (PESGs) developing teaching orientations and high self-efficacy to teach PE during their professional socialisation, it is unclear how their skills are applied within schools. This study examined the organisational socialisation of PESGs through a micropolitical lens, drawing on the research of Kelchtermans and Ballet (2002a , 2002b ). Adopting a critical realist approach enabled us to explore teachers’ complex teaching realities. Semi-structured interviews were conducted with 11 graduates of the four-year Bachelor of Education with a major specialism in PE. Reflexive thematic analysis of interview data identified that PESGs had limited opportunities to apply their PE skills due to the conflicting custodial orientations of their schools. Due to PESGs’ professional interests, they were more likely to assimilate with the existing school culture as early career teachers, even if it overlooked their PE expertise. The outsourcing of PE provision to external coaches, and PESGs’ identity as novice teachers, also undermined their potential contribution as PE experts. Although some PESGs have positively used their knowledge to direct whole-school PE provision, more structured opportunities may be necessary to support the continued development of PESGs as teachers and leaders of PE.

<p>Mario Comporti was born in Siena and earned a high school diploma (Classical studies) at the local Liceo Classico Enea Silvio Piccolomini. He was proud of this title, and always firmly considered classical studies an essential aspect in the education of young generations. Mario attended as a student at the University of Siena the Institute of Medical Pathology managed by Cesare Bartorelli, and was positively impressed by the ability of many physicians of the Institute to connect the scientific research with the medical-care activity. That was the time period when research first captivated him, to follow him for the rest of his subsequent life. Comporti graduated with honours in 1960, and then worked as Assistant professor at the Institutes of General Pathology of Siena and Turin.</p><p>[...]</p>

As the old technologies become automatic and invisible, we find ourselves more concerned with fighting or embracing what’s new”—Dennis Baron, From Pencils to Pixels:The Stage of Literacy Technologies Increasingly, cultural study is villainised by defenders of the academic tradition for luring English students away from the high-brow texts of the literary canon, a condition exacerbated by institutions' need for economic survival. In Britain in 1995 there were 1500 fewer English A-Level students than in 1994, whereas cultural studies students increased by approximately the same number (Cartmel et al. 1). Modern students of English are preferring more readily digestible on-screen texts which subvert the role of the author in favour of the role of the genre, a preference that allows readers/viewers to pay more attention to their own tastes, beliefs and identities than those of figures that produced great books, and their contemporaries. Modern cultural studies have a somewhat self-indulgent quality that many academics find distasteful, a kind of narcissistic celebration of the fact that media and mass culture operate as reflections of ourselves today instead of as windows into brilliant minds and historically significant moments. One of the most frustrating forms of this for defenders of traditional English studies is the adaptation of classic literature into commercial film and the ensuing analyses. The task of 'doing justice' to a classic novel in a modern film is fundamentally impossible. Whatever authenticity is strived for in an adaptation, the economic necessities of the modern film (sex appeal, celebrity, luridness) are bound to collide with academic notions of the original text and subsequently cause damage and widen the literature/media divide. A recent remake by Gus Van Sant of one of the most celebrated films ever made, Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960), has added new flavour to this debate. Van Sant's Psycho (1999) operates more as an homage to the classic film and as a piece of 'conceptual art' than as a simple remake (Romney 31). Almost every shot, every word, every piece of music from the original has been recreated in an attempt to celebrate rather than claim credit for the ideas which made Hitchcock's film such a pillar of the film canon, much in the same way as a screen adaptation of a classic novel validates itself via its established worth. What is interesting about the reaction to this film is that as far as I can tell most critics hated it. The new Psycho has been labelled a vulgar hack job, a grossly immodest attempt to improve on the unimprovable. What is it about the original film that has caused this reaction to the remake, and what does it suggest about critical/academic readings versus popular ones? In order to answer this question, we must look closely at the original film, and at what is different or similar about the new one, and most importantly, consider the source of this uneasiness that pervades the adaptation of one fictitious body into another. The plot of Psycho is pretty straightforward. Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a disenchanted and fatally scatty secretary that wants to marry her lover Sam (John Gavin) steals forty thousand dollars from her boss so they can afford to do so. She skips town and stops at a motel run by Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) whose mother can be glimpsed and heard in a house nearby. Bates spies on Marion while she undresses, and just when she seems like she's going to return the stolen money she gets brutally stabbed in the shower. Norman finds her body and puts it in the car which he pushes into a swamp. Marion's sister Lila and Sam go looking for her, as does Arbogast, a PI who has been hired to find the money. Arbogast questions Norman and also gets brutally stabbed to death. When he fails to return, Lila and Sam go to the sheriff who tells them among other things that Mrs. Bates has been dead for ten years after killing the man she was involved with and then killing herself. All the while, we hear Norman talking to his mother and insisting on taking her down to the cellar. Lila and Sam search the hotel and eventually Lila finds a woman's stuffed corpse and Norman, dressed in old women's clothes, tries to stab her. Later a psychiatrist explains that the now incarcerated Norman is schizophrenic and had murdered his possessive mother because he was jealous of her lover. He had taken on her personality when drawn to a woman such as the fated Marion. What makes the film extraordinary is the use of action codes and an uneasiness that occupies the narrative through shot structure, real time, lighting, editing and sound. Hitchcock also deliberately disrupts the equilibrium audiences have come to expect from classic film narratives. The film opens as a crime story, turns into a murder mystery in which the lead character is the victim well before the end of the film. Psycho has a perplexing closure that denies the audience knowledge of the lost forty thousand dollars and Norman's unknown victims, and displaces sympathies and identities normally attached to lead roles. Norman's monstrous inner is developed with strange, angular lighting and a repressed homosexuality. The story unfolds in a very impersonal way, where the camera's omnipotence occasionally betrays the thoughts of its subjects. One brilliant moment involves the camera tracking between Marion while undressing and the money on the bed, reminding the audience of her deviousness and temptations, a mood heightened by her sexuality. The same technique is repeated after the shower scene, where the camera moves with Norman's gaze around the room towards the money, creating a bridge between the minds of the two enigmatic protagonists. All of these features of the original are reproduced in Van Sant's restaging in a manner that "subverts all audience wisdom about audience expectation" (Romney 31). The conversion from black and white into colour is the major technical innovation, cleverly highlighting details which speak volumes, such as Marion's telling bra's move from femme fatale black to aggressive orange. But it is the qualities of the film that remain the same which play on audience expectation, such as the shifty dialogue whose anachronistic sound reinforces the sinister subtext. The shower scene is bloodier, and Vince Vaughn's Norman is more blatantly homosexual, but the film is above all else a bold experiment and a deliberate challenge to accepted notions of originality. Perhaps the most critical moment for this intention is the retelling of the shower scene, the most famous horror scene in cinema history. Audience reaction to the shower scene was extreme when the film was first released in 1960. Hitchcock is said to have asked Paramount to allow him to remix the sound in the successive shots to accommodate audiences' "residual howling" (Branston & Stafford 49). The shower scene is the climactic moment for Van Sant's artistic intention: the absence of the same impact due to the audience's expectations of it questions what authority the critical reading has over the interpretation of antique films which are canonised and labelled as sophisticated or arty. What we come to expect from a remake that goes shot for shot is dismantled by the poignant illustration of the changes that have occurred since audiences have acquired a postmodern manner of regarding the on-screen world, particularly with the prevalence of films which stress the audience's participation in the attribution of meaning and value to the text, such as The Truman Show (1998), Scream (1997) or The Faculty (1999). Van Sant's Psycho uses the old-school to point out how our current attitude towards sexuality, violence and dementia have changed alongside our media culture, and most importantly he points the finger back to the audience, forcing us to recognise our new criteria for being frightened or aroused and our resistance to being inert receptacles of fictitious events and ideologies. John O. Thompson boils down the academic aversion to adaptation from book to film to four key points of resistance, three of which are applicable to the Psycho question: authenticity (the original is authentic, the adaptation is simulacrum), fidelity (the adaptation is a deformation or a dilution of the original), and massification (the original must be harder, more cognitively demanding, or the latter would not be the more popular for an 'unskilled' mass audience; Thompson 11). This last consideration is central to the critical response to Psycho. The overwhelmingly negative critical reaction to the film has given the audience very little credit for its ability to distance itself from the immediate narrative, a skill that is learned by default as we as viewers of postmodern media are exposed to more and more material that cleverly puts itself into a cultural context. The new Psycho may have surrendered its mysterious and disturbing nature but it has done so in favour of demonstrating how much we have changed, and in so doing has also managed to point out how critical appraisal of postmodern films fails to acknowledge the symbiotic relationship between mass audience and cinema art form. References Branston, Gill, and Roy Stafford, eds. The Media Student's Book. New York: Routledge, 1996. Cartmel, Deborah, I.Q. Hunter, Heidi Kaye and Imelda Whelehan, eds. Pulping Fictions: Consuming Culture across the Literature/Media Divide. London: Pluto Press, 1996. Romney, Jonathan. Guardian Weekly 17 Jan. 1999: 31. Thompson, John O. "Vanishing Worlds: Film Adaptation and the Mystery of the Original." Pulping Fictions: Consuming Culture across the Literature/Media Divide. London: Pluto Press, 1996. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Ben King. "Retelling Psycho." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.1 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9902/psycho.php>. Chicago style: Ben King, "Retelling Psycho," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 1 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9902/psycho.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Ben King. (199x) Retelling Psycho. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(1). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9902/psycho.php> ([your date of access]).

AbstractBackgroundExercise in adolescence has been shown to increase cognitive reserve and have a long‐term preventive effect on cognitive function in older age (Dik, M. G., et al. 2003). However, it remains unclear whether different types and intensities of adolescent exercise have distinct impacts on cognitive function later in life. Therefore, the present study investigated the association between exercise types and intensity in adolescence and mild cognitive impairments (MCI) in older adults.MethodWe analyzed data from the Bunkyo Health Study, which included 659 men and 912 women aged 65‐84. MCI was defined as the Japanese version of the Montreal Cognitive Assessment score of 22 points or less. We classified the 35 exercises participants engaged in their junior high school and high school reference to the classification guidelines (Maron, B. J., et al. 2015), which were divided into three levels of exercise intensity (low, moderate, high) in each type of exercise (aerobic, resistance, or a combination of both). Multivariate‐adjusted logistic regression models were used to estimate the odds ratios (ORs) and associated 95% confidence intervals (CIs) in each category level for the prevalence of MCI, as compared with the non‐exercise group.ResultIn junior high school analysis, the ORs(95%CIs) for MCI were significantly lower in the moderate‐resistance level group (OR: 0.45 [0.21‐0.95], P‐value = 0.04) and the high‐combination level group (OR: 0.30 [0.11‐0.81], P‐value = 0.02) in men, whereas there were no significant differences in women. Similar results were observed in high school analysis, with lower ORs for MCI in moderate‐resistance level (OR: 0.36 [0.16‐0.77], P‐value = 0.01) and high‐combination level (OR: 0.34 [0.14‐0.80], P‐value = 0.01) groups, but not for women.ConclusionParticipation in the moderate‐resistance level and/or the high‐combination level exercises in junior high school or high school was associated with a lower prevalence of MCI in older age among men, but not women.

Background: Executive functions as a group of complex mental processes and cognitive abilities necessary for our goal-directed behavior to control the skills. Acculturation is a process in which an individual acquires and adjusts to a new cultural environment. Objectives: The present study aimed to predict the ethnically diverse students’ brain executive functions based on their acculturation. Methods: In this correlational survey study, 1,019 high school students in the city of Kabodar Ahang, a multicultural city in Hamedan Province, are investigated. In total, 280 bilingual as ethnically diverse students were selected using a relative stratified random method. The Behavior Rating Inventory of Executive Functions (BRIEF) and Marin acculturation scale were used to collect data. The Pearson correlation coefficient, multiple regression, and step-by-step regression were employed to collect the data. Results: There is a positive association between acculturation and brain functions and inhibition components, task completion, working memory, and organization (P ≤ 0.001). In other words, increased students' acculturation leads to fostered brain executive functions in subscales of inhibition, task completion, working memory, and mental organization. Also, the multiple regression indicated that acculturation can predict 30% of the students' brain function variance. Conclusions: Teachers working in multicultural regions can use the findings of the present study to gain an appropriate understanding about students' individual differences according to their capacity of executive functions and organizing the process of learning based on their working memory and the complexity of the task.

Abstract Background Physical activity is key for preventing obesity and development of noncommunicable diseases later in life. Previous research suggests that socioeconomic factors, such as parental education or income, may influence a child’s risk of obesity. However, previous research on this has provided heterogeneity in results. Our aim was to investigate the socioeconomic disparities between physical activity, sedentary behaviour and sleep patterns in school-aged children aged 6 to 9 years in 24 European countries, using a large nationally-representative sample of children from 24 countries (Albania, Bulgaria, Croatia, Czechia, Denmark, France, Georgia, Ireland, Italy, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Lithuania, Latvia, Malta, Montenegro, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russian Federation – only Moscow, San Marino Republic, Spain, Tajikistan, Türkiye and Turkmenistan). Methods COSI collected information on physical activity patterns of children, sedentary behaviour and sleep duration through a questionnaire filled by parents. Among these, the paper focused on the following behaviours: Transportation to and from schools, Time spent on practising sports, Time spent on actively/vigorously playing, Time spent watching TV or using electronic devices and Hours of sleep per night. For the paper purpose, countries were grouped in 4 macro-regions according to United Nations “Standard Country or Area Codes for Statistical Use”. Results Findings indicated that a high prevalence of motorized school transport among children of employed parents in Southern Europe. The highest prevalence of insufficient sports and active play was among families from West-Central Asia who meet the end of the month with troubles, the highest prevalence of excessive screen time is among families from Eastern Europe, where both parents have a low level of education and the highest prevalence of insufficient sleep is among families from West-Central Asia where both parents have a high level of education. Conclusions There are important differences in the socioeconomic determinants of PA, sleep and screen related behaviours both between countries and sub-regions across the WHO European Region. This analysis of results from the COSI survey provides important insights that can help guide policy makers to take action to address the childhood obesity epidemic.

04–28Atienza Merino, José Luis (Universidad de Oviedo, Spain). L'émergence de l'inconscient dans l'appropriation des langues étrangères. [The role of the Subconscious in Foreign Language Learning.] Études delinguistique appliquée (Paris, France), 131, 3 (2003), 305–328.04–29Belz, Julie A. and Kinginger, Celeste (Pennsylvania State U., USA). Discourse options and the development of pragmatic competence by classroom learners of German: the case of address forms. Language Learning (Malden, MA, USA), 53, 4 (2003), 591–647.04–30Berry, Rita Shuk Yin (Hong Kong Institute of Education) and Williams, Marion. In at the deep end. Difficulties experienced by Hong Kong Chinese ESL learners at an independent school in the United Kingdom. Journal of Language and Social Psychology (Thousand Oaks, CA, USA), 23, 1 (2004), 118–34.04–31Couper, Graeme (Auckland University of Technology, New Zealand). The value of an explicit pronunciation syllabus in ESOL teaching. 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Evaluating the relative effectiveness of structured-input and output-based instruction in foreign language learning. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (New York, USA), 25, (4) (2003), 559–582.04–36Gardner, R. C. (University of Western Ontario, Canada; Email: gardner@uwo.ca), Masgoret, A. M., Tennant, J. and Mihic L. Integrative motivation: changes during a year-long intermediate level language course. Language Learning (Malden, MA, USA), 54, 1 (2004), 1–34.04–37Gélat, Mona (Twickenham, UK; Email: mona_gelat@onetel.net.uk). Taking others' perspectives in a peer interactional setting while preparing for a written argument. Language and Education (Clevedon, UK), 17, 5 (2003), 332–354.04–38Graham, Suzanne (Reading U., UK; Email: suzanne@graham11.freeserve.co.uk). Learner strategies and advanced level listening comprehension. Language Learning Journal (London, UK), 28 (Winter 2003), 64–69.04–39Hew, Soon-Hin and Ohki, Mitsuri (Kyoto U., Japan; Email: my711010@hotmail.com). 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Most feminist debates, including Western Feminism and postcolonial strands of feminism such as African Feminisms, place emphasis on religion – specifically Christianity – as an oppressive structure dominating women, and justifiably so. Within feminist and colonial discourses, however, Christianity occupies complex, ambiguous spaces. In considering Christianity’s positioning within colonialism and feminism, an African feminist position should seek to recognize the contradictions inherent in Christianity and, by extension, facilitate the nuanced experiences women in postcolonial, global South contexts have with Christianity. While some women might find Christianity oppressive, others may find it deeply fulfilling and others still may experience these dichotomies simultaneously. This article presents an African feminist reading of Katori Hall’s play, Our Lady of Kibeho (2018). Inspired by real-life events and centering Christianity (specifically Catholicism), Hall’s play tells the story of three Rwandan convent high-school girls – Alphonsine, Anathalie, and Marie-Claire – whose Marian apparitions garnered widespread attention. Through a textual analysis of, primarily, Alphonsine, who reportedly had the first and most frequent visitations, Christianity is proffered as a site of concurrent oppression and liberation. This article does not engage in the specificities of Catholic doctrine, but rather offers a discussion of varied encounters with Christianity.

In recent years, some changes have emerged in the general aims of education programs, and in this context, educational authorities have adopted new approaches aiming at nurturing skills. Especially in moral education, which is an indispensable part of citizenship education, the concept of moral literacy is one of the important isssue of educational discussions. In the literature, there are many studies asserting that schools should educate children for moral literacy as well as primitive language literacy, science and mathematics literacy, intercultural literacy. On the other hand, it should be noted that there are not enough studies dealing with the application of the subject in the field. In addition, it is seen that countries have not yet taken sufficient steps for a change in their educational systems and have not demonstrated a strong will. Moral literacy refers to a skill that includes thinking about one's own moral values, determining the possible consequences of various alternatives and their effects, making logical decisions about which option is compatible with one's values, acting in line with one's values, and taking responsibility for one's own actions. Moral literacy, conceptualized by Nancy Tuana, consists of three basic elements, namely moral moral sensitivity, moral reasoning skills, and moral imagination, and three sub-skills under them. These skills generally include the intellectual skills that lead the moral decision-making process. This study aimed to develop a valid and reliable attitude scale based on Tuana's theory. Within the scope of the research designed in the general survey model, the relevant literature was scanned and the studies on moral literacy were examined. With the clarification of the theoretical structure, the scale development process was started. The following stages were followed in the development of the moral literacy scale: i. Creating the item pool, ii. Content validaty, iii. Reviewing and finalizing the draft form, iv. Application of the scale, v. Item analysis, analysis of construct validity and reliability analysis, vi. Examining the correlation between subscales and the total score, vii. Putting into the final form of the scale and reporting. In the first stage, the draft form consisting of 27 items was sent to five field experts and a language expert, 1 item was removed from the scale as they were not compatible with the scope in line with the suggestions of the field experts, and 1 more item was added. The draft form, which was finalized with changes, was applied to 653 university students studying at Eskişehir Osmangazi University and Anadolu University in the fall semester of the 2018-2019 academic year. 88 data, which were not marked carefully and were not found reliable during the data entry to excel, were excluded from the analysis. In the item analysis of the scale, 3 items were excluded from the draft scale and the construct validity was passed. In the exploratory factor analysis, 7 more items with values less than .40 and overlapping were excluded from the analysis. As a result of the factor analysis performed after this process, a structure consisting of 5 factors and 20 items was obtained. As a result of the reliability analysis, it was seen that the whole scale had high reliability, while the sub-dimensions had medium and low reliability levels. It was also determined that the structure obtained by exploratory factor analysis was confirmed as a result of testing with confirmatory factor analysis. According to the path analysis, it can be said that the existing structure fits well. When the relationship between the sub-dimensions of the scale is examined, it can be stated that there is a significant positive relationship between the sub-dimensions and a total score can be obtained for the attitudes towards the moral literacy skill of the scale. As a result, it can be said that the scale obtained as a result of these processes can measure the attitudes of university students towards moral literacy skills in a reliable and valid way.

Ann Harrison of Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania reviews, “Industrial Policy and Development: The Political Economy of Capabilities Accumulation” by Mario Cimoli, Giovanni Dosi and Joseph E. Stiglitz. The EconLit Abstract of this book begins: “ Nineteen papers explore state intervention in industry and markets, focusing on successful industrial policies and interventions. Papers discuss institutions and policies shaping industrial development—an introductory note; technological learning, policy regimes, and growth—the long-term patterns and some specificities of a “"globalized'' economy; emulation versus comparative advantage—competing and complementary principles in the history of economic policy; industrial policies in developing countries—history and perspectives; industrial tariffs, international trade, and development; the (slow) return of industrial policies in Latin America and the Caribbean; the different capabilities of east Asia and Latin America to “"demand-adapt'' and “"supply-upgrade'' their export productive capacity; microeconomic evolution in high uncertainty contexts—the manufacturing sector in Argentina; the impact of public policies in Brazil along the path from semistagnation to growth in a Sino-centric market; the past, present, and future of industrial policy in India—adapting to the changing domestic and international environment; growth and development in China and India—the role of industrial and innovation policy in rapid catch-up; the political economy of industrial policy in Asia and Latin America; the roles of research at universities and public labs in economic catch-up; nationality of firm ownership in developing countries—who “"crowds out'' whom in imperfect markets; a question of trust—historical lessons for current development; competition policy and industrial development; latecomer entrepreneurship—a policy perspective; intellectual property and industrial development—a critical assessment; and the future of industrial policies in the new millennium—toward a knowledge-centered development agenda. Cimoli is with the United Nations Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean and the Department of Economics at the University of Venice (Ca Foscari). Dosi is Professor of Economics at the Sant'Anna School of Advanced Studies, Pisa. Stiglitz is University Professor at Columbia University and Co-President of the Initiative for Policy Dialogue. Index.

The global pandemic of Covid-19 has caused enormous damage to scientific research by dramatically reducing the functionality of the institutions responsible for it and at the same time polarizing many lines of research toward solving the pandemic problems. This situation has similarities with what happened during the Second World War. In that case, the post-war recovery was intense, also bringing many changes in the methodology and motivations of scientific research. In this paper I analyzed, as a model of post-war rebirth, that of the Institute of Pharmacology of the University of Milan that became from a small laboratory a research and teaching institution based on human and scientific concepts that were innovative at the time. Its birth started in the years 1946-47, was favored by the collaboration between private and public institutions (the De Marchi Foundation, the University of Milan and the Municipality of Milan), was build by the scientists as a high-level, broad-based international study center, and formed the basis of a possible example of a university campus. The methodological and conceptual development of a new pharmacology and its growth in researchers and scientific purposes are outlined. The birth from this Institute of the Mario Negri Research Institute, of the School of Pharmacy of the University of Milan, of the Cellular and Molecular Pharmacology Center of the CNR and of the Lombardy Biomedical Library System is briefly described. The different reactions to a global damage brought to science and research in the post-war and post-pandemic periods are discussed.

The global pandemic of Covid-19 has caused enormous damage to scientific research by dramatically reducing the functionality of the institutions responsible for it and at the same time polarizing many lines of research toward solving the pandemic problems. This situation has similarities with what happened during the Second World War. In that case, the post-war recovery was intense, also bringing many changes in the methodology and motivations of scientific research. In this paper I analyzed, as a model of post-war rebirth, that of the Institute of Pharmacology of the University of Milan that became from a small laboratory a research and teaching institution based on human and scientific concepts that were innovative at the time. Its birth started in the years 1946-47, was favored by the collaboration between private and public institutions (the De Marchi Foundation, the University of Milan and the Municipality of Milan), was build by the scientists as a high-level, broad-based international study center, and formed the basis of a possible example of a university campus. The methodological and conceptual development of a new pharmacology and its growth in researchers and scientific purposes are outlined. The birth from this Institute of the Mario Negri Research Institute, of the School of Pharmacy of the University of Milan, of the Cellular and Molecular Pharmacology Center of the CNR and of the Lombardy Biomedical Library System is briefly described. The different reactions to a global damage brought to science and research in the post-war and post-pandemic periods are discussed.

Introduction Australia has embraced Barbie since the doll was launched at the Toy Fair in Melbourne in 1964, with Mattel Australia established in Melbourne in 1969. Barbie was initially sold in Australia with two different hairstyles and 36 separately boxed outfits. As in the US, the initial launch range was soon followed by a constant stream of additional outfits as well as Barbie’s boyfriend Ken and little sister Skipper, pets, and accessories including her dreamhouse and vehicles. Also released were variously themed Barbies (including those representing different careers and nationalities) and a seemingly ever-expanding group of friends (Gerber; Lord, Forever). These product releases were accompanied by marketing, promotion, and prominent placement in toy, department, and other stores that kept the Barbie line in clear sight of Australian consumers (Hosany) and in the forefront of toy sales for many decades (Burnett). This article focusses on a thread of subversion operating alongside the purchase of these Barbie dolls in Australia, when the phenomenon of handmade ‘do-it-yourself’ intersected with the dolls in the second half of the 1960s. Do-It-Yourself ‘Do-it-yourself’ (often expressed as DIY) has been defined as “anything that people did for themselves” (Gelber 283). The history of DIY has been researched in academic disciplines including sociology, cultural studies, musicology, architecture, marketing, and popular culture. This literature charts DIY practice across such domestic production as making clothes, furniture, and toys, growing food, and home improvements including renovating and even building entire houses (Carter; Fletcher) to more externally facing cultural production including music, art, and publications (Spencer). While DIY behaviour can be motivated by such factors as economic necessity or financial benefit, a lack of product availability or its perceived poor quality, and/or a desire for customisation, it can also be linked to the development of personal identity (Wolf and McQuitty; Williams, “A Lifestyle”; Williams, “Re-thinking”). While some mid-century considerations of DIY as a phenomenon were male-focussed (“Do-It”), women and girls were certainly also active at this time in home renovation, house building, and other projects (‘Arona’), as well as more traditionally gendered handicraft activities such as sewing and knitting. Fig. 1: Australian Home Beautiful magazine cover, November 1958, showing a woman physically engaged in home renovation activities. Australia has a long tradition of women crafting (by sewing, knitting, and crocheting, for instance) items of clothing for themselves and their families, as well as homewares such as waggas (utilitarian quilts made of salvaged or other inexpensive materials such as old blankets and grain sacks) and other quilts (Burke; Gero; Kingston; Thomas). This making was also prompted by a range of reasons, including economic or other necessity and/or the pursuit of creative pleasure, personal wellbeing, or political activism (Fletcher; Green; Lord, Vintage). It is unsurprising, then, that many have also turned their hands to making dolls’ clothes from scraps of fabrics, yarns, ribbons, and other domestic materials, as well as creating entire dolls’ houses complete with furniture and other domestic items (Benson). In the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, many Australian dolls themselves were handmade, with settlers and migrants importing European traditions of doll-making and clothing with them (Cramer). In the early twentieth century, mass-produced dolls and clothing became more available and accessible, however handmade dolls’ clothes continued to be made and circulated within families (Elvin and Elvin, The Art; Elvin and Elvin, The Australian). An article in the Weekly in 1933 contained instructions for making both cloth dolls and clothes for them (“Home-Made”), with many such articles to follow. While the 1960s saw increased consumer spending in Australia, this research reveals that this handmade, DIY ethos (at least in relation to dolls) continued through this decade, and afterwards (Carter; Wilson). This making is documented in artefacts in museum and private collections and instructions in women’s magazines, newspapers, and other printed materials including commercially produced patterns and kits. The investigation scans bestselling women’s magazine The Australian Women’s Weekly (the Weekly) and other Australian print media from the 1960s that are digitised in the National Library of Australia’s Trove database for evidence of interest in this practice. Do-It-Yourself Barbie Doll Patterns for Barbie clothes appeared in Australian women’s magazines almost immediately after the doll was for sale in Australia, including in the Weekly from 1965. The first feature included patterns for a series of quite elaborate outfits: a casual knitted jumpsuit with hooded jacket, a knitted three-piece suit of skirt, roll-necked jumper and jacket, a crocheted afternoon dress, tied with a ribbon belt and accessorised with a knitted coat and beret, and a crocheted full length evening gown and opera coat (“Glamorous”). A sense of providing the Weekly’s trusted guidance but also a reliance on makers’ individuality was prominent in this article. Although detailed instructions were provided in the feature above, for example, readers were also encouraged to experiment with yarns and decorative elements. Fig. 2: Crocheted and knitted ‘afternoon ensemble’ in “Glamorous Clothes for Teenage Dolls” feature in the Weekly, 1965. Another richly illustrated article published in 1965 focussed on creating high fashion wigs for Barbie at home. The text and photographs guided readers through the process of crafting five differently styled wigs from one synthetic hair piece: a “romantic, dreamy” Jean Shrimpton-style coiffure, deep-fringed Sassoon hairdo, layered urchin cut, low set evening bun, and pair of pigtails (Irvine, “How”). Again, makers were encouraged to express their creativity and individuality in decorating these hairstyles, with suggestions (but not directions) to personalise these styles using ribbons, tiny bows and artificial flowers, coloured pins, seed pearls, and other objects that might be to hand. Fig. 3: Detailed instructions for creating one of the wigs. Three Barbie dolls (identified as ‘teen dolls’ rather than by the brand) were featured on the cover of the Weekly on 5 January 1966, for a story about making dolls’ outfits from handkerchiefs (Irvine, “New”). This was framed as a “novel” way to use the excess of fancy hankies often received at Christmas, promising that the three ensembles could thriftily and cleverly be made from three handkerchiefs in a few hours. The instructions detail how to make a casual two-piece summer outfit accessorised with a headscarf, a smart town ensemble highlighted with flower motifs cut from broderie anglaise, and a lavish evening gown. Readers were assured this would be an engaging, “marvellous fun” as well as creative activity, as each maker needed to individually design each garment in terms of working with the individual features of the handkerchiefs they had, incorporating such elements as floral or other borders, lace edging, and overall patterns such as spots or checks (Irvine, “New”). The long-sleeved evening gown was quite an ambitious project. The gown was not only fashioned from a fine Irish linen, lace-bordered hankie, meaning some of the cutting and sewing required considerable finesse, but the neckline and hemline were then hand-beaded, as were a circlet of tiny pearls to be worn around the doll’s hair. Such delicacy was required for all outfits, with armholes and necklines for Barbie dolls very small, requiring considerable dexterity in cutting, sewing, and finishing. Fig. 4: Cover of The Australian Women’s Weekly of 5 January 1966 featuring three Barbie dolls. Only two issues later, the magazine ran another Barbie-focussed feature, this time about using oddments found around the home to make accessories for Barbie dolls. Again, the activity is promoted as thrifty and creative: “make teen doll outfits and accessories economically—all you need is imagination and a variety of household oddments” (“Turn”). Included in the full coloured article is a ‘hula’ costume made from a short length of green silk fringe and little artificial flowers sewn together, hats fashioned from a bottle top and silk flower decorated with scraps of lace and ribbon, a cardboard surfboard, aluminium foil and ice cream stick skis, and miniature ribbon-wound coat hangers. This article ended with an announcement commonly associated with calls for readers’ recipes: “what clever ideas have you got? … we will award £5 for every idea used” (“Turn”). This was a considerable prize, representing one-third of the average minimum weekly wage for full-time female workers in Australia in 1966 (ABS 320). Fig. 5: Brightly coloured illustrations making the Weekly’s “Turn Oddments into Gay Accessories”, 1966, a joyful read. This story was reinforced with a short ‘behind the scenes’ piece, which revealed the care and energy that went into its production. This reported that, when posing the ‘hulagirl’ on a fountain in Sydney’s Hyde Park, the doll fell in. While her skirt was rescued by drying in front of a fan, the dye from her lei ran and had to be scrubbed off the doll with abrasive sandsoap and the resulting stain then covered up with make-up. After the photographer built the set (inside this time), the shoot was finally completed (“The Doll”). A week later, the Weekly advertised a needlework kit for three new outfits: a beach ensemble of yellow bikini and sundress, red suit with checked blouse, and blue strapless evening gown. The garment components, with indicated gathering, seam, stitching, and cutting lines, were stamped onto a piece of fine cotton. The kit also included directions “simple enough for the young beginner seamstress” (“Teenage Doll’s”). Priced at 8/6 (85¢ in the new decimal currency introduced that year) including postage, this was a considerable saving when compared to the individual Mattel-branded clothing sets which were sold for sums ranging from 13/6 to 33/6 in 1964 (Burnett). Reader demand for these kits was so high that the supplier was overwhelmed and the magazine had to print an apology regarding delays in dispatching orders (“The Weekly”). Fig. 6: Cotton printed with garments to cut out and sew together and resulting outfits from the Weekly’s “Teenage Doll’s Wardrobe” feature, 1966. This was followed by another kit offer later in the year, this time explicitly promoted to both adult and “little girl” needleworkers. Comprising “cut out, ready to sew [material pieces] … and easy-to-follow step-by-step instructions”, this kit made an embroidered white party dress with matching slip and briefs, checked shorts and top set, and long lace and net trimmed taffeta bridesmaid dress and underclothes (“Three”). Again, at $1.60 for the kit (including postage), this was much more economical (and creative) than purchasing such outfits ready-made. Fig. 7: Party dress from “Three Lovely Outfits for Teenage Dolls” article in the Weekly, 1966. Making dolls’ clothes was an educationally sanctioned activity for girls in Australia, with needlecraft and other home economics subjects commonly taught in schools as a means of learning domestic and professionally transferable skills until the curriculum reforms of the 1970s onwards (Campbell; Cramer; Issacs). In Australia in the 1960s, Barbie dolls (and their clothing and furniture) were recommended for girls aged nine-years-old and older (Dyson), while older girls obviously also continued to interact with the dolls. A 1968 article in the Weekly, for example, praised a 13-year-old girl’s efforts in reinterpreting an adult dress pattern that had appeared in the magazine and sewing this for her Barbie (Dunstan; Forde). It was also suggested that the dolls could be used by girls who designed their own clothes but did not have a full-sized dressmaker’s model, with the advice to use a Barbie model to test a miniature of the design before making up a full-sized garment (“Buy”). Making Things for Barbie Dolls By 9 February 1966, the ‘using oddments’ contest had closed and the Weekly filled two pages with readers’ “resourceful” ideas (“Prizewinning”). These used such domestic bits and pieces as string, wire, cord, cotton reels, egg cartons, old socks, toothpicks, dried leaves, and sticky tape to create a range of Barbie accessories including a mob cap from a doily, hair rollers from cut drinking straws and rubber bands, and a suitcase from a plastic soap container with gold foil locks. A party dress and coat were fashioned from an out-of-date man’s tie and a piece of elastic. There was even a pipe cleaner dog and cardboard guitar. A month later, fifty more winning entries were published in a glossy, eight-page colour insert booklet. This included a range of clothing, accessories, and furniture which celebrated that “imagination and ingenuity, rather than dollars and cents” could equip a teen doll “for any occasion” (“50 Things”, 1). Alongside day, casual, and evening outfits, rainwear, underwear, jewellery, hats, sunglasses, footwear, a beauty case, hat boxes, and a shopping trolley and bags, readers submitted a skilfully fashioned record player with records in a stand as well as a barbeque crafted from tiny concrete blocks, sun lounge, and deckchairs. Miniature accessories included a hairdryer and lace tissue holder with tiny tissues and a skindiving set comprising mask, snorkel, and flippers. The wide variety of negligible-cost materials utilised and how these were fashioned for high effect is as interesting as the results are charming. Fig. 8: Cover of insert booklet of the entries of the 50 winners of the Weekly’s making things for Barbie from oddments competition, 1966. That women were eager to learn to make these miniature fashions and other items is evidenced by some Country Women’s Association groups holding handicraft classes on making clothes and accessories for Barbie dolls (“CWA”). That they were also eager to share the results with others is revealed in how competitions to dress teenage dolls in handmade outfits rapidly also became prominent features of Australian fetes, fairs, agricultural shows, club events, and other community fundraising activities in the 1960s (“Best”; “Bourke”; “Convent”; “Fierce”; “Frolic”; “Gala”; “Guide”; “Measles”; “Parish”; “Personal”; “Pet”; “Present”, “Purim”; “Successful”; “School Fair”; “School Fair Outstanding”; “School Fete”; “Weather”; Yennora”). Dressing Barbie joined other traditional categories such as those to dress baby, bride, national, and bed dolls (the last those dolls dressed in elaborate costumes designed as furniture decorations rather than toys). The teenage doll category at one primary school fete in rural New South Wales in 1967 was so popular that it attracted 50 entries, with many entries in this and other such competitions submitted by children (“Primary”). As the dolls became more prominent, the categories using them became more imaginative, with prizes for Barbie doll tea parties (“From”), for example. The category of dressing Barbie also became segmented with separate prizes for Barbie bride dolls, both sewn and knitted outfits (“Hobby and Pet”) and day, evening, and sports clothes (“Church”). There is no evidence from the sources surveyed that any of this making concentrated on producing career-focussed outfits for Barbie. Do-It-Yourself Ethos A do-it-yourself ethos was evident across the making discussed above. This refers to the possession of attitudes or philosophies that encourage undertaking activities or projects that involve relying on one’s own skills and resources rather than consuming mass-produced goods or using hired professionals or their services. This draws on, and develops, a sense of self-reliance and independence, and uses and enhances problem-solving skills. Creativity is central in terms of experimentation with new ideas, repurposing materials, or finding unconventional solutions to challenges. While DIY projects are often pursued independently and customised to personal preferences, makers also often collaboratively draw on, and share, expertise and resources (Wilson). It is important to note that the Weekly articles discussed above were not disguised advertorials for Barbie dolls or other Mattel products with, throughout the 1960s, the Barbies illustrated in the magazine referred to as ‘teen dolls’ or ‘teenage dolls’. However, despite this and the clear DIY ethos at work, women in Australia could, and did, make such Barbie-related items as commercial ventures. This included local artisanal dressmaking businesses that swiftly added made-to-measure Barbie doll clothes to their ranges (“Arcade”). Some enterprising women sold outfits and accessories they had made through various non-store venues including at home-based parties (“Hobbies”), in the same way as Tupperware products had been sold in Australia since 1961 (Truu). Other women sought sewing, knitting, or crocheting work specifically for Barbie doll clothes in the ‘Work wanted’ classified advertisements at this time (‘Dolls’). Conclusion This investigation has shown that the introduction of the Barbie doll unleashed more than consumer spending in Australia. Alongside purchases of the branded doll, clothes, and associated merchandise, Australians (mostly, but not exclusively, women and girls) utilised (and developed) their skills in sewing, knitting, crochet, and other crafts to make clothes for Barbie. They also displayed significant creativity and ingenuity in using domestic oddments and scraps to craft fashion accessories ranging from hats and bags to sunglasses as well as furniture and many of the other accoutrements of daily life in the second half of the 1960s in Australia. This making appears to have been prompted by a range of motivations including thrift and the real pleasures gained in crafting these miniature garments and objects. While the reception of these outfits and other items is not recorded in the publications sourced during this research, this scan of the Weekly and other publications revealed that children did love these dolls and value their wardrobes. In a description of the effects of a sudden, severe flood which affected her home south of Cairns in North Queensland, for instance, one woman described how amid the drama and terror, one little girl she knew packed up only “her teenage doll and its clothes” to take with her (Johnstone 9). The emotional connection felt to these dolls and handcrafted clothes and other objects is a rich area for research which is outside the scope of this article. Whether adult production was all ultimately intended to be gifted (or purchased) for children, or whether some was the work of early adult Barbie collectors, is also outside the scope of the research conducted for this project. As most of the evidence for this article was sourced from The Australian Women’s Weekly, a similarly close study of other magazines during the 1960s, and of whether any DIY clothing for Barbie also included career-focussed outfits, would add more information and nuance to these findings. This investigation has also concentrated on what happened in Australia during the second half of the 1960s, rather than in following decades. It has also not examined the DIY phenomenon of salvaging and refurbishing damaged Barbie dolls or otherwise altering and customising their appearance in the Australian context. These topics, as well as a full exploration of how women used Barbie dolls in their own commercial ventures, are all rich fields for further research both in terms of practice in Australia and how they were represented in popular and other media. Alongside the global outpouring of admiration for Barbie as a global icon and the success of the recent live action Barbie movie (Aguirre; Derrick), significant scholarship and other commentary have long criticised what Barbie has presented, and continues to present, to the world in terms of her body shape, race, activities, and career choices (Tulinski), as well as the pollution generated by the production and disposal of these dolls (“Feminist”; Pears). An additional line of what can be identified as resistance to the consumer-focussed commercialism of Barbie, in terms of making her clothes and accessories, seems to be connected to do-it-yourself culture. The exploration of handmade Barbie doll clothes and accessories in this article reveals, however, that what may at first appear to reflect a simple anti-commercial, frugal, ‘make do’ approach is more complex in terms of how it intersects with real people and their activities. 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Photo by Mika Baumeister on Unsplash INTRODUCTION When the COVID-19 pandemic swept the globe, governments and healthcare systems scrambled to control it. While most of the global public health community agreed that actions against the COVID-19 pandemic needed to be prompt and efficient, there were disagreements on what those actions should be. Some governments opted to adopt a containment strategy while others implemented mitigation measures; each had reasons to support their course of action, whether rooted in governmental structures, scientific findings, beliefs, or ethical and moral values. However, the dramatically different response strategies may have led to disparate results. This divide is furthered when ethical and moral values and cultural norms are added to this equation. In this paper, I will examine China and Korea, two countries that implemented a preventative containment strategy, and the United States of America and the United Kingdom, which adopted mitigation strategies. I will examine the differences in their outcomes and whether there is a “correct” response to pandemics like COVID-19. l. Response in China and Korea After its initial discovery in December 2019, COVID-19 rapidly spread beyond China to surrounding countries, including South Korea, Japan, and Singapore. China implemented swift measures drawing on its experience with the SARS outbreak. Measures included lockdowns, contact tracing, testing all individuals exposed to the virus, and consequently enforcing isolation and quarantine provisions.[1] During the early stages, the public health systems and the national government moved to a “health care to all” system to avoid nationwide spread. The government and all sectors of society were mobilized to track, contain, and adapt to the overall state of the epidemic.[2] COVID-19 continued and spread in China during Lunar New Year celebrations when population movement within the country was at its peak. Thus, Wuhan entered lockdown to control the number of infected people leaving the city to contain the virus;[3] even in areas where there were few to no cases, the general population of China voluntarily abided by measures like those implemented in Wuhan. The measures included wearing masks, social distancing, and following stay-at-home orders. Furthermore, healthcare workers from all over the country volunteered to travel to Hubei, where Wuhan is, and assembled several Fangcang shelter hospitals.[4] Fangcang hospitals were designed based on emergency medical care cabins that were used after two devastating earthquakes in China and served as temporary quarantine housing and hospital facilities.[5] They are mobile, have fast deployment, and can adapt quickly to different environments. At the start of the pandemic, Wuhan converted gymnasiums, convention centers, sports arenas and training centers, factories, and other venues into Fangcang hospitals. Although temporary, these quarantine hospital facilities were equipped with full medical equipment and personnel, allowing for complete medical functions for “treatment, disease monitoring, diagnosis and other clinical tasks.”[6] Teams of psychologists were also assigned to each hospital to provide counseling for patients.[7] Beyond separating those who were infected from the rest of the population and thus having more control over the community spread of the virus, Fangcang hospitals played a vital role in reducing patient density in traditional hospitals and medical centers by expanding treatment capacities.[8] South Korea reported its first COVID-19 case in January 2020, and, within days, the government activated the Central Disaster and Safety Countermeasures Headquarters.[9] Similar to China, South Korea used existing epidemic protocols and implemented the 3Ts strategy, prioritizing testing, tracing, and treatment.[10] High-capacity screening facilities and working with the private sector to ensure an adequate supply of tests made South Korea’s efforts successful.[11] The South Korean government strictly regulated self-isolation and quarantine. Contact tracing efforts used various data sources, “including credit card transactions and closed-circuit television footage.”[12] The government also placed stringent restrictions on travel, beginning with designated entry lines and questionnaires, but expanding to include temperature checks, testing for all travelers at the border, and a mandatory fourteen-day monitored quarantine for anyone entering the country.[13] The majority of the population responded immediately with compliance, with national weekly movement decreasing by 38 percent between February 24, 2020, and March 1, 2020, compared to the corresponding week the previous month. Schools swiftly closed across the nation, and the entire country transitioned to remote learning until the gradual reopening in May and June 2020.[14] There was some discontentment within the population, especially with the South Korean government’s practice of publicly announcing the names of individuals who tested positive.[15] Critics of this practice say it is an infringement of patient privacy and can even be viewed as an invitation to public bullying.[16] However, even with some dissatisfaction with government regulations, a survey of 1,200 South Koreans in September 2020 asking people to agree if they were satisfied with the government’s response showed that the overwhelming majority either agreed or strongly agreed (44.08 percent and 19.75 percent, respectively), and less than 20 percent of the respondents either disagreed or strongly disagreed (11.50 percent and 5.08 percent, respectively).[17] Regulations surrounding isolation and quarantine were strict and applied to those with confirmed cases of COVID-19, anyone who traveled internationally, or individuals suspected to be infected. Individuals were required to use the Self-Quarantine Safety Protection app that tracked location for fourteen days to ensure that quarantine protocols were followed.[18] Case officers monitored the app, and violators not only faced a substantial fine but were also required to wear electronic wristbands that would alert the officers if the individual left the location of their mobile device.[19] ll. The Western Response: The UK and US COVID-19 was reported in many Western nations around January 2020. However, unlike South Korea, many countries did not immediately respond to the outbreak with surveillance and containment strategies but had a wait-and-see approach. As the pandemic worsened, they gradually adopted mitigation strategies to combat the disease as it progressed. While the US adopted a combination of containment and mitigation strategies, a concrete response from state and federal governments did not occur until March 2020.[20] Even then, many states did little to address the pandemic. Although equipped with a robust healthcare system, a shortage of ventilators and hospital beds became evident in some localities early on. The US healthcare system failed to acknowledge the pandemic and prepare a coordinated response in time to stop the momentum of the disease.[21] The goal became “flattening the curve” (keeping the number of cases that needed hospital care low enough to avoid overwhelming the hospital system) as it was clear containment would be impossible. Once tests were developed, poor coordination of testing efforts and insufficient resources to test at the necessary scale to provide comprehensive national surveillance of the disease further hindered efforts to contain infected individuals and decelerate its spread.[22] Eventually, regulations and mitigation measures were implemented, including mask mandates, school closures, caps or bans on in-person gatherings, and the closure of non-essential businesses.[23] However, enforcement of these measures proved difficult, and people instigated protests against many of the recommended policies and requirements. The UK and the US both encountered a shortage of personal protective equipment for healthcare workers.[24] However, a more prominent problem arose from the UK’s initial response to the pandemic. The UK first said COVID-19 was like influenza and therefore did not call for emergency measures to deter its spread.[25] Furthermore, in the first few weeks of the pandemic, the UK government believed herd immunity was the best course of action, stating that most people would have mild symptoms,[26] and the population would become mostly immune to the virus once enough people were infected.[27] In theory, herd immunity was a potentially effective strategy. The public health authorities thought that if the threshold for herd immunity was reached, enough people would have developed protective antibodies against any future infection.[28] However, the risks of COVID-19 were high and the cases “would lead to high rates of hospitalization and need for critical care, straining health service capacity past the breaking point.”[29] Furthermore, while getting COVID-19 would offer some natural immunity against reinfection, reinfection remained a possibility, especially during the early stages of the pandemic when vaccines were unavailable.[30] Later, when vaccines were available, a study showed that an unvaccinated person who contracted the virus was more than twice as likely to become reinfected than a fully vaccinated person.[31] The UK government also expressed concern for “behavioral fatigue.”[32] It claimed that if restrictions were enforced pre-emptively and prematurely, people might become progressively “uncooperative and less vigilant.”[33] Regarding the concern for “behavioral fatigue,” numerous behavioral scientists stated that they were unconvinced that this reason was enough to hold off implementing restrictions. There was a lack of evidence of this phenomenon, and a group of 681 UK behavioral scientists said in an open letter that “[s]uch evidence is necessary if we are to base a high-risk public health strategy on it.”[34] Fortunately, this strategy only remained under consideration for a short period. After rapid increases in confirmed cases and deaths due to COVID-19, the UK government implemented more strict measures, like city lockdown, school closures, and the closure of non-essential businesses.[35] These restrictions took legal effect on March 26th, 2020 – around two weeks after the first proposal of the “herd immunity” strategy.[36] lll. Comparing the Two Approaches The Eastern and Western countries experienced significant outbreaks of COVID-19. However, looking at the mortality rate and new confirmed cases, the differences between the two categories of response to COVID-19 are significant. As of December 31, 2020, the mortality rate per 100,000 population for China and South Korea were 0.3 and 1.8, respectively, and new confirmed cases per day per 100,000 population were 87 and 1,029, respectively. However, the mortality rates per 100,000 in the US and the UK were 107 and 108, respectively, and they had up to 234,133 and 56,029 new confirmed cases every day, respectively.[37] As of July 2022, total deaths in China were 22, 994[38] (population 1.45 billion)[39] and in South Korea 24,794[40] (population 51.36 million)[41] compared to 1,015,093[42] in the US (population 335.03 million)[43] and 182,727[44] in the UK (population 68.62 million).[45] Further differences can be seen in the varying sectors of society, such as healthcare systems and authority models, political structures, and cultural customs among these countries, which in turn affect the response and control strategies.[46] In the US and the UK, rights-based political structures affected the response, making tracking and surveillance more problematic early on. But Western countries did have strict lockdowns and quarantines. China and South Korea maintained a proactive approach by “identifying and managing cases, tracking and isolating close contacts, and strictly restricting or controlling population movement when feasible and appropriate.”[47] In contrast, the UK implemented nationwide lockdowns early on, and the US restrictions varied among states. Both the UK and the US focused on treating the severe cases and those with underlying conditions rather than proactively preventing new cases from developing in the early pandemic.[48] They did shift gears to mass testing schemes and attempts to slow transmission. By the time they implemented cohesive strategies, COVID-19 was widespread. Due to their slow initial responses, they needed to manage an onslaught of cases while trying to prevent transmission. lV. Ethical Implications The “West vs. Rest” culture divide emerges when comparing the COVID-19 response strategies of East Asian countries to those of Western countries. The differences in their strategies further highlight the differences in the prevailing moral values influencing public policy. The preventative stance adopted by many East Asian countries shows a stronger collective identity among citizens. But it also may show more substantial governmental power and less appetite for protest. In contrast, the mostly non-interfering nature of Western governments’ actions shows a reliance on the “autonomous and unanimous responsibility of individuals.”[49] The moral values in the US also may reflect the prioritized position of personal rights and the suspicion of intrusive government policies. Culturally, the populations of South Korea and China are generally more tolerant of personal data-sharing and monitoring, suggesting there is less concern for autonomy or privacy. However, many people in the US and UK would consider the use of location tracking apps and electronic bracelets to be violations of individual autonomy and privacy.[50] Sectors of the Western world also argue that mandating masking or social distancing imposes on individual autonomy and free will. Mask-wearing was an existing practice in East Asian countries, even without mandates or pandemics. Individuals wear masks for common colds and influenza and do not consider a mask requirement an infringement of their autonomy. Furthermore, whether it is due to the authoritarian nature of the government or not, there is a general tendency toward public compliance and accepting government policies in many East Asian countries,[51] and the lack of public dissent played an important part in making combating COVID-19 easier for countries like China and South Korea. The lack of initiative from Western nations arguably violates the bioethical principles of beneficence and nonmaleficence.[52] For example, the promotion of the “herd immunity” strategy from the UK government and consequently the government’s inaction, risked the well-being of its citizens. The government failed to avoid the harm that COVID-19 brought. Similarly, by delaying its response until nearly two months after the initial case was reported, the US also violated the principle of non-maleficence. The success seen in South Korea and China during the early pandemic better exemplifies beneficence and nonmaleficence. The strategy of contact tracing and strict containment saved lives. The consequences of the restrictions varied across the countries as well. Not everyone can afford to self-isolate or quarantine and being required to do so can significantly impact many individuals’ well-being. Furthermore, not everyone’s occupation allows them to work from home and business closures disadvantaged portions of the population disparately. For those who are essential workers, school closures may also burden parents who do not have access to affordable childcare. The stringent restrictions regarding quarantine and self-isolation in East Asian countries also harmed people disparately, raising problems surrounding the principle of justice. However, the speed at which China had COVID-19 contained allowed people there to return to their normal lives quickly. Compared to some Western countries’ waves of lockdown and reinforcement of restrictions, the “zero-COVID” strategy in countries like China showed success, at least during the early stages of the pandemic. The contact tracing and containment was likely financially beneficial. While the pandemic resulted in substantial economic growth downgrades and global recessions, regions like East Asia were estimated to grow by around 0.5 percent. In comparison, the economy in regions like Europe contracted by around 4.7 percent.[53] CONCLUSION China arguably had an advantage in combating COVID-19 since the outbreak was relatively concentrated in one region. This allowed early detection of symptoms and quick containment of the virus. Other countries, like the US, had new cases on both coasts early in the pandemic; thus, containment was more challenging than it was in China. However, the delayed and reluctant response from countries like the US and the UK did not benefit the well-being of their populations and proved to put more stress on their healthcare systems. While mass tracking of people is politically contentious, the promptness of actions many East Asian countries employed at the beginning of COVID-19 seemed to be the more effective course of action that best protected the well-being of their citizens. - [1] Chen, Haiqian, et al. “Response to the COVID-19 Pandemic: Comparison of Strategies in Six Countries.” Frontiers in Public Health, vol. 9, September 30, 2021, pp. 1-11. doi: 10.3389/fpubh.2021.708496. [2] Chen, et al. [3] Chen, et al. [4] Chen, et al. [5] Wang, Ke-Wei, et al. “Fangcang shelter hospitals are a One Health approach for responding to the COVID-19 outbreak in Wuhan, China.” One Health, vol. 10, August 29th, 2020, pp. 1-6. doi: 10.1016/j.onehlt.2020.100167. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352771420302688. [6] Wang. [7] Wang. [8] Wang. [9] Kim, June-Ho, et al. “Emerging COVID-19 Success Story: South Korea Learned the Lesson of MERS.” Our World Data, University of Oxford, March 5, 2021. https://ourworldindata.org/covid-exemplar-south-korea. [10] Chen, Haiqian, et al. [11] Kim, et al. [12] Kim. [13] Kim. [14] Scott, Dylan and Jun Michael Park. “South Korea’s Covid-19 success story started with failure.” Vox, April 19, 2021. https://www.vox.com/22380161/south-korea-covid-19-coronavirus-pandemic-contact-tracing-testing.. [15] Scott and Park. [16] Rich, Timothy S., et al. “What Do South Koreans Think of Their Government’s COVID-19 Response?” The Diplomat, October 7, 2020. https://thediplomat.com/2020/10/what-do-south-koreans-think-of-their-governments-covid-19-response/. [17] Rich, et al. [18] Kim, et al. [19] Kim, et al. [20] Chen, et al. [21] Chen, et al. [22] Chen, et al. [23] Chen, et al. [24] Chen, et al. [25]Chen, et al. [26] Chen, et al. [27] O’Grady, Cathleen. “The U.K. backed off on herd immunity. To beat COVID-19, we’ll ultimately need it.” National Geographics, March 20, 2020. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/uk-backed-off-on-herd-immunity-to-beat-coronavirus-we-need-it. [28] “Herd immunity and COVID-19: What you need to know.” Mayo Clinic, April 20, 2022. https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/in-depth/herd-immunity-and-coronavirus/art-20486808?p=1. [29] O’Grady. [30] O’Grady. [31] Mayo Clinic, April 20, 2022. [32] Yong, Ed. “The UK’s Coronavirus ‘Herd Immunity’ Debacle.” The Atlantic, March 16, 2020. https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2020/03/coronavirus-pandemic-herd-immunity-uk-boris-johnson/608065/. [33] Yong. [34] Harvey, Nigel. “Behavioral Fatigue: Real Phenomenon, Naïve Construct or Policy Contrivance?” Frontiers in Psychology, vol. 11, November 6, 2020. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2020.589892, quoting a March 16, 2020 open letter to the UK government. [35] Chen, et al. [36]“Timeline of UK coronavirus lockdowns, March 2020 to March 2021.” Institute for Government Analysis. https://www.instituteforgovernment.org.uk/sites/default/files/timeline-lockdown-web.pdf. [37] Chen, et al. [38] “China: WHO Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) Dashboard.” World Health Organization, 2022, https://covid19.who.int/region/wpro/country/cn. [39] “China Population.” Worldometer, 2022, https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/china-population/. [40] “The Republic of South Korea: WHO Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) Dashboard.” World Health Organization, 2022, https://covid19.who.int/region/wpro/country/kr. [41] “South Korea Population,” Worldometer, 2022, https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/south-korea-population/. [42] “The United States of America: WHO Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) Dashboard.” World Health Organization, 2022, https://covid19.who.int/region/amro/country/us. [43] “United States Population,” Worldometer, 2022, https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/us-population/. [44] “The United Kingdom: WHO Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) Dashboard.” World Health Organization, 2022, https://covid19.who.int/region/euro/country/gb. [45] “U.K. Population,” Worldometer, 2022, https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/uk-population/. [46] Chen, et al. [47] Chen, et al., p 6. [48] Chen, et al. [49] Festing, Marion, Tobias Schumacher and Yong-Yueh Lee. “How Cultural Norms and Values Shape National Responses to the COVID-19 Pandemic.” The London School of Economics and Political Science, April 15, 2021. https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/businessreview/2021/04/15/how-cultural-norms-and-values-shaped-national-responses-to-the-covid-19-pandemic/. [50] Festing, et al. [51] Festing, et al. [52] Beauchamp, Tom L. and James F. Childress. Principles of Biomedical Ethics. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 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Introduction Many examinations of magic and witchcraft in film and television focus on the gender dynamics depicted and what these can reveal about attitudes to women and power in the eras in which they were made. For example, Campbell, in Cheerfully Empowered: The Witch-Wife in Twentieth Century Literature, Television and Film draws from scholarship such as Greene's Bell, Book and Camera, Gibson's Witchcraft Myths in American Culture, and Murphy's The Suburban Gothic in American Popular Culture to suggest connections between witch-wife narratives and societal responses to feminism. Campbell explores both the allure and fear of powerful women, who are often tamed (or partially tamed) by marriage in these stories. These perspectives provide important insights into cultural imaginings of witches, and this paper aims to use anthropological perspectives to further analyse rituals, spells, and cosmologies of screen stories of magic and witchcraft, asking how these narratives have engaged with witchcraft trials, symbols of women as witches, and rituals and myths invoking goddesses. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a television series that ran for seven seasons (1997-2003), focusses on a young woman, The Slayer, who vanquishes vampires. As Abbott (1) explains, the vampires in seasons one and two are ruled by a particularly old and powerful vampire, The Master, and use prophetic language and ancient rituals. When Buffy kills The Master, the vampiric threat evolves with the character of Spike, a much younger vampire who kills The Master's successor, The Anointed One, calling for “a little less ritual and a little more fun” ('School Hard'). This scene is important to Abbott's thesis that what makes Buffy the Vampire Slayer such an effective television program is that the evil that she battles is not a product of an ancient world but the product of the real world itself. Buffy has used the past four years to painstakingly dismantle and rebuild the conventions of the vampire genre and work toward gradually disembedding the vampire/slayer dichotomy from religious ritual and superstition … what we describe as ‘evil’ is a natural product of the modern world. (Abbott 5) While distinguishing the series from earlier books and films is important, I suggest that, nonetheless, ritual and magic remain central to numerous plots in the series. Moreover, Child argues that Buffy the Vampire Slayer disrupts the male gaze of classical Hollywood films as theorised by Mulvey, not only by making the central action hero a young woman, but by offering rich, complex, and developmental narrative arcs for other characters such as Willow: a quiet fellow student at Buffy's school who initially uses her research skills with books, computers, and science to help the group. Willow’s access to knowledge about magic through Buffy's Watcher, Giles, and his library, together with her growing experience fighting with demons, leads her to teach herself witchcraft, and she and her growing magical powers, including the ability to conjure Greek goddesses such as Hecate and Diana, become central to multiple storylines in the series (Krzywinska). Corcoran, who explores teen witches in American popular culture in some depth, reflects on Willow's changes and developments in the context of problematic 'post-feminist' films of 1990s. Corcoran suggests these films offer viewers tropes of empowerment in the form of the 'makeover' of witch characters, who transform, but often in individualised ways that elude more fundamental questions of societal structures of race, class, and gender. Offering one of the most fluid and hybrid examples, Willow not only embraces magic as a conduit for power and self-expression but, as the seasons progress, she occupies a host of identificatory categories. Moving from shy high school 'geek' to trainee witch, from empowered sorceress to dark avenger, Willow regularly makes herself over in accordance with her fluctuating selfhood (Corcoran). Corcoran also notes how Willow's character brings together skills in both science and witchcraft in ways that echo world views of early modern Europe. This connects her apparently distinct selves and, I suggest, also demonstrates how the show engages with magic as real within its internal cosmology. Fairy Tale Witches This liberating, fluid, and transformative depiction of witches is not, however, the only one. Early in season one, the show reflects tropes of witchcraft found in fairy tale and fantasy films such as Snow White and The Wizard of Oz. Both films are deeply ambivalent in their portraits of fascinating powerful witches, who are, however, also defined by being old, ugly, and/or deeply jealous of and threatening towards younger women (Zipes). The episode “Witch” reproduces these patriarchal rivalries, as the witch of the episode title is the mother of a classmate of Buffy, called Amy, who has used magic to swap bodies with her daughter in an attempt to recapture her lost glory as a famous cheerleader. There are debates around the symbolism of witches and crones, especially those in fairytales, and whether they can be re-purposed. For example, Rountree in 'The New Witch of the West' and Embracing the Witch and the Goddess has conducted interviews and participant observation with feminist witches in New Zealand who use both goddess and witch symbols in their ritual practice and feminist understandings of themselves and society. By embracing both the witch and the goddess, feminist witches disrupt what they regard as false divisions and dichotomies between these symbols and the pressures of the divided self that they argue have been imposed upon women by patriarchy. In these conceptions, the crone is not only a negative symbol, but can be re-evaluated as one of three aspects of the goddess (maiden, mother, and crone), depicting the cycles of all life and also enabling women to embrace the darker aspects of their own natures and emotions (Greenwood; Rountree 'New Witch'; Walker). Witch Trials That said, Germaine, examining witches in folk horror films such as The Witch and The Wicker Man, advises caution about witch images. Drawing from Hutton's The Witch, she explores grotesque images of the witch from the early modern witch trials, arguing that horror cinema can subvert older ideas about witches, but it also reveals their continued power. Indeed, horror cinema has forged the witch into a deeply ambiguous figure that proves problematic for feminism and its project to subvert or otherwise destabilize misogynist symbols. (Germaine 22) Purkiss's examination of early modern witchcraft trials in The Witch in History also questions many assumptions about the period. Contrary to Rountree's 'The New Witch of the West' (222), Purkiss argues that there is no evidence to suggest that healing and midwifery were central concerns of witch hunters, nor were those accused of witchcraft in this period regarded as particularly sexually liberated or lesbian. Moreover, the famous Malleus Maleficarum, a text that is “still the main source for the view that witch-hunting was woman-hunting” was, in fact, disdained by many early modern authorities (Purkiss 7-8). Rather, rivalries and social tensions in communities combined with broader societal politics to generate accusations: a picture that is more in line with Stewart and Strathern's cross-cultural study, Witchcraft, Sorcery, Rumors and Gossip, of the relationship between witchcraft and gossip. In the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode “Gingerbread”, Amy has matured and has begun to engage with magic herself, as has Willow. The witch trial of the episode is not, however, triggered by this, but is rather initiated by Buffy and her mother finding the bodies of two dead children. Buffy's mother Joyce quickly escalates from understandable concern to a full-on assault on magical practice and knowledge as she founds MOO (Mothers Opposed to the Occult), who raid school lockers, confiscate books from the school library, and eventually try to burn them and Buffy, Willow, and Amy. The episode evokes fairy tales because the 'big bad' is a monster who disguises itself as Hansel and Gretel. As Giles explains, fairy tales can sometimes be real, and in this case, the monster feeds a community its worst fears and thrives off the hatred and chaos that ensues. However, his references to European Wicca covens are somewhat misleading. Hutton, in The Triumph of the Moon, explains that Wicca was founded in the 1950s in England by Gerald Gardner, and claims it to be a continuation of older pagan witch traditions that have largely been discredited. The episode therefore tries to combine a comment on the irrationality and dangers of witch hunts while also suggesting that (within the cosmology of the show) magic is real. Buffy's confrontation with her mother illustrates this. Furious about the confiscation of the library's occult collection, Buffy argues that without the knowledge they contain, young people are not more protected, but rather rendered defenceless, arguing that “maybe next time the world gets sucked into hell, I won't be able to stop it because the anti-hell-sucking book isn't on the approved reading list!” Thus, she simultaneously makes a general point about knowledge as a defence against the evils of the world, while also emphasising how magic is not merely symbolic for her and her friends, but a real, practical, problem and a combatant tool. Spells Spells take considerable skill and practice to master as they are linked to strong emotions but also need mental focus and clarity. Willow's learning curve as a witch is an important illustrator of this principle, as her spells do not always do what she had intended, or rather, she is not always wise to her own intentions. These ideas are also found in anthropological examples (Greenwood). Malinowski, an anthropologist of the Trobriand Islands, theorised that spells and magical objects have their origins in gestures and words that express the emotional states and intentions of the spellcaster. Over time, these became refined and codified in a society, becoming traditional spells that can amplify, focus, and direct the magician's will (Malinowski). In the episode “Witch”, Giles demonstrates the relationship between spells and intention as, casting a spell to reverse Amy's mother's switching of their bodies, he shouts in a commanding voice 'Release!' Willow also hones skills of concentration and directing her will through the practice of pencil floating, a seemingly small magical technique that nonetheless saves her life when she is captured by enemies and narrowly escapes being bitten by a vampire by floating a pencil and staking him with it in the episode “Choices”. The pencil is also used in another episode to illustrate the importance of focus and emotional balance. Willow explains to Buffy that she is honing these skills as she gently spins a pencil in the air, but as the conversation turns to Faith (a rogue Slayer who has hurt Willow's friends), she is distracted and the pencil spins wildly out of control before flying into a tree (“Dopplegangland”). In another example, Willow tries to conjure lights that will guide her out of difficulty in a haunted house, but, unable to make up her mind about where the lights should take her, she is plagued by them multiplying and spinning in multiple directions like a swarm of insects, thereby acting as an illustrator of her refracted metal state (“Fear Itself”). The series also explores the often comical consequences when love spells are cast with unclear motives. In the episode “Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered”, Buffy's friend Xander persuades Amy to cast a love spell on Cordelia who has just broken up with him. Amy warns him that for love spells, the intention should be pure, and is worried that Xander only wants revenge on Cordelia. Predictably, the spell goes wrong, as Cordelia is immune to Xander but every other woman that comes into proximity with him is overcome with obsession for him. Fleeing hordes of women, Xander and Cordelia have the space to talk, and impressed with his efforts to try to win her back, Cordelia rekindles the relationship, defying her traditional friendship circle. In this way, the spell both does not and does work, perhaps because, although Xander thinks he wants Cordelia to be enchanted, in fact what he really wants is her genuine affection and respect. Another example of spells going amiss is in the episode “Something Blue”, when Willow responds to a break-up by reverting to magic. Despondent over her boyfriend Oz leaving town, she wants to accelerate her grieving process and heal more quickly, and casts a spell to have her will be done in order to try to make that happen. The spell, however, does not work as expected but manifests her words about other things when she speaks with passion, rendering Giles blind when she says he does not see (meaning he does not understand her plight), and in another instance of the literal interpretation of Willow’s word choices causes Buffy and the vampire Spike to stop fighting, fall in love, and become an engaged couple. The episode therefore suggests the power of words to manifest unconscious intentions. Words may also, in the Buffyverse, have power in themselves. Overbey and Preston-Matto explore the power of words in the series, using the episode “Superstar” in which Xander speaks some Latin words in front of an open book that responds by spontaneously bursting into flames. They argue that the materiality of language in Buffy the Vampire Slayer [means that] words and utterances have palpable power and their rules must be respected if they are to be wielded as weapons in the fight against evil. (Overbey and Preston Matto 73) However, in drawing upon Searle's Speech Acts they emphasise the relationship between speech acts and meaning, but there are also examples that the sounds in themselves are efficacious, even if the speaker does not understand them – for example, when Willow tries to do the ritual to restore Angel’s soul to him and explains to Oz that it does not matter if he understands the related chant as long as he says it (“Becoming part 2”). The idea that words in themselves have power is also present in the work of Stoller, an ethnographer and magical apprentice to Songhay sorcerers living in the Republic of Niger. He documents a complex and very personal engagement with magic that he found fascinating but dangerous, giving him new powers but also subjecting him to magical attacks (Stoller and Olkes). This experience helped to cultivate his interest in the often under-reported sensuous aspects of anthropology, including the power of sound in spells, which he argues has an energy that goes beyond what the word represents. Moreover, skilled magicians can 'hear' things happening to the subtle essence of a person during rituals (Stoller). Seeing Other Realities Sight is also key to numerous magical practices. Greenwood, for example, has done participant observation with UK witches, including training in the arts of visualisation. Linked to general health benefits of meditation and imaginative play, such practices are also thought to connect adepts to 'other worlds' and their associated powers (Greenwood). Later seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer also depict skills in meditation and concentration, such as in the episode “No Place Like Home”, in which Buffy, worried about her sick mother, uses a spell supposedly created by a French sixteenth-century sorcerer called 'pull the curtain back' to try to see if her mother’s illness is caused by a spell. She uses incense and a ritual circle of sand to put herself into a trance and in that altered state of consciousness sees that her sister, Dawn, was not born to her mother, but has been placed into her family by magic. In another example, in the episode “Who are You?”, Willow has begun a relationship with fellow witch Tara and wants to introduce her to Buffy. However, the rogue Slayer, Faith, has escaped and switched bodies with Buffy, and Tara realises that something is wrong. She suggests doing a spell with Willow to investigate by seeing beyond the physical world and travelling to the nether realm using astral projection. This rather beautiful scene has been interpreted as a symbolic depiction of their sexual relationship (Gibson), but it is also suggesting that, within the context of the series, alternate dimensions, and spells to transport practitioners there, are not purely symbolic. Conclusion The idea that magic, monsters, and demons in the series Buffy the Vampire Slayer act to some extent as metaphors for the challenges that young people face growing up in America is well known (Little). While this is certainly true, at least some of the multiple examples of magic in the series have clear resemblances to witchcraft in numerous social worlds. This depth is potentially exciting for viewers, but it also makes the show's more negative and ambiguous tropes more troubling. Willow and Tara's relationship can be interpreted as showing their independence and rejection of patriarchy, but Willow identifying as lesbian later in the series obscures her earlier relationships with men and her potential identification as bi-sexual, suggesting a need on the part of the show's writers to “contain her metamorphic selfhood” (Corcoran 158-159). Moreover, the identity of lesbians as witches in a vampire narrative is fraught with potentially homophobic associations and stereotypes (Wilts), and one of the few positive depictions of a lesbian relationship on television was ruined by the brutal murder of the Tara character and Willow's subsequent out-of-control magical rampage, bringing the storyline back in line with murderous clichés (Wilts; Gibson). Furthermore, storylines where Willow cannot control her powers, or they are seen as an addiction to evil, make an uncomfortable comment on women and power more generally: a point which Corcoran highlights in relation to Nancy's story in The Craft. Ultimately, representations of magic and witchcraft are representations of power, and this makes them highly significant for societal understandings of power relations, particularly given the complex relationships between witch-hunting and misogyny. The symbols of woman-as-witch have been re-appropriated by fans of witch narratives and feminists, and perhaps most intriguingly, by people who regard magical power as not only symbolic power but as a way to tap into subtle forces and other worlds. Buffy the Vampire Slayer offers something to all of these groups, but all too often reverts to patriarchal tropes. Audiences (some of whom may be magicians) await what film and television witches come next. 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Introduction Discourses of queer youth suicide regularly represent non-heterosexual young men as vulnerable and as victims who are inherently without strategies for coping with adversity (qv. Rasmussen; Marshall; Driver 3). Alternatively, queer youth are sometimes marked as fundamentally resilient, as avid users of tools of resilience and community such as the internet (Smith & Gray 74; Wexler et al. 566; Hillier & Harrison; Bryson & McIntosh). In the latter approach, protective factors are typically presented as specific to queer youth (e.g., Russell 10), therefore also minoritising and essentialising resilience. Both approaches ignore the diversity of queer young lives and the capacity for a subject to be both vulnerable and resilient—concepts which need to be unpacked if we are to further our understanding of minority lives. Significantly, both approaches also ignore the fact that growing up occurs in a series of transitions, cultural encounters and circumstantial changes. Queer (LGBT) youth are neither all victims and vulnerable, nor are they all self-reliant and resilient. Recent research has indicated that non-heterosexual youth continue to have a higher rate of suicide and self-harm (Cover, Queer Youth Suicide), although this is by no means indicative that vast numbers of LGBTI require support, intervention or preventative measures throughout all aspects of the transition into adult life. This article has two objectives, both of which are best addressed together in order to come at an understanding as how best to frame approaches to queer youth suicide as an ongoing social concern. Firstly, to ask what human, psychological and subjective ‘resilience’ might be said to mean in the context of public discourses of queer youth suicidality, and secondly to ask what a concept of ‘resilience’ does for queer youth identity in terms of relationality. Neither objective, of course, can be met alone in a short article—the purpose here is to open thinking on the topic in ways that question normative assumptions about the conditions of queer youth in the context of liveable lives and the positioning of resilience as reliant on normative accounts of identity. The article begins with a brief overview of the different uses of resilience in the context of broad social representations of queer youth. It goes on to discuss the It Gets Better video site which aimed to produce resilience among predominantly bullied queer youth by ‘imparting hope’. Some remarks on the relationship between identity, sexuality, sociality and resilience will conclude. Resilience and the Queer Youth Subject Developed by Crawford Holling in the 1970s, the concept of resilience was used to describe the capacity of a system to “absorb change and disturbance and still maintain the same relationships between populations or state variables” (Holling 14). In terms of ecology and the physical sciences, the notion of resilience operates within an assumption that future events will not be known but will be unexpected, thereby requiring a capacity to accommodate those events whatever form they take (21). When later used in the psychological sciences, the term resilience likewise assumes disruption and uncertainty in lived experience, requiring a resilient subject to be capable in both learning and adaptation. In the context of queer youth, resilience, then, can be applied to mean an adaptation to new situations which exacerbate vulnerability to suicidality for those who are positioned to seek escape from intolerable emotional pain or the perception of life as unliveable (Cover, Queer Youth Suicide 10, 148). Resilience in this use presumes that, for example, bullying has a detrimental causal relationship with suicidality when it newly occurs if the subject does not have the capacity to adapt and incorporate it into everyday life. Bullying, however, is generally related to suicide only by virtue of its ongoingness rather than it being a sudden shift in social relations. Striking about much of the discourse of resilience in the psychological sciences is that the concept of resilience presumes a unitary subject who is a subject prior to relationality and sociality (e.g. Leipold & Greve; Singh et al.; Smith & Gray). Resilience is thus seen as a capacity to cope with adversity as if adversity arises prior to the subject rather than being a form of relationality that conditions the subject. In that context, the queer youth subject is understood in essentialist terms, whereby sexual subjectivity is represented simultaneously as both a norm and abnormal, and is a factor of subjectivity that is understood to pre-exist sociality. That is, the queer youth subject is queer before relationality with others, thereby before the kinds of relationalities that might demand resilience. An alternative is to understand queer youth not as vulnerable because they are queer, but as subjects constituted in the (inequitably distributed) precarity of corporeal life in sociality, and thereby already formed in (inequitably distributed) resilience to the sorts of shifts, changes and adversities that shift one from an experience of vulnerability to an experience of a life that is unliveable (Butler, Precarious Life; Frames of War). Approaching queer youth suicide from a perspective not of risk but through the simultaneous fostering and critique of resilience opens the possibility of providing solutions that aid younger persons to resist suicidality as a flight from intolerable pain without articulating the self as inviolable and thereby losing the ethical value of the recognition of vulnerability. The question, then, is whether such critique can be found in sites of resilience discourse in relation to queer youth. Queer Youth and It Gets Better The video blogging site It Gets Better (http://www.itgetsbetter.org) was begun by columnist Dan Savage in response to a spate of reported queer student suicides in September/October 2010 in the United States. The site hosts more than a thousand video contributions, many from queer adults who seek to provide hope for younger persons by showing that queer adulthood is markedly different from the experiences of harassment, bullying, loneliness or surveillance experienced by queer youth in school and family environments. This is among the first widely-available communicative media form to address directly queer youth on issues related to suicide, and the first to draw on lived experiences as a means by which to provide resources for queer youth resilience. The fact that these experiences are related through video-logs (vlogs) provides the texts with a greater sense of authenticity and a framework which often addresses youth directly on the topic of suicidality (Cover, Queer Youth Suicide). Savage’s intention was to produce resilience in queer youth by imparting ‘hope for young people facing harassment’ and to create ‘a personal way for supporters everywhere to tell LGBT youth that … it does indeed get better’ (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/pages/about-it-gets-better-project/). Hope, in this context, is represented as the core attribute of queer youth resilience. The tag-line of the site is: Many LGBT youth can’t picture what their lives might be like as openly gay adults. They can’t imagine a future for themselves. So let’s show them what our lives are like, let’s show them what the future may hold in store for them (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/). Hope for the future is frequently presented as hope for an end to school days. In the primary video of the site, Dan Savage’s partner Terry describes his school experiences: My school was pretty miserable … I was picked on mercilessly in school. People were really cruel to me. I was bullied a lot. Beat up, thrown against walls and lockers and windows; stuffed into bathroom stalls. . . . Honestly, things got better the day I left highschool. I didn’t see the bullies every day, I didn’t see the people who harassed me every day, I didn’t have to see the school administrators who would do nothing about it every day. Life instantly got better (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/pages/about-it-gets-better-project/) Such comments present a picture of school life in which the institutional norms of secondary schools that depend so heavily on surveillance, discriminative norms, economies of secrecy and disclosure permit bullying and ostracisation to flourish and become, then, the site of hopelessness in what to many appears at the time as a period of never-ending permanency. Indeed, teen-aged life has often been figured in geographic terms as a kind of hopeless banishment from the realities that are yet to come: Eve Sedgwick referred to that period as ‘that long Babylonian exile known as queer childhood’ (4). The emphatic focus on the institutional environment of highschool rather than family, rural towns, closetedness, religious discourse or feelings of isolation is remarkably important in changing the contemporary way in which the social situation of queer youth suicide has been depicted. The discourse of the It Gets Better project and contributions makes ‘school’ its object—a site that demands resilience of its queer students as the remedy to the detrimental effects of bullying. Here, however, resilience is not depicted as adaptability but the strength to tolerate and, effectively, ‘wait out’, a bullying environment. The focus on bullying that frames the dialogue on queer youth suicide and youth resilience in the It Gets Better videos is the product of a mid-2000s shift in focus to the effects of bullying on LGBT youth in place of critiques of heterosexism, sexual identity, coming out and physical violence (Fodero), regularly depicting bullying as directly causal of suicide (Kim & Leventhal 151; Espelage & Swearer 157; Hegna & Wichstrøm 35). Bullying, in these representations, is articulated as that which is, on the one hand, preventable through punitive institutional policies and, on the other, as an ineradicable fact of living through school years. It is, in the latter depiction, that experience for which younger LGBT persons must manage their own resistance. In depicting school as the site of anti-queer bullying, the It Gets Better project represents queer youth as losing hope of escape from the intolerable pain of bullying in its persistence and repetition. However, the site’s purpose is to show that escape from the school environment to what is regularly depicted as a neoliberal, white and affluent representation of queer adulthood, founded on conservative coupledom (Cover, “Object(ives) of Desire”), careers, urban living, and relative wealth—depictions somewhat different from the reality of diverse queer lives. The shift from the school-bullying in queer youth to the liberal stability of queer adulthood is figured in the It Gets Better discourse as not only possible but as that which should be anticipated. It is in that anticipation that resilience is articulated in a way which calls upon queer youth to manage their own resiliency by having or performing hopefulness. Representing hope as the performative element in queer youth resilience has precedence as a suicide prevention strategy. Hopelessness is a key factor in much of the contemporary academic discussion of suicide risk in general and is often used as a predictor for recognising suicidal behaviour (Battin 13), although it is also particularly associated with suicidality and queer teenagers. Hopelessness is usually understood as despair or desperateness, the lack of expectation of a situation or goal one desires or feels one should desire. For Holden and colleagues, hopelessness is counter to social desirability, which is understood as the capacity to describe oneself in terms by which society judges a person as legitimate or desirable (Holden, Mendonca & Serin 500). Psychological and psychiatric measurement techniques frequently rely on Aaron T. Beck’s Hopelessness Scale, which utilises a twenty-question true/false survey designed to measure feelings about the future, expectation and self-motivation in adults over the age of seventeen years as a predictor of suicidal behaviour. Beck and colleagues attempted to provide an objective measurement for hopelessness rather than leave it treated as a diffuse and vague state of feeling in patients with depression. The tool asks a series of questions, most about the future, presenting a score on whether or not the answers given were true or false. Questions include: ‘I might as well give up because I can’t make things better for myself’; ‘I can’t imagine what my life would be like in ten years’; ‘My future seems dark to me’; and ‘All I can see ahead of me is unpleasantness rather than pleasantness’. Responding true to these indicates hopelessness. Responding false to some of the following also indicates hopelessness: ‘I can look forward to more good times than bad times’; and ‘When things are going badly, I am helped by knowing they can’t stay that way forever’ (Beck). While these questions and the scale are not used uncritically, the relationship between the discursive construction through the questions of what constitutes hopelessness and the aims of the It Gets Better videos are notably comparable. The objective, then, of the videos is to provide evidence and, perhaps, instil hope that would allow such questions to be answered differently, particularly to be able to give a true response to the last question above. Hallway Allies liaison support group, which operates across university campuses and high schools to prevent bullying, stated in this representative way in the introduction to their video contribution: ‘Remember to keep your head up, highschool doesn’t last forever’ (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/video /entry/5wwozgwyruy/). Or, as Rebecca in the introductory statement of another video contribution put it: You may be feeling like this pain will last forever, like you have no control, it’s dark, oppressive and feels like there is no end. I know – I get it. but I promise … hang in there and you’ll find it … Wait – you’ll see – it gets better! (http://www.itgetsbetter.org/video/entry/wxymqzw3oqy/). As can be seen, such video examples respond to a discourse of hopelessness aligned with the framework exemplified by Beck’s scale, prompting queer youth audiences of these videos to imagine a future for themselves, to understand hope in temporal terms of future wellbeing, and to know that the future does not necessarily hold the same kinds of unpleasantness as experienced in the everyday high school environment. Sexual Identity, Resilience and the Normative Lifecycle In the It Gets Better framework, resilience is produced in the knowledge of a queer life that is linear and patterned through stages in relation to institutional forms of belonging (and non-belonging). That is, a queer life is represented as one which undergoes the hardship of being bullied in school, of leaving that institutional environment for a queer adulthood that is built on a myth of safety, pleasure, success and a distinctive break from the environment of the past (as if the psyche or the self is re-produced anew in a phase of a queer lifecycle). Working within a queer theoretical and cultural understanding of identity, sexual subjectivity can be understood as constituted in social and cultural formations. Overturning the previously-held liberal notion of power as the power which represses sex and sexualities, Foucault’s History of Sexuality provided queer theory with an argument in which power, as deployed through discourse and discursive formations, produces the coherent sexual subject. This occurs historically and only in specific periods. In Foucault’s analysis, homosexual identities become conceivable in the Nineteenth Century as a result of specific juridical, medical and criminal discourses (85). From a Foucauldian perspective, there is no subject driven by an inner psyche or a pre-determined desire (as in psychoanalysis). Instead, such subjectivity occurs in and through the power/knowledge network of discourse as it writes or scripts the subject into subjectivity. Canonical queer theorist Judith Butler has been central in extending Foucault’s analysis in ways which are pragmatic for understanding queer youth in the context of growing up and transitioning into adulthood. Her theory of performativity has usefully complexified the ways in which we can understand sexual identity and allowed us to overcome the core assumption in much queer youth research that heterosexual and homosexual identities are natural, mutually-exclusive and innate; instead, allowing us to focus on how the process of subject formation for youth is implicated in the tensions and pressures of a range of cultural, social, organisational and communicative encounters and engagements. Butler projects the most useful post-structuralist discussion of subjectivity by suggesting that the subject is constituted by repetitive performances in terms of the structure of signification that produces retroactively the illusion of an inner subjective core (Butler, Gender Trouble 143). Queer identity becomes a normative ideal rather than a descriptive feature of experience, and is the resultant effect of regimentary discursive practices (16, 18). The non-heterosexual subject, then, is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are formed as recognisable identity performances in the context, here, of a set of lifecycle expectations built through a vulnerable queer childhood, being bullied, attaining hope, leaving school and fruition in queer adulthood. Resilience, in the It Gets Better discourse, then, is seen to be produced in understanding the stages of a normative queer life. An issue emerges for how queer youth suicide is understood within this particular formation that posits non-heterosexuality as the problematic source of suicidality emerges in the assumption that the vulnerability to suicidal behaviours for queer youth is the result singularly of sexuality, rather than looking to the fact that sexuality is one facet of identity – an important and sometimes fraught one for adolescents in general – located within a complex of other formations of identity and selfhood. This is part of what Diana Fuss has identified as the “synecdochical tendency to see only one part of a subject’s identity (usually the most visible part) and to make that part stand for the whole” (116). This ignores the opportunity to think through the conditions of queer youth in terms of the interaction between different facets of identity (such as gender and ethnicity, but also personal experience), different contexts in which identity is performed and different institutional settings that vary in response and valuation of non-normative aspects of subjectivity, thereby allowing a vulnerability not to be an attribute of being a queer youth, but to be understood as produced across a nuanced and complex array of factors. While the very concept of resilience invokes both an individualisation of the subject and a disciplinary regime of pastoral care (Foucault, Abnormal), queer youth in the It Gets Better discourse of hope are depicted multiply as: Inherently vulnerable and lacking resilience as a result of an essentialist notion of sexual orientation.Constituted in a relationality within a schooling environment that is conditioned by bullying as the primary expression of diverse socialityFinding resilience only through a self-managed and self-articulated expression of ‘hope’ that is to be produced in the knowledge that there is an ‘escape’ from a school environment. What the discourse of that which we might refer to as “resilient hopefulness” does is represent queer youth reductively as inherently non-resilient. It ignores the multiple expressions of sexual identity, the capacity to respond to suicidality through a critique of normative sexual subjectivity, and the capabilities of queer youth to develop meaningful relationships across all sexual possibilities that are, themselves, forms of resilience or at least mitigations of vulnerability. At the same time, “resilient hopefulness” is produced within a context in which a normative sociality of bullying culture is expressed as timeless and unchangeable (rather than historical and institutional), thereby requiring queer younger persons to undertake the task of managing vulnerability, risk, resilience and identity as an individualised responsibility outside of communities of care. Whether the presentation of a normative lifecycle is genuinely a preventative measure for queer youth suicidality is that which suicidologists and practitioners must test, although one might argue at this stage that resilience is better produced through a broader appeal to social diversity rather than the regimentation of a queer life that must ‘wait in hope’ for a liveability that may never come. References Battin, Margaret Pabst. Ethical Issues in Suicide. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1995. Beck, Aaron T., Arlene Weissman, Larry Trexler, and David Lester. “The Measurement of Pessimism: The Hopelessness Scale” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 42.6 (1974): 861–865. Bryson, Mary K., and Lori B. MacIntosh. “Can We Play ‘Fun Gay’?: Disjuncture and Difference, and the Precarious Mobilities of Millennial Queer Youth Narratives.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23.1 (2010): 101-124. Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. London & New York: Routledge, 1990. Butler, Judith. Precarious Life. London: Verso, 2004. Butler, Judith. Frames of War: When Is Life Grievable? London and New York: Verso, 2009. Cover, Rob. “Object(ives) of Desire: Romantic Coupledom versus Promiscuity, Subjectivity and Sexual Identity.”Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 24.2 (2010): 251-263. Cover, Rob. Queer Youth Suicide, Culture and Identity: Unliveable Lives? London: Ashgate, 2012. Driver, Susan. “Introducing Queer Youth Cultures.” Queer Youth Cultures. Ed. Susan Driver. Albany, NY: SUNY Press (2008). 1-18. Espelage, Dorothy L., and Susan M. Swearer. “Addressing Research Gaps in the Intersection between Homophobia and Bullying.” School Psychology Review 37.2 (2008): 155–159. Fodero, Lisa. “Teen Violinist Dies after Student Internet Lark.” The Age, 1 Oct. 2010. 1 Oct. 2010 ‹http://www.theage.com.au/world/>. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality: An Introduction. Trans. Robert Hurley. London: Penguin, 1990. Foucault, Michel. Abnormal: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1974–1975. Eds. Valerio Marchetti and Antonella Salmoni. Trans. Graham Burchell. New York: Picador, 2004. Fuss, Diana. Essentially Speaking: Feminism, Nature & Difference. New York and London: Routledge, 1989. Hegna, Kristinn, and Lars Wichstrøm. “Suicide Attempts among Norwegian Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Youths: General and Specific Risk Factors.” Acta Sociologica 50.1 (2007): 21–37. Hillier, Lynne, and Lyn Harrison. “Building Realities Less Limited than Their Own: Young People Practising Same-Sex Attraction on the Internet.” Sexualities 10.1 (2007): 82-100. Holden, Ronald R., James C. Mendonca and Ralph C. Serin. “Suicide, Hopelessness, and social desirability: A Test of an Interactive Model.” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 57.4 (1989): 500–504. Holling, C. S. “Resilience and Stabity of Ecological Systems.” Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics 4 (1973): 1-23. Kim, Young Shin, and Bennett Leventhal. “Bullying and Suicide. A Review.” International Journal of Adolescent Medical Health 20.2 (2008): 133–154. Leipold, Bernhard, and Werner Greve. “Resilience: A Conceptual Bridge between Coping and Development.” European Psychologist 14.1 (2009): 40-50. Marshall, Daniel. “Popular Culture, the ‘Victim’ Trope and Queer Youth Analytics.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 23.1 (2010): 65-86. Rasmussen, Mary Lou. Becoming Subjects: Sexualities and Secondary Schooling. New York: Routledge, 2006. Russell, Stephen T. “Beyond Risk: Resilience in the Lives of Sexual Minority Youth.” Journal of Gay & Lesbian Issues in Education 2.3 (2005): 5-18. Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. “Queer Performativity: Henry James’s The Art of the Novel.” GLQ 1.1 (1993): 1–14. Singh, Anneliese A., Danica G. Hays, and Larel S. Watson. “Strength in the Face of Adversity: Resilience Strategies of Transgender Individuals.” Journal of Counseling & Development 89.1 (2011): 20-27. Smith, Mark. S., and Susan W. Gray. “The Courage to Challenge: A New Measure of Hardiness in LGBT Adults.” Journal of Gay & Lesbian Social Services 21.1 (2009): 73-89. Wexler, Lisa Marin, Gloria DiFluvio, and Tracey K. Burke. “Resilience and Marginalized Youth: Making a Case for Personal and Collective Meaning-Making as Part of Resilience Research in Public Health.” Social Science & Medicine 69.4 (2009): 565-570.

In March 2002, I was visiting the University of Southern California. One night, as sometimes happens on a vibrant campus, two interesting but very different public lectures were scheduled against one another. The first was by the co-chairman and co-founder of Adobe Systems Inc., Dr. John E. Warnock, talking about books. The second was a lecture by acclaimed video artist Bill Viola. The first event was clearly designed as a networking forum for faculty and entrepreneurs. The general student population was conspicuously absent. Warnock spoke of the future of Adobe, shared stories of his love of books, and in an embodiment of the democratising potential of Adobe software (and no doubt to the horror of archivists in the room) he invited the audience to handle extremely rare copies of early printed works from his personal library. In the lecture theatre where Viola was to speak the atmosphere was different. Students were everywhere; even at the price of ten dollars a head. Viola spoke of time and memory in the information age, of consciousness and existence, to an enraptured audience—and showed his latest work. The juxtaposition of these two events says something about our cultural moment, caught between a paradigm modelled on reverence toward the page, and a still emergent sense of medium, intensity and experimentation. But, the juxtaposition yields more. At one point in Warnock’s speech, in a demonstration of the ultra-high resolution possible in the next generation of Adobe products, he presented a scan of a manuscript, two pages, two columns per page, overflowing with detail. Fig. 1. Dr John E. Warnock at the Annenberg Symposium. Photo courtesy of http://www.annenberg.edu/symposia/annenberg/2002/photos.php Later, in Viola’s presentation, a fragment of a video work, Silent Mountain (2001) splits the screen in two columns, matching Warnock’s text: inside each a human figure struggles with intense emotion, and the challenges of bridging the relational gap. Fig. 2. Images from Bill Viola, Silent Mountain (2001). From Bill Viola, THE PASSIONS. The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles in Association with The National Gallery, London. Ed. John Walsh. p. 44. Both events are, of course, lectures. And although they are different in style and content, a ‘columnular’ scheme informs and underpins both, as a way of presenting and illustrating the lecture. Here, it is worth thinking about Pierre de la Ramée or Petrus (Peter) Ramus (1515-1572), the 16th century educational reformer who in the words of Frances Yates ‘abolished memory as a part of rhetoric’ (229). Ramus was famous for transforming rhetoric through the introduction of his method or dialectic. For Walter J. Ong, whose discussion of Ramism we are indebted to here, Ramus produced the paradigm of the textbook genre. But it is his method that is more noteworthy for us here, organised through definitions and divisions, the distribution of parts, ‘presented in dichotomized outlines or charts that showed exactly how the material was organised spatially in itself and in the mind’ (Ong, Orality 134-135). Fig. 3. Ramus inspired study of Medicine. Ong, Ramus 301. Ong discusses Ramus in more detail in his book Ramus: Method, and the Decay of Dialogue. Elsewhere, Sutton, Benjamin, and I have tried to capture the sense of Ong’s argument, which goes something like the following. In Ramus, Ong traces the origins of our modern, diagrammatic understanding of argument and structure to the 16th century, and especially the work of Ramus. Ong’s interest in Ramus is not as a great philosopher, nor a great scholar—indeed Ong sees Ramus’s work as a triumph of mediocrity of sorts. Rather, his was a ‘reformation’ in method and pedagogy. The Ramist dialectic ‘represented a drive toward thinking not only of the universe but of thought itself in terms of spatial models apprehended by sight’ (Ong, Ramus 9). The world becomes thought of ‘as an assemblage of the sort of things which vision apprehends—objects or surfaces’. Ramus’s teachings and doctrines regarding ‘discoursing’ are distinctive for the way they draw on geometrical figures, diagrams or lecture outlines, and the organization of categories through dichotomies. This sets learning up on a visual paradigm of ‘study’ (Ong, Orality 8-9). Ramus introduces a new organization for discourse. Prior to Ramus, the rhetorical tradition maintained and privileged an auditory understanding of the production of content in speech. Central to this practice was deployment of the ‘seats’, ‘images’ and ‘common places’ (loci communes), stock arguments and structures that had accumulated through centuries of use (Ong, Orality 111). These common places were supported by a complex art of memory: techniques that nourished the practice of rhetoric. By contrast, Ramism sought to map the flow and structure of arguments in tables and diagrams. Localised memory, based on dividing and composing, became crucial (Yates 230). For Ramus, content was structured in a set of visible or sight-oriented relations on the page. Ramism transformed the conditions of visualisation. In our present age, where ‘content’ is supposedly ‘king’, an archaeology of content bears thinking about. In it, Ramism would have a prominent place. With Ramus, content could be mapped within a diagrammatic page-based understanding of meaning. A container understanding of content arises. ‘In the post-Gutenberg age where Ramism flourished, the term “content”, as applied to what is “in” literary productions, acquires a status which it had never known before’ (Ong, Ramus 313). ‘In lieu of merely telling the truth, books would now in common estimation “contain” the truth, like boxes’ (313). For Ramus, ‘analysis opened ideas like boxes’ (315). The Ramist move was, as Ong points out, about privileging the visual over the audible. Alongside the rise of the printing press and page-based approaches to the word, the Ramist revolution sought to re-work rhetoric according to a new scheme. Although spatial metaphors had always had a ‘place’ in the arts of memory—other systems were, however, phonetically based—the notion of place changed. Specific figures such as ‘scheme’, ‘plan’, and ‘table’, rose to prominence in the now-textualised imagination. ‘Structure’ became an abstract diagram on the page disconnected from the total performance of the rhetor. This brings us to another key aspect of the Ramist reformation: that alongside a spatialised organisation of thought Ramus re-works style as presentation and embellishment (Brummett 449). A kind of separation of conception and execution is introduced in relation to performance. In Ramus’ separation of reason and rhetoric, arrangement and memory are distinct from style and delivery (Brummett 464). While both dialectic and rhetoric are re-worked by Ramus in light of divisions and definitions (see Ong, Ramus Chs. XI-XII), and dialectic remains a ‘rhetorical instrument’ (Ramus 290), rhetoric becomes a unique site for simplification in the name of classroom practicality. Dialectic circumscribes the space of learning of rhetoric; invention and arrangement (positioning) occur in advance (289). Ong’s work on the technologisation of the word is strongly focused on identifying the impact of literacy on consciousness. What Ong’s work on Ramus shows is that alongside the so-called printing revolution the Ramist reformation enacts an equally if not more powerful transformation of pedagogic space. Any serious consideration of print must not only look at the technologisation of the word, and the shifting patterns of literacy produced alongside it, but also a particular tying together of pedagogy and method that Ong traces back to Ramus. If, as is canvassed in the call for papers of this issue of M/C Journal, ‘the transitions in print culture are uneven and incomplete at this point’, then could it be in part due to the way Ramism endures and is extended in electronic and hypermedia contexts? Powerpoint presentations, outlining tools (Heim 139-141), and the scourge of bullet points, are the most obvious evidence of greater institutionalization of Ramist knowledge architecture. Communication, and the teaching of communication, is now embedded in a Ramist logic of opening up content like a box. Theories of communication draw on so-called ‘models’ that draw on the representation of the communication process through boxes that divide and define. Perhaps in a less obvious way, ‘spatialized processes of thought and communication’ (Ong, Ramus 314) are essential to the logic of flowcharting and tracking new information structures, and even teaching hypertext (see the diagram in Nielsen 7): a link puts the popular notion that hypertext is close to the way we truly think into an interesting perspective. The notion that we are embedded in print culture is not in itself new, even if the forms of our continual reintegration into print culture can be surprising. In the experience of printing, of the act of pressing the ‘Print’ button, we find ourselves re-integrated into page space. A mini-preview of the page re-assures me of an actuality behind the actualizations on the screen, of ink on paper. As I write in my word processing software, the removal of writing from the ‘element of inscription’ (Heim 136) —the frictionless ‘immediacy’ of the flow of text (152) — is conditioned by a representation called the ‘Page Layout’, the dark borders around the page signalling a kind of structures abyss, a no-go zone, a place, beyond ‘Normal’, from which where there is no ‘Return’. At the same time, however, never before has the technological manipulation of the document been so complex, a part of a docuverse that exists in three dimensions. It is a world that is increasingly virtualised by photocopiers that ‘scan to file’ or ‘scan to email’ rather than good old ‘xeroxing’ style copying. Printing gives way to scanning. In a perverse extension of printing (but also residually film and photography), some video software has a function called ‘Print to Video’. That these super-functions of scanning to file or email are disabled on my department photocopier says something about budgets, but also the comfort with which academics inhabit Ramist space. As I stand here printing my lecture plan, the printer stands defiantly separate from the photocopier, resisting its colonizing convergence even though it is dwarfed in size. Meanwhile, the printer demurely dispenses pages, one at a time, face down, in a gesture of discretion or perhaps embarrassment. For in the focus on the pristine page there is a Puritanism surrounding printing: a morality of blemishes, smudges, and stains; of structure, format and order; and a failure to match that immaculate, perfect argument or totality. (Ong suggests that ‘the term “method” was appropriated from the Ramist coffers and used to form the term “methodists” to designate first enthusiastic preachers who made an issue of their adherence to “logic”’ (Ramus 304).) But perhaps this avoidance of multi-functionality is less of a Ludditism than an understanding that the technological assemblage of printing today exists peripherally to the ideality of the Ramist scheme. A change in technological means does not necessarily challenge the visile language that informs our very understanding of our respective ‘fields’, or the ideals of competency embodied in academic performance and expression, or the notions of content we adopt. This is why I would argue some consideration of Ramism and print culture is crucial. Any ‘true’ breaking out of print involves, as I suggest, a challenge to some fundamental principles of pedagogy and method, and the link between the two. And of course, the very prospect of breaking out of print raises the issue of its desirability at a time when these forms of academic performance are culturally valued. On the surface, academic culture has been a strange inheritor of the Ramist legacy, radically furthering its ambitions, but also it would seem strongly tempering it with an investment in orality, and other ideas of performance, that resist submission to the Ramist ideal. Ong is pessimistic here, however. Ramism was after all born as a pedagogic movement, central to the purveying ‘knowledge as a commodity’ (Ong, Ramus 306). Academic discourse remains an odd mixture of ‘dialogue in the give-and-take Socratic form’ and the scheduled lecture (151). The scholastic dispute is at best a ‘manifestation of concern with real dialogue’ (154). As Ong notes, the ideals of dialogue have been difficult to sustain, and the dominant practice leans towards ‘the visile pole with its typical ideals of “clarity”, “precision”, “distinctness”, and “explanation” itself—all best conceivable in terms of some analogy with vision and a spatial field’ (151). Assessing the importance and after-effects of the Ramist reformation today is difficult. Ong describes it an ‘elusive study’ (Ramus 296). Perhaps Viola’s video, with its figures struggling in a column-like organization of space, structured in a kind of dichotomy, can be read as a glimpse of our existence in or under a Ramist scheme (interestingly, from memory, these figures emote in silence, deprived of auditory expression). My own view is that while it is possible to explore learning environments in a range of ways, and thus move beyond the enclosed mode of study of Ramism, Ramism nevertheless comprises an important default architecture of pedagogy that also informs some higher level assumptions about assessment and knowledge of the field. Software training, based on a process of working through or mimicking a linked series of screenshots and commands is a direct inheritor of what Ong calls Ramism’s ‘corpuscular epistemology’, a ‘one to one correspondence between concept, word and referent’ (Ong, Orality 168). My lecture plan, providing an at a glance view of my presentation, is another. The default architecture of the Ramist scheme impacts on our organisation of knowledge, and the place of performance with in it. Perhaps this is another area where Ong’s fascinating account of secondary orality—that orality that comes into being with television and radio—becomes important (Orality 136). Not only does secondary orality enable group-mindedness and communal exchange, it also provides a way to resist the closure of print and the Ramist scheme, adapting knowledge to new environments and story frameworks. Ong’s work in Orality and Literacy could thus usefully be taken up to discuss Ramism. But this raises another issue, which has to do with the relationship between Ong’s two books. In Orality and Literacy, Ong is careful to trace distinctions between oral, chirographic, manuscript, and print culture. In Ramus this progression is not as prominent— partly because Ong is tracking Ramus’ numerous influences in detail —and we find a more clear-cut distinction between the visile and audile worlds. Yates seems to support this observation, suggesting contra Ong that it is not the connection between Ramus and print that is important, but between Ramus and manuscript culture (230). The interconnections but also lack of fit between the two books suggests a range of fascinating questions about the impact of Ramism across different media/technological contexts, beyond print, but also the status of visualisation in both rhetorical and print cultures. References Brummett, Barry. Reading Rhetorical Theory. Fort Worth: Harcourt, 2000. Heim, Michael. Electric Language: A Philosophical Study of Word Processing. New Haven: Yale UP, 1987. Maras, Steven, David Sutton, and with Marion Benjamin. “Multimedia Communication: An Interdisciplinary Approach.” Information Technology, Education and Society 2.1 (2001): 25-49. Nielsen, Jakob. Multimedia and Hypertext: The Internet and Beyond. Boston: AP Professional, 1995. Ong, Walter J. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London: Methuen, 1982. —. Ramus: Method, and the Decay of Dialogue. New York: Octagon, 1974. The Second Annual Walter H. Annenberg Symposium. 20 March 2002. http://www.annenberg.edu/symposia/annenberg/2002/photos.php> USC Annenberg Center of Communication and USC Annenberg School for Communication. 22 March 2005. Viola, Bill. Bill Viola: The Passions. Ed. John Walsh. London: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles in Association with The National Gallery, 2003. Yates, Frances A. The Art of Memory. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Maras, Steven. "Reflections on Adobe Corporation, Bill Viola, and Peter Ramus while Printing Lecture Notes." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/05-maras.php>. APA Style Maras, S. (Jun. 2005) "Reflections on Adobe Corporation, Bill Viola, and Peter Ramus while Printing Lecture Notes," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/05-maras.php>.

It seems not insignificant that the cult film Donnie Darko is set in the final stages of the Bush-Dukakis election campaign, which had the twin effects of inaugurating the Bush presidential dynasty and making “liberal” an insurmountably derogatory term in American politics. Donnie’s gift of seeing into the future is, at least superficially, a reaction to his medication for “emotional problems”. But the count-down to his apocalyptic date with a giant bunny-rabbit also coincides with the demise of any remaining hope for a certain kind of progressive Left politics. With the options for escaping a conservative small town life fast disappearing, an impenetrable theory of time-travel appears to offer a plausible reprieve from Donnie’s destiny. As we learn very early in the movie, however, even time-travel cannot offer salvation: Donnie, like a particular idea of America, is doomed. Strangely representative of cultural studies’ theoretical preoccupations, Donnie’s character is unavoidably implicated in an omnipresent therapeutic culture while also demonstrating good taste in 80s music, an attraction to mischief and a fitful enthusiasm for saving the world. In the context of this editorial, the film acts as a useful retrospective archive of the moment when “affect” came to wide attention as the key site for politics in the United States. Donnie Darko documents the rise and spectacular fall of Jim Cunningham (Patrick Swayze), a charismatic motivational speaker and incidental kiddy-porn ringleader who makes a fortune with his book, Attitudinal Beliefs. Cunningham’s converts find liberation by freeing themselves from their own fears, for according to his paradigm, there are only two features of the “energy spectrum”: fear and love. The trick to a successful life – and good grades – is to choose the “Right-eous” path of the latter (Gregg and Fuller). But as the film develops, the audience slowly comes to realise that no one will avoid the truly terrifying fate that is Grandma Death’s secret: everyone dies alone. Donnie Darko encapsulates the overwhelming nature of adolescent angst which gravitates between the “indifference of terror and boredom” and which Lawrence Grossberg has claimed to be “the most powerful and pervasive affective relations in everyday life” (184). Donnie and his peers aren’t just subject to the petty tyrannies of high-school; the film’s plot allegorises a much wider cultural shift. As Grossberg argued extensively throughout the 1990s, the strategy of new conservatives has been to conduct a political agenda at the level of affect, or what today we might recognise as “the battle for hearts and minds”. It succeeds by colonising the very mood, imagination and hope of a citizenry. When Karen Pomeroy (Drew Barrymore) is fired as English teacher at Donnie’s school – the result of a moral values campaign against a prescribed textbook – she says of the students: “We are losing them to apathy. They are slipping away”. Karen conveys despair and anger at this prospect, only to be met with the headmaster’s rebuke: “I am sorry that you have failed”. Here the apparently naïve optimism of a brilliant teacher is subject to the same indignant script her students face: individualised torment for a structurally ingrained lack of hope. Grossberg has consistently urged that cultural studies intellectuals recognise scenarios like these as the perniciously mundane locations where the fight for the future is waged: When the very possibility of political struggle is being erased – not because the scene of politics (or the public sphere) has disappeared in some postmodern apocalypse, but because there is an active attempt to use popular discourses to restructure the possibilities of everyday life – the political intellectual has no choice but to enter into the struggle over affect in order to articulate new ways of caring. (23) This issue of M/C Journal reveals some of the many ways this objective continues to be thwarted in the current political climate and in contexts which veer to varying degrees from the mainstream political situation in the United States. In the lead article for the issue, Shane McGrath makes the point that the politics of compassion are far from straightforward in an era of “compassionate conservatism” but that they are noticeably straight (see also Berlant). One of the most important distinctions he asks us to make is to “recognise and affirm feelings of compassion while questioning the politics that seem to emanate from those feelings”. The essay that follows is a helpful explanation of the theoretical legacies behind “Feeling, Emotion and Affect”. Eric Shouse provides an introduction to the vocabulary that many writers for this issue share and in some cases challenge. “The importance of affect”, Shouse claims, is that “in many cases the message consciously received may be of less import to the receiver of that message than his or her non-conscious affective resonance with the source of the message”. This is precisely the difficulty of forming any rational model of political opposition to apparently personable leaders like Bush, or concertedly “ordinary” leaders like John Howard: a diverse population will often interpret a manifest message through a quite different set of unconscious criteria. Anne Aly and Mark Balnaves offer an example of this kind of affective resonance in their article, “The Atmosfear of Terror”. Chilling riots around Sydney’s southern beaches in the week of this issue’s production lend added pertinence to their reading which argues that attitudes towards Muslims in Australia are “less to do with the actual threat of a terrorist attack on Australian soil and more to do with….reprisal for the terrorist attacks” that have already occurred elsewhere. Describing a quite different and highly intimate experience of fear is Lessa Bonniface, Lelia Green and Maurice Swanson’s essay documenting their work developing HeartNET, a Website devoted to discussion amongst heart patients. This collaborative project is part of an Australian Research Council linkage grant and illustrates how cultural theory can be tested and extended in productive partnerships with the wider community. Megan Watkins’s eloquent essay on the affects of classroom practice shares a similar attention to corporeality in the way that it highlights the neglected bodily dimensions of learning and motivation, while Glen Fuller’s “The Getaway” offers a quite different example of the ways that our bodies can surprise us by betraying disciplines we may not have consciously registered. Two further essays by Beth Seaton and Margaret Hair have the specific purpose of drawing attention to affective relations otherwise suppressed in the landscapes around us, reflecting upon the ethics of acknowledging past and present trauma. The issue then embarks on a series of exciting new approaches to popular media, in Anna Gibbs’s article on the hypnotic properties of television, Leanne Downing’s introduction to the politics of “eater-tainment” accompanying block-buster films, and finally, Gregory Seigworth’s affirming reading of indie darling, Sufjan Stevens. In a fitting gesture given the imperatives Grossberg sets out, Seigworth considers the significance of Stevens’ live show in terms of an “affect of corn” that he submits as one humble exercise that might help to “redeem a future for the present”. In the amount of time since the issue’s conception “affect” has moved from being regarded as something that “cultural studies has always been crap at” (Noble) to “the new cutting edge” (Hemmings) while for some it has become “that word I never want to hear again” (Sofoulis). As Elspeth Probyn notes in the contribution that closes the issue, witnessing a cherished theoretical interest become fashionable can be bemusing and disabling – what I hope these essays demonstrate is that fashion need not relinquish usefulness. This issue of M/C Journal involved some tough editorial decisions due to a remarkably high number of submissions. I thank all of the writers who offered work for consideration as well as those who responded so enthusiastically to my invitation. Thanks also to the referees who gave their time and expertise and the correspondents whose patience was doubtlessly tested in the finishing stages. I am particularly indebted to Laura Marshall and Neysa Ellison-Stone for their excellent and speedy copy-editing. Finally, the stunning cover image for this M/C Journal is “Collage” by Jane Simon with stills from Undiegate, a Super-8 film by Marian Prickett and Jane Simon (Melbourne, 2002). Its rich texture, exciting juxtaposition and overriding implication of possibility couldn’t have been more fitting my hopes for this issue. References Berlant, Lauren. “Introduction: Compassion (and Withholding).” Compassion: The Culture and Politics of an Emotion. Ed. Lauren Berlant. Essays from the English Institute. London: New York, 2004. Donnie Darko. [motion picture] Directed by R. Kelly, 2001. Gregg, Melissa and Glen Fuller. “Where Is the Law in ‘Unlawful Combatant’? Resisting the Refrain of the Right-eous.” Cultural Studies Review 11.2 (2005): 147-59. Grossberg, Lawrence. Dancing in Spite of Myself: Essays on Popular Culture. Durham: Duke UP, 1997. Hemmings, Clare. “Invoking Affect: Cultural Theory and the Ontological Turn.” Cultural Studies 19.5 (2005): 548-67. Noble, Greg. “What Cultural Studies Is Crap At.” Cultural Studies Association of Australasia Newsletter October, 2004. Sofoulis, Zoe. Comment at Culture Fix: The Cultural Studies Association of Australasia Annual Conference, University of Technology, Sydney, November 2005. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gregg, Melissa. "Affect." M/C Journal 8.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/01-editorial.php>. APA Style Gregg, M. (Dec. 2005) "Affect," M/C Journal, 8(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/01-editorial.php>.

We take as our subject what many would deem a waste of good celluloid: the degraded cultural form of the stoner film. Stoner films plot the experiences of the wasted (those intoxicated on marijuana) as they exhibit wastefulness—excessiveness, improvidence, decay—on a number of fronts. Stoners waste time in constantly hunting for pot and in failing to pursue more productive activity whilst wasted. Stoners waste their minds, both literally, if we believe contested studies that indicate marijuana smoking kills brains cells, and figuratively, in rendering themselves cognitively impaired. Stoners waste their bodies through the dangerous practice of smoking and through the tendency toward physical inertia. Stoners waste money on marijuana firstly, but also on such sophomoric accoutrements as the stoner film itself. Stoners lay waste to convention in excessively seeking pleasure and in dressing and acting outrageously. And stoners, if the scatological humour of so many stoner films is any index, are preoccupied with bodily waste. Stoners, we argue here, waste whiteness as well. As the likes of Jesse and Chester (Dude, Where’s My Car?), Wayne and Garth (Wayne’s World), Bill and Ted (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure) and Jay and Silent Bob (Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back) make clear, whiteness looms large in stoner films. Yet the genre, we argue, disavows its own whiteness, in favour of a post-white hybridity that lavishly squanders white privilege. For all its focus on whiteness, filmic wastedness has always been an ethnically diverse and ambiguous category. The genre’s origins in the work of Cheech Marin, a Chicano, and Tommy Chong, a Chinese-European Canadian, have been buttressed in this regard by many African American contributions to the stoner oeuvre, including How High, Half Baked and Friday, as well as by Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, and its Korean-American and Indian-American protagonists. Cheech and Chong initiated the genre with the release of Up in Smoke in 1978. A host of films have followed featuring protagonists who spend much of their time smoking and seeking marijuana (or—in the case of stoner films such as Dude, Where’s My Car? released during the height of the War on Drugs—acting stoned without ever being seen to get stoned). Inspired in part by the 1938 anti-marijuana film Reefer Madness, and the unintended humour such propaganda films begat amongst marijuana smokers, stoner films are comedies that satirise both marijuana culture and its prohibition. Self-consciously slapstick, the stoner genre excludes more serious films about drugs, from Easy Rider to Shaft, as well as films such as The Wizard of Oz, Yellow Submarine, the Muppet movies, and others popular amongst marijuana smokers because of surreal content. Likewise, a host of films that include secondary stoner characters, such as Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, are commonly excluded from the genre on the grounds that the stoner film, first and foremost, celebrates stonerism, that is “serious commitment to smoking and acquiring marijuana as a lifestyle choice.” (Meltzer). Often taking the form of the “buddy film,” stoner flicks generally feature male leads and frequently exhibit a decidedly masculinist orientation, with women, for the most part reduced to little more than the object of the white male gaze.The plot, such as it is, of the typical stoner film concerns the search for marijuana (or an accessory, such as junk food) and the improbable misadventures that ensue. While frequently represented as resourceful and energetic in their quest for marijuana, filmic stoners otherwise exhibit ambivalent attitudes toward enterprise that involves significant effort. Typically represented as happy and peaceable, filmic stoners rarely engage in conflict beyond regular clashes with authority figures determined to enforce anti-drug laws, and other measures that stoners take to be infringements upon happiness. While Hollywood’s stoners thus share a sense of entitlement to pleasure, they do not otherwise exhibit a coherent ideological orthodoxy beyond a certain libertarian and relativistic open-mindedness. More likely to take inspiration from comic book heroes than Aldous Huxley or Timothy Leary, stoners are most often portrayed as ‘dazed and confused,’ and could be said to waste the intellectual tradition of mind expansion that Leary represents. That stoner films are, at times, misunderstood to be quintessentially white is hardly suprising. As a social construct that creates, maintains and legitimates white domination, whiteness manifests, as one of its most defining features, an ability to swallow up difference and to insist upon, at critical junctures, a universal subjectivity that disallows for difference (hooks 167). Such universalising not only sanctions co-optation of ethnic cultural expression, it also functions to mask whiteness’s existence, thus reinforcing its very power. Whiteness, as Richard Dyer argues, is simultaneously everywhere and nowhere. It obfuscates itself and its relationship to the particular traits it is said to embody—disinterest, prudence, temperance, rationality, bodily restraint, industriousness (3). Whiteness is thus constructed as neither an ethnic nor racial particularity, but rather the transcendence of such positionality (Wiegman 139). While non-whites are raced, to be white is to be “just human” and thus to possess the power to “claim to speak for the commonality of humanity” whilst denying the accrual of any particular racial privilege (Dyer 2). In refuting its own advantages—which are so wide ranging (from preferential treatment in housing loans, to the freedom to fail without fear of reflecting badly on other whites) that they are, like whiteness itself, both assumed and unproblematic—whiteness instantiates individualism, allowing whites to believe that their successes are in no way the outcome of systematic racial advantage, but rather the product of individual toil (McIntosh; Lipsitz). An examination of the 1978 stoner film Up in Smoke suggests that whatever the ethnic ambiguity of the figure of the stoner, the genre of the stoner film is all about the wasting of whiteness. Up in Smoke opens with two alternating domestic scenes. We first encounter Pedro De Pacas (Cheech Marin) in a cluttered and shadowy room as his siblings romp affectionately upon his back, waking him from his slumber on the couch. Pedro rises, stepping into a bowl of cereal on the floor. He stumbles to the bathroom, where, sleepy and disoriented, he urinates into the laundry hamper. The chaos of Pedro’s disrupted sleep is followed in the film by a more metaphoric awakening as Anthony Stoner (Tommy Chong) determines to leave home. The scene takes place in a far more orderly, light and lavish room. The space’s overpowering whiteness is breached only by the figure of Anthony and his unruly black hair, bushy black beard, and loud Hawaiian shirt, which vibrates with colour against the white walls, white furnishings and white curtains. We watch as Anthony, behind an elaborate bar, prepares a banana protein shake, impassively ignoring his parents, both clothed in all-white, as they clutch martini glasses and berate their son for his lack of ambition. Arnold Stoner [father]: Son, your mother and me would like for you to cozy up to the Finkelstein boy. He's a bright kid, and, uh... he's going to military school, and remember, he was an Eagle Scout. Tempest Stoner [mother]: Arnold…Arnold Stoner: [shouts over/to his wife] Will you shut up? We’re not going to have a family brawl!Tempest Stoner: [continues talking as her husband shouts]…. Retard.Arnold Stoner: [to Anthony] We've put up with a hell of a lot.[Anthony starts blender] Can this wait? ... Build your goddamn muscles, huh? You know, you could build your muscles picking strawberries.You know, bend and scoop... like the Mexicans. Shit, maybe I could get you a job with United Fruit. I got a buddy with United Fruit. ... Get you started. Start with strawberries, you might work your way up to these goddamn bananas! When, boy? When...are you going to get your act together?Anthony: [Burps]Tempest Stoner: Gross.Arnold Stoner: Oh, good God Almighty me. I think he's the Antichrist. Anthony, I want to talk to you. [Anthony gathers his smoothie supplements and begins to walk out of the room.] Now, listen! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you! You get a goddamn job before sundown, or we're shipping you off to military school with that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid! Son of a bitch!The whiteness of Anthony’s parents is signified so pervasively and so strikingly in this scene—in their improbable white outfits and in the room’s insufferably white décor—that we come to understand it as causative. The rage and racism of Mr. Stoner’s tirade, the scene suggests, is a product of whiteness itself. Given that whiteness achieves and maintains its domination via both ubiquity and invisibility, what Up in Smoke accomplishes in this scene is notable. Arnold Stoner’s tortured syntax (“that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid”) works to “mak[e] whiteness strange” (Dyer 4), while the scene’s exaggerated staging delineates whiteness as “a particular – even peculiar – identity, rather than a presumed norm” (Roediger, Colored White 21). The belligerence of the senior Stoners toward not only their son and each other, but the world at large, in turn, functions to render whiteness intrinsically ruthless and destructive. Anthony’s parents, in all their whiteness, enact David Roediger’s assertion that “it is not merely that ‘Whiteness’s is oppressive and false; it is that ‘Whiteness’s is nothing but oppressive and false” (Toward the Abolition 13).Anthony speaks not a word during the scene. He communicates only by belching and giving his parents the finger as he leaves the room and the home. This departure is significant in that it marks the moment when Anthony, hereafter known only as “Man,” flees the world of whiteness. He winds up taking refuge in the multi-hued world of stonerism, as embodied in the scene that follows, which features Pedro emerging from his home to interact with his Chicano neighbours and to lovingly inspect his car. As a lowrider, a customised vehicle that “begin[s] with the abandoned materials of one tradition (that of mainstream America), … [and is] … then transformed and recycled . . . into new and fresh objects of art which are distinctly Chicano,” Pedro’s car serves as a symbol of the cultural hybridisation that Man is about to undergo (quoted in Ondine 141).As Man’s muteness in the presence of his parents suggests, his racial status seems tentative from the start. Within the world of whiteness, Man is the subaltern, silenced and denigrated, finding voice only after he befriends Pedro. Even as the film identifies Man as white through his parental lineage, it renders indeterminate its own assertion, destabilising any such fixed or naturalised schema of identity. When Man is first introduced to Pedro’s band as their newest member, James, the band’s African American bass player, looks at Man, dressed in the uniform of the band, and asks: “Hey Pedro, where’s the white dude you said was playing the drums?” Clearly, from James’s point of view, the room contains no white dudes, just stoners. Man’s presumed whiteness becomes one of the film’s countless gags, the provocative ambiguity of the casting of a Chinese-European to play a white part underscored in the film by the equally implausible matter of age. Man, according to the film’s narrative, is a high school student; Chong was forty when the film was released. Like his age, Man’s whiteness is never a good fit. That Man ultimately winds up sleeping on the very couch upon which we first encounter Pedro suggests how radical and final the break with his dubious white past is. The “Mexicans” whom his father would mock as fit only for abject labour are amongst those whom Man comes to consider his closest companions. In departing his parents’ white world, and embracing Pedro’s dilapidated, barrio-based world of wastedness, Man traces the geographies narrated by George Lipsitz in The Possessive Investment in Whiteness. Historically, Lipsitz argues, the development of affluent white space (the suburbs) was made possible by the disintegration of African American, Chicano and other minority neighbourhoods disadvantaged by federal, state, and corporate housing, employment, health care, urban renewal, and education policies that favoured whites over non-whites. In this sense, Man’s flight from his parents’ home is a retreat from whiteness itself, and from the advantages that whiteness conveys. In choosing the ramshackle, non-white world of stonerism, Man performs an act of racial treachery. Whiteness, Lipsitz contends, has “cash value,” and “is invested in, like property, but it is also a means of accumulating property and keeping it from others,” which allows for “intergenerational transfers of inherited wealth that pass on the spoils of discrimination to succeeding generations” (vii-viii). Man’s disavowal of the privileges of whiteness is a reckless refusal to accept this racial birthright. Whiteness is thus wasted upon Man because Man wastes his whiteness. Given the centrality of prudence and restraint to hegemonic constructions of whiteness, Man’s willingness to squander the “valuable asset” that is his white inheritance is especially treasonous (Harris 1713). Man is the prodigal son of whiteness, a profligate who pours down the drain “the wages of whiteness” that his forbearers have spent generations accruing and protecting (Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness). His waste not only offends the core values which whiteness is said to comprise, it also denigrates whiteness itself by illuminating the excess of white privilege, as well as the unarticulated excess of meanings that hover around whiteness to create the illusion of transcendence and infinite variety. Man’s performance, like all bad performances of whiteness, “disrupt[s] implicit understandings of what it means to be white” (Hartigan 46). The spectre of seeing white domination go ‘up in smoke’—via wasting, as opposed to hoarding, white privilege—amounts to racial treason, and helps not only to explicate why whites in the film find stonerism so menacing, but also to explain the paradox of “pot [making] the people who don’t smoke it even more paranoid than the people who do” (Patterson). While Tommy Chong’s droll assertion that "what makes us so dangerous is that we're harmless" ridicules such paranoia, it ultimately fails to account for the politics of subversive squandering of white privilege that characterise the stoner film (“Biographies”). Stoners in Up in Smoke, as in most other stoner films, are marked as non-white, through association with ethnic Others, through their rejection of mainstream ideas about work and achievement, and/or through their lack of bodily restraint in relentlessly seeking pleasure, in dressing outrageously, and in refusing to abide conventional grooming habits. Significantly, the non-white status of the stoner is both voluntary and deliberate. While stonerism embraces its own non-whiteness, its Otherness is not signified, primarily, through racial cross-dressing of the sort Eric Lott detects in Elvis, but rather through race-mixing. Stoner collectivity practices an inclusivity that defies America’s historic practice of racial and ethnic segregation (Lott 248). Stonerism further reveals its unwillingness to abide constrictive American whiteness in a scene in which Pedro and Man, both US-born Americans, are deported. The pair are rounded up along with Pedro’s extended family in a raid initiated when Pedro’s cousin “narcs” on himself to la migra (the Immigration and Naturalization Service) in order to get free transport for his extended family to his wedding in Tijuana. Pedro and Man return to the US as unwitting tricksters, bringing back to the US more marijuana than has ever crossed the Mexican-US border at one time, fusing the relationship between transnationalism and wastedness. The disrespect that stoners exhibit for pregnable US borders contests presumed Chicano powerlessness in the face of white force and further affronts whiteness, which historically has mobilised itself most virulently at the threat of alien incursion. Transgression here is wilful and playful; stoners intend to offend normative values and taste through their actions, their dress, and non-white associations as part of the project of forging a new hybridised, transnational subjectivity that threatens to lay waste to whiteness’s purity and privilege. Stoners invite the scrutiny of white authority with their outrageous attire and ethnically diverse composition, turning the “inevitability of surveillance” (Borrie 87) into an opportunity to enact their own wastedness—their wasted privilege, their wasted youth, their wasted potential—before a gaze that is ultimately confounded and threatened by the chaotic hybridity with which it is faced (Hebdige 26). By perpetually displaying his/her wasted Otherness, the stoner makes of him/herself a “freak,” a label cops use derisively throughout Up in Smoke to denote the wasted without realising that stoners define themselves in precisely such terms, and, by doing so, obstruct whiteness’s assertion of universal subjectivity. Pedro’s cousin Strawberry (Tom Skerritt), a pot dealer, enacts freakishness by exhibiting a large facial birthmark and by suffering from Vietnam-induced Post Traumatic Stress disorder. A freak in every sense of the word, Strawberry is denied white status by virtue of physical and mental defect. But Strawberry, as a stoner, ultimately wants whiteness even less than it wants him. The defects that deny him membership in the exclusive “club” that is whiteness prove less significant than the choice he makes to defect from the ranks of whiteness and join with Man in the decision to waste his whiteness wantonly (“Editorial”). Stoner masculinity is represented as similarly freakish and defective. While white authority forcefully frustrates the attempts of Pedro and Man to “score” marijuana, the duo’s efforts to “score” sexually are thwarted by their own in/action. More often than not, wastedness produces impotence in Up in Smoke, either literally or figuratively, wherein the confusion and misadventures that attend pot-smoking interrupt foreplay. The film’s only ostensible sex scene is unconsummated, a wasted opportunity for whiteness to reproduce itself when Man sleeps through his girlfriend’s frenzied discussion of sex. During the course of Up in Smoke, Man dresses as a woman while hitchhiking, Pedro mistakes Man for a woman, Man sits on Pedro’s lap when they scramble to change seats whilst being pulled over by the police, Man suggests that Pedro has a “small dick,” Pedro reports liking “manly breasts,” and Pedro—unable to urinate in the presence of Sgt. Stedenko—tells his penis that if it does not perform, he will “put [it] back in the closet.” Such attenuations of the lead characters’ masculinity climax in the penultimate scene, in which Pedro, backed by his band, performs “Earache My Eye,” a song he has just composed backstage, whilst adorned in pink tutu, garter belt, tassle pasties, sequined opera mask and Mickey Mouse ears: My momma talkin’ to me tryin’ to tell me how to liveBut I don't listen to her cause my head is like a sieveMy daddy he disowned me cause I wear my sister's clothesHe caught me in the bathroom with a pair of pantyhoseMy basketball coach he done kicked me off the teamFor wearing high heeled sneakers and acting like a queen“Earache My Eye” corroborates the Othered natured of stonerism by marking stoners, already designated as non-white, as non-straight. In a classic iteration of a bad gender performance, the scene rejects both whiteness and its hegemonic partners-in-crime, heterosexuality and normative masculinity (Butler 26). Here stoners waste not only their whiteness, but also their white masculinity. Whiteness, and its dependence upon “intersection … [with] interlocking axes [of power such as] gender … [and] sexuality,” is “outed” in this scene (Shome 368). So, too, is it enfeebled. In rendering masculinity freakish and defective, the film threatens whiteness at its core. For if whiteness can not depend upon normative masculinity for its reproduction, then, like Man’s racial birthright, it is wasted. The stoner’s embodiment of freakishness further works to emphasise wasted whiteness by exposing just how hysterical whiteness’s defense of its own normativity can be. Up in Smoke frequently inflates not only the effects of marijuana, but also the eccentricities of those who smoke it, a strategy which means that much of the film’s humour turns on satirising hegemonic stereotypes of marijuana smokers. Equally, Cheech Marin’s exaggerated “slapstick, one-dimensional [portrayal] of [a] Chicano character” works to render ridiculous the very stereotypes his character incarnates (List 183). While the film deconstructs processes of social construction, it also makes extensive use of counter-stereotyping in its depictions of characters marked as white. The result is that whiteness’s “illusion of [its] own infinite variety” is contested and the lie of whiteness as non-raced is exposed, helping to explain the stoner’s decision to waste his/her whiteness (Dyer 12; 2). In Up in Smoke whiteness is the colour of straightness. Straights, who are willing neither to smoke pot nor to tolerate the smoking of pot by others/Others, are so comprehensively marked as white in the film that whiteness and straightness become isomorphic. As a result, the same stereotypes are mobilised in representing whiteness and straightness: incompetence, belligerence, hypocrisy, meanspiritedness, and paranoia, qualities that are all the more oppressive because virtually all whites/straights in the film occupy positions of authority. Anthony’s spectacularly white parents, as we have seen, are bigoted and dominating. Their whiteness is further impugned by alcohol, which fuels Mr. Stoner’s fury and Mrs. Stoner’s unintelligibility. That the senior Stoners are drunk before noon works, of course, to expose the hypocrisy of those who would indict marijuana use while ignoring the social damage alcohol can produce. Their inebriation (revealed as chronic in the DVD’s outtake scenes) takes on further significance when it is configured as a decidedly white attribute. Throughout the film, only characters marked as white consume alcohol—most notably, the judge who is discovered to be drinking vodka whist adjudicating drug charges against Pedro and Man—therefore dislodging whiteness’s self-construction as temperate, and suggesting just how wasted whiteness is. While stonerism is represented as pacific, drunkenness is of a piece with white/straight bellicosity. In Up in Smoke, whites/straights crave confrontation and discord, especially the angry, uptight, and vainglorious narcotics cop Sgt. Stedenko (Stacey Keech) who inhabits so many of the film’s counter-stereotypes. While a trio of white cops roughly apprehend and search a carload of innocent nuns in a manner that Man describes as “cold blooded,” Stedenko, unawares in the foreground, gives an interview about his plans for what he hopes will be the biggest border drug bust in US history: “[Reporter:] Do you expect to see any violence here today? [Sgt. Stedenko:] I certainly hope so.” Stedenko’s desire to act violently against stoners echoes mythologies of white regeneration in the Old West, wherein whiteness refurbished itself through violent attacks on Native Americans, whose wasteful cultures failed to make “civilised” use of western lands (Slotkin 565).White aggression is relentlessly depicted in the film, with one important exception: the instance of the stoned straight. Perhaps no other trope is as defining of the genre, as is the scene wherein a straight person accidentally becomes stoned. Up in Smoke offers several examples, most notably the scene in which a motorcycle cop pulls over Pedro and Man as they drive a van belonging to Pedro’s Uncle Chuey. In a plot twist requiring a degree of willing suspension of disbelief that even wasted audiences might find a stretch, the exterior shell of the van, unbeknownst to Pedro and Man, is made entirely of marijuana which has started to smoulder around the exhaust pipe. The cop, who becomes intoxicated whilst walking through the fumes, does not hassle Pedro and Man, as expected, but instead asks for a bite of their hot dog and then departs happily, instructing the duo to “have a nice day.” In declining, or perhaps simply forgetting, to exercise his authority, the cop demonstrates the regenerative potential not of violent whiteness but rather of hybrid wastedness. Marijuana here is transformative, morphing straight consciousness into stoner consciousness and, in the process, discharging all the uptight, mean-spirited, unnecessary, and hence wasteful baggage of whiteness along the way. While such a utopian potential for pot is both upheld and satirised in the film, the scene amounts to far more than an inconsequential generic gag, in that it argues for the disavowal of whiteness via the assumption of the voluntary Otherness that is stonerism. Whiteness, the scene suggests, can be cast off, discarded, wasted and thus surmounted. Whites, for want of a better phrase, simply need to ‘just say no’ to whiteness in order to excrete the brutality that is its necessary affliction and inevitable result. While Up in Smoke laudably offers a powerful refusal to horde the assets of whiteness, the film fails to acknowledge that ‘just saying no’ is, indeed, one of whiteness’s exclusive privileges, since whites and only whites possess the liberty to refuse the advantages whiteness bestows. Non-whites possess no analogical ability to jettison the social constructions to which they are subjected, to refuse the power of dominant classes to define their subjectivity. Neither does the film confront the fact that Man nor any other of Up in Smoke’s white freaks are disallowed from re-embracing their whiteness, and its attendant value, at any time. However inchoate the film’s challenge to racial privilege, Up in Smoke’s celebration of the subversive pleasures of wasting whiteness offers a tentative, if bleary, first step toward ‘the abolition of whiteness.’ Its utopian vision of a post-white hybridised subjectivity, however dazed and confused, is worthy of far more serious contemplation than the film, taken at face value, might seem to suggest. Perhaps Up in Smoke is a stoner film that should also be viewed while sober. ReferencesBill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Dir. Stephen Herek. Orion Pictures Corporation, 1989.“Biographies”. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.cheechandchongfans.com/biography.html›. Borrie, Lee. "Wild Ones: Containment Culture and 1950s Youth Rebellion”. Diss. University of Canterbury, 2007.Butler, Judith. "Critically Queer”. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 1.1 (1993): 17-32.Chavoya, C. Ondine. “Customized Hybrids: The Art of Ruben Ortiz Torres and Lowriding in Southern California”. CR: The New Centennial Review 4.2 (2004): 141-84.Clerks. Dir. Kevin Smith. Miramax Films, 1994. Dazed and Confused. Dir. Richard Linklater. Cineplex Odeon Films, 1993. Dude, Where’s My Car? Dir. Danny Leiner. Twentieth Century Fox, 2000.Dyer, Richard. White: Essays on Race and Culture. London: Routledge, 1997.“Editorial: Abolish the White Race—By Any Means Necessary”. Race Traitor 1 (1993). 9 June 2010 ‹http://racetraitor.org/abolish.html›.Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Dir. Amy Heckerling. Universal Pictures, 1982.Friday. Dir. F. Gary Gray. New Line Cinema, 1995.Half Baked. Dir. Tamra Davis. Universal Pictures, 1998.Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Dir. Danny Leiner. New Line Cinema, 2004.Harris, Cheryl. “Whiteness as Property”. Harvard Law Review 106 (1993): 1707-1791. Hartigan, John Jr. “Objectifying ‘Poor Whites and ‘White Trash’ in Detroit”. White Trash: Race and Class in America. Eds. Matt Wray, and Annalee Newitz. NY: Routledge, 1997. 41-56.Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen, 1979.hooks, bell. Black Looks: Race and Representation. Boston: South End Press, 1992.How High. Dir. Jesse Dylan. Universal Pictures, 2001.Lipsitz, George. The Possessive Investment in Whiteness: How White People Profit fromIdentity Politics. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2006. List, Christine. "Self-Directed Stereotyping in the Films of Cheech Marin”. Chicanos and Film: Representation and Resistance. Ed. Chon A. Noriega. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1992. 183-94.Lott, Eric. “Racial Cross-Dressing and the Construction of American Whiteness”. The Cultural Studies Reader. 2nd ed. Ed. Simon During. London: Routledge, 1999. 241-55.McIntosh, Peggy. “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack”. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.case.edu/president/aaction/UnpackingTheKnapsack.pdf›.Meltzer, Marisa. “Leisure and Innocence: The Eternal Appeal of the Stoner Movie”. Slate 26 June 2007. 10 Aug. 2010 ‹http://www.slate.com/id/2168931›.Toni Morrison. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1992.Patterson, John. “High and Mighty”. The Guardian 7 June 2008. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2008/jun/07/2›.Roediger, David. Colored White: Transcending the Racial Past. Berkeley: U of California P, 2002.Roediger, David. The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class. Rev. ed. London: Verso Books, 1999.———. Towards the Abolition of Whiteness: Essays on Race, Class and Politics. London: Verso Books, 1994.Shome, Raka. “Outing Whiteness”. Critical Studies in Media Communication 17.3 (2000): 366-71.Slotkin, Richard. Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier. Norman: U of Oklahoma P, 1973.Up in Smoke. Dir. Lou Adler. Paramount Pictures, 1978.Wayne’s World. Dir. Penelope Spheeris. Paramount Pictures, 1992.Wiegman, Robyn. “Whiteness Studies and the Paradox of Particularity”. boundary 2 26.3 (1999): 115-50.

She's the dollars, she's my protection; she's a promise, in the year of election. Sister, I can't let you go; I'm like a preacher, stealing hearts at a traveling show. For love or money, money, money... Desire -- U2, "Desire" (1988) For the love of money. In the worship of things. Desire has traditionally been employed by advertising as a means of selling product. Regardless of culture, more powerful than context, desire is invoked as one of capitalism's iron-clad codes of quality. The Uses of Desire in Advertising Specifically, two variants have been most common. That in which desire is: (1) stimulated or (2) sated by a product. Crucial to advertisers, in both cases the product is more powerful than the thing the audience finds most powerful: the physical surge, the emotional rush, the chemical compulsion we label "desire". In the case of the former, a typical approach has been to create an equation in which product intervenes in the relationship between man and woman (and it is always man and woman), stimulating the psycho-physiological desire of one for the other. A classic pre-post design. Absent the product, desire would not arise, ad text often alleges. This tack is well captured in this ad for a perfume. Implicit in this approach is the assumption that the ad reader will desire desire. If so, he or she -- equally desirous of this turn of events -- will insert him or herself into the scenario, engaging in a symbolic, if not actual purchase of the product1. As we saw above, desire is often depicted via substitute symbols -- flashing red neon, burning matches, flame-blowers, stifling heat and raging brush fires2. The product is then used to extinguish such signs -- metaphorically quenching desire. This is the satiation variant identified at the outset. Standardised Desire? This last is an Australian ad, but in a wide variety of contexts, the same formula of product/desire appears. A recent Malaysian ad, for instance, plays out like this: a motorbike roars up to a doorstep; its leather-clad rider dismounts. Removing the helmet we find beneath a ... beautiful long-haired woman. Cut to a medium shot of the front door opening. A similarly-clad male leans against the molding. Rugged, firm, slightly aloof. Cut to product name: Dashing for Men. Followed by a picture of the cologne. "The Dashing Sensation" is then posted -- ripe with the implication that the cologne has worked its magical, magnetic attraction uniting female and male. It should be pointed out that Malaysia is a market with a significant western presence. Its top advertising firms are American, British and Italian. Thus, if one were curious as to whether desire was inherently a "cultural universal" or rather due to accession (i.e. the movement of intellectual and corporate capital), Euro-American presence would certainly be a factor to consider 3. Innovating Desire Bringing us to Japan. Desire is also a major theme there, as well. However, there, Japanese firms dominate ad production. And, interestingly, though the above-mentioned formulations do appear, desire in Japan also has its own specialised discourse. Rather than a relationship between the consumable and the consumer's emotional/physical state, discourse about desire can transpire independent of the product. Desire is often simply about desire. This is in keeping with a trend (or, more formally, a stage) of development Japanese advertising has achieved -- what I call "product-least advertising"; a condition in which discourse is about many things other than consumption. One of these things being desire. In closing I will wonder what this might say about Japanese society. Japanese Approaches to Desire As noted above, it is not the case that messages of product-induced desire do not appear in Japan. They are certainly more pervasive than in their Islamic neighbor, Malaysia. And, like America, desire is treated in an array of ways. Object-Mediated Desire One approach, admittedly less conventional, posits the product as medium. Only through the product will desire be manifested. In this ad, though verbal substitutes are invoked -- "lust", "love", "lick", "pinch", bite", "touch" -- desire is the guiding force as the figures trapped inside the product's bar code move mechanically toward physical consummation. Of particular note is the product's multi-faceted relationship to desire: it subsumes desire, stimulates it, provides a forum and means for its expression, and is the device securing its culmination ... the ad text is ambiguous as to which is controlling. This is a definitive "postmodern ad", pregnant with shifting perspective, situational action, oppositional signs and interpretive possibilities. The kind of text so-called "cultural studies" intends by the term "polysemy" (the notion that multiple meanings are contained in any sign -- see Fiske). In the case of desire, postmodern ads tell us not that desire is multiple. Rather, it is a singular (i.e. universally experienced) condition which may be differentially manifested and variously interpretable vis-à-vis singular object/products. Object-Induced Desire For instance, in this ad, again for instant noodles, two salarymen contemplate the statement "this summer's new product is stimulating". Each conjures a different image of just what "stimulating" means. For the younger man, a veritable deluge of sexual adoration; for his elder, an assault by a gang of femmes toughs. And while the latter man's fantasy would not qualify as the conventional definition of "desire", the former would. Thus, despite its polysemic trappings, the ad varies little from the standard approach outlined at the outset (plates 1 and 2). It posits that the product possesses sufficient power to stimulate desire for its consumer in external, unrelated others. Object-Directed Desire One of sociology's earliest complaints about capitalism was its reduction of people to the status of things. Social relations became instrumental acts aimed at achieving rational ends; the personalities, thoughts and qualities of those human agents engaged in the exchange become secondary to the sought good. Advertising, according to early semiotic critiques (see for instance Williamson), has only intensified this predilection, though in a different way. Ads instrumentalise by creating equality between the product presented and the person doing the presenting. When the presenter and product are conflated -- as in the case where a major star clasps the product to her bosom and addresses the camera with: "it's my Nice Once" (the product name) -- the objectification of the human subject may be unavoidable. The material and corporeal meld. She cherishes the drink. If we desire her (her status, her style, her actual physical being) but are realistic (and thus willing to settle for a substitute) ... we can settle for the simulation (her drink). This kind of vicarious taking, this symbolic sharing is common in advertising. Played out over and over the audience quickly learns to draw an equal sign between the two depicted objects (product and star). Purchasing one enables us to realise our desire (however incompletely) for the other. Sometimes the product and person are separated, but in a way that the discourse is about longing. The product is consumed because the human can't be -- perhaps a less satisfactory substitute, but a replacement, nonetheless. Or, as in the ad below, the two might be interchangeable. Interior. Bright yellow room without any discernible features. No walls, windows or furniture. Tight shot of black fishnet stockings, barely covered by a yellow dress. The legs swivel in a chair, allowing a fleeting shot of the model's crotch. Cut to a darkened interior. The product sits next to a set of wrenches. Cut back to first interior. Medium tight of the model's bare shoulders. She spins in her chair. Cut to the mechanic working on the engine of a car. Female voiceover: "Hey! Work AGAIN? ... Let's play!" Cut to tight shot of her pursed lips. "Hey! ... let's go for a drive", accompanying consecutive shots of the mechanic wiping sweat from his brow and the vamp's derriere. Next, a sequence of fast, tight images: mechanic revving the engine, the model's face, then her upper body viewed through heavily-ventilated apparel. "Oh", she says, "cars are cuter, huh?" The mechanic pauses to consider. Walks over to the product, pops the top. "When it comes to that sort of man..." her VO says as he gulps the drink, "women are suckers". Tight on woman's face: "(he's a) rake", she pouts. To better appreciate this endemic correspondence between objectification and desire, consider this ad for a car named "Rosso" ("red" in Italian, "aka" in Japanese). The model, "Anna", is tinted head to toe in red (red, of course, being the universal signifier for passion and desire)4. She and/or the car rouse enough passion in a male by-stander to literally make his blood boil. This, in turn, produces steam which, in turn, sends air current of sufficient force to propel Anna's skirt skyward. This, in turn, converts the man's face into an embarrassed and/or impassioned red. "Rosso!" he gushes enthusiastically -- reference to car, his condition, Anna and, presumably, her panties5. Thus, the desire for things -- people included -- is by no means disappearing in Japanese advertising. The name of the game is still to sell that which has been produced. Although Japanese ads have moved toward a decentring of product -- an introduction of consumption-least discourse, with a concomitant increase in popular cultural and societal content -- the great majority still speak in the language of "here it is, buy it!" The prevailing tenor is still object-oriented. And the spill-over, as we just saw, is a tendency to depict humans and their interactions in objectified terms. A recent ad, for the discount store LLAOX, is rather stark in this regard. A young man displays photos of the many items (guitars, television, appliances) he found at LLAOX. In the final shot, of an attractive woman standing in front of the items, he proudly boasts: "I found her at LLAOX, too!" Subject-Oriented Desire Like ads in other countries, then, Japanese ads tend to place the object ahead of the subject. Desire for the person depicted in the ad is either ancillary to the desire expressed for the product, or else exists as a function of the subject's objectified status. However, an accreting number of Japanese ads have begun orienting desire toward one or both of the subjects in the ad, over or independent of the object for sale. A man and woman in their early thirties sit at a table sipping whiskey. The woman leans toward the man and in a perky voice utters: "Hey, let's turn in soon." The man protests, pointing to the drink: "we haven't finished this, yet." The woman tilts her head. She insists "let's head home." Then in a conspiratorial undertone "it's that day" and winks. The man's elbow falls off the tabletop. The woman blows him a kiss. Cut to a cat hiding beneath one of his paws in embarrassment. (Source: Nikka All Malt Whiskey -- Japan, 1993) Admittedly, not all ad discourse involves desire. But of late considerable ad space has been devoted to human relations and longing6. Consider this promo for a health drink. A man stands on his verandah in his t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He looks groggy. Cut to a young woman watering her plants on the adjacent porch. "Hey!" she coos to her bushes, "are you lively?" She tends the pots along the centre divider. Is she addressing her foliage or the young man on the other side? He cranes his neck to steal a peek. She seems unaware. He lays his head on his forearms, admiring her. Cut to a shot of her regarding the product; drinking it; savouring the taste. The text reads: "With Lactia you will bloom beautifully." The woman enthuses audibly: "happiness!" Her voyeur, still in thrall, emits a sigh, suddenly straightens and declares aloud (in English): "Nice!" The previous two examples feature desire by adults. Considerable contemporary desire-centred discourse, however, focuses on teens. In these cases the product is sometimes introduced as a symbol for desire -- as in this case of a potato chip which snaps crisply each time a boy's romantic advance is repelled. A boy and girl walk along a boardwalk. The boy tentatively reaches for his partner's hand. Just then an approaching bicyclist toots his horn and cleaves a path between the two. A superimposed chip snaps. Next, seated on the shoreline, the boy reaches out again. Suddenly, a wind-blown ball rolls past, prompting his intended to abruptly vacate her position. He is left, literally clutching air. Another chip snaps again. The boy reaches out to touch the girl's handprint in the sand. He utters "I like you". The girl turns and asks "what did you say?" He impotently shrugs "nothing at all." Cut to a box of the chips. This youthful obsession with desire plays prominently in ads. First, because it fits well with the "mini-drama" format currently favoured in Japanese advertising. Second, because it is an effective technique for capturing viewer interest. The emotional tugs keep the audience attending to the ad beyond the first viewing. In the following ad, while desire for the product is the punch line, the entire ad is structured around unrequited desire. The confusion of the former for the latter not only redounds to product value, but predisposes the audience toward empathy and engagement. A teenage girl in her plaid uniform steers her bike into its berth outside school. Her voiceover identifies the bike name, shows how one touch locks the wheel in place and the seat in the vertical position. "Oh!" a quavering male voice utters off camera. "Can I ask name?" Japanese being a language that often operates without articles and pronouns, we aren't sure which name he means. Quick zoom in on the girl's expectant expression. "Eh?" she asks breathlessly. Her narration stops, her heart soars, glowing a vibrant red over her white sweater. "The bike's name", her interlocutor clarifies. All at once, the throbbing red heart is extinguished, fading to a black circular smudge. Her expectant smile dissolves into disappointment. Not all scenarios are downers, however. In the following case the product is a prop -- at best an accoutrement -- in the teenage game of expressing desire. A spry girl pours hot water into two cups. Off camera an older female voice asks whether she isn't supposed to be resting. "Don't worry about it", the girl replies. Cut to exterior shot. She's wearing a short coat, backing through the front door with the two cups in her hands. Cut to an angled reaction shot: a handsome boy leans across his bike, placing a letter in the post. He holds the letter up. "This", he says. Cut to the girl, now leaning against the entryway of the building, sipping her drink. Haltingly, in a breathy voice, she utters: "To... tomorrow... would have been... okay. But..." Japanese being the language of implication we read this as "it's fine the way it is working out." With the girl in the foreground, we see the boy leaning against the entryway on the opposite side contemplating his drink. Cut to a long angled shot from high above. The two teens sup in the cool evening air, alone, intimate, yet separated by the building's bright entrance. The narrator closes with a message about the nutritional value of the drink -- wholly unrelated to the unequivocal web of intimacy spun by these two youths. This ad offers us a perfect take on how desire is constructed and reproduced in contemporary ads in Japan. A perfect place for us to close. Evolving Desire? Desire is not new to advertising, but the form in which it is currently being expressed is. In Japan, at least, where commercials strive for polysemy in the volatile, evanescent and ultimately quixotic struggle for audience attention, communication is increasingly about things unrelated to the product. High on the list are affection, intimacy and sexuality -- aspects of human existence which bear considerable connection to desire. Reproduced in a variety of forms, played out in an array of contexts, by a variety of demographic "types", such commercial communications have the effect of centralising desire as a major theme in contemporary Japanese society7. The increase in so-called "secondary discourse"8 about human longing is palpable. But what to make of it? Clear explanations lie in "social evolution" -- factors such as: Japan's remarkable achievement of its postwar economic goals; its subsequent economic meltdown and accreting political malaise; the dramatic decline in corporate loyalty; disintegration of the family; increased urbanisation, atomisation and anomie; the stratification of generations and economic classes; increased materialism and attention to status; the concomitant loss of a personal raison d'être and collective moral beacon. In fact, all the reasons that Emile Durkheim diagnosed in fin de siècle France in inventing the discipline of sociology and Murakami Ryu has recently discerned a century later in fin de siècle Japan. Desire is a manifestation of social breakdown, as well as a plea for its resolution. As we enter a new century -- indeed a new millenium -- it is an empirical question worth monitoring whether the Japanese obsession with desire will continue to swell. Footnotes 1. Although the claims in this paper are qualitative, rather than quantitative, without question it is true that both men and women in Japanese television advertising are depicted as desiring. In this way, one could claim that desire exists independent of gender in ads. At the same time, it is almost certain that desire is often depicted as being manifested differentially by men and women. However, as one can infer from the data below, this is not always so (viz. "True Love"). Moreover, while women (or men) might more often fit one or another of the constructs below (i.e. object-mediated, object-induced, object-directed, subject-oriented) than their opposite number, cases can generally be found in which both (male and female) are depicted desiring in each of the stated relationships. 1. Thinking of this (fire-desire) symbol-set generally (and this ad specifically), one is reminded of the Springsteen lyric: At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head; Only you can cool my desire. I'm on fire. -- Bruce Springsteen: "I'm on Fire" (1984) Reminding one of the lyric by Shocking Blue from their decade-spanning Number 1 single (1970 by the Dutch band as well as the 1986 cover version by Bananarama): I'm your Venus, I'm your fire at your desire. If not the Earth, Wind and Fire phrasing from "That's the Way of the World" (1975): Hearts of fire, creates love desire... Of course, the fire/desire combo might also have become a universal association due to the easy opportunity (at least in English) to commit a rhyme (no matter how cloddish). 2. It has yet to be determined that desire is a cultural universal. However, the universal presence and relatively uniform logic of the "machinery of capitalism" (a major aspect of which is advertising) certainly serves as a powerful prod. That machinery overlaps culture and tends to act on it in relatively similar ways (one of which may just be the discourse about desire). This, of course, makes no claims about universal outcomes. I have addressed the interaction of capitalism and context and the themes of global/local, homogeneity/heterogeneity, universal/particular in a series of articles concerning information transfer, body, color, and advertising form in comparative context. Please see my home page for references to and greater detail on this work. 3. Regarding red as signifier, see Branston & Stafford (7). Also see my work on color universals ("The Color of Meaning") and culture-specific colour conventions ("The Color of Difference"). 4. Support for this interpretation can be found in other ads, as ideas and practices in Japanese advertising tend to travel in twos or threes. During this same period, Suzuki Move placed Leonardo DiCaprio behind the wheel. As he tooled around the city, his accelleration was such as to raise the skirts of two by-standers. DiCaprio promptly braked, placed the car in reverse, rolled astride the two women, and impishly pointing at each, identified the shade of underpants ("white and strawberry") they were sporting. 5. And let me reiterate: All such depictions are exclusively about sexual/emotional longing between men and women. 6. As I am mainly working with Japanese data in this article, I feel comfortable only seeking to draw conclusions about Japanese society. Certainly, one could fathom conducting the same sort of analysis and arriving at the same general conclusions about other postmodern, capitalist, commercial-centred, consumer-oriented societies. 7. The word is O'Barr's. It bears considerable similarity to Barthes's "second order signification". Plates 1 Caliente perfume (USA, 1994) 9 Georgia canned coffee (Japan, 1999) 2 Old Spice cologne (USA, 1994) 10 Rosso (Japan, 1998) 3 Coke (Australia, 1994) 11 LLAOX (Japan, 1999) 4 Dashing cologne (Malaysia, 1997) 12 Lactia (Japan, 1997) 5 Cup Noodles (Japan, 1998) 13 5/8 and 3/5 Chips (Japan, 1993) 6 Cup Noodles (Japan, 1998) 14 Gachyarinko (Japan, 1999) 7 Nescafe Excella (ice coffee; Japan, 1999) 15 Hotpo (health drink; Japan 1999) 8 Various ads References Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Jonathan Cape, 1972 (1957). Branston, G., and R. Stafford. The Media Student's Book. London: Routledge, 1996. Fiske, John. Television Culture. London: Methuen, 1987. Holden, Todd. "The Color of Meaning: The Significance of Black and White in Television Commercials." Interdisciplinary Information Sciences 3.2 (1997): 125-146. ---. "The Color of Difference: Critiquing Cultural Convergence via Television Advertising" Interdisciplinary Information Sciences 5.1 (1999): 15-36. O'Barr. Culture and the Ad: Exploring Otherness in the World of Advertising. Boulder, Co.: Westview Press, 1994. Williamson, Judith. Decoding Advertisements: Ideology and Meaning in Advertising. London: Marion Boyers, 1979. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Todd Joseph Miles Holden. "The Evolution of Desire in Advertising: From Object-Obsession to Subject-Affection." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.5 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/adverts.php>. Chicago style: Todd Joseph Miles Holden, "The Evolution of Desire in Advertising: From Object-Obsession to Subject-Affection," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 5 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/adverts.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Todd Joseph Miles Holden. (1999) The evolution of desire in advertising: from object-obsession to subject-affection. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(5). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/adverts.php> ([your date of access]).

IntroductionI stumble to my feet breathing heavily and, over the roar of a tank, a nearby soldier yells right into my face: “We’re surrounded! We have to hold this line!” I follow him, moving past burning debris and wounded men being helped walk back in the opposite direction. Shells explode around me, a whistle sounds, and then the Hun attack; shadowy figures that I fire upon as they approach through the battlefield fog and smoke. I shoot some. I take cover behind walls as others fire back. I reload the weapon. I am hit by incoming fire, and a red damage indicator appears onscreen, so I move to a better cover position. As I am hit again and again, the image becomes blurry and appears as if in slow-motion, the sound also becoming muffled. As an enemy wielding a flame-thrower appears and blasts me with thick fire, my avatar gasps and collapses. The screen fades to black.So far, so very normal in the World War One themed first-person shooter Battlefield 1 (Electronic Arts 2016). But then the game does something unanticipated. I expect to reappear—or respawn—in the same scenario to play better, to stay in the fight longer. Instead, the camera view switches to an external position, craning upwards cinematically from my character’s dying body. Text superimposed over the view indicates the minimalist epitaph: “Harvey Nottoway 1889-1918.” The camera view then races backwards, high over the battlefield and finally settles into position behind a mounted machine-gun further back from the frontline as the enemy advances closer. Immediately I commence shooting, mowing down German troops as they enter our trenches. Soon I am hit and knocked away from the machine-gun. Picking up a shotgun I start shooting the enemy at close-quarters, until I am once again overrun and my character collapses. Now the onscreen text states I was playing as “Dean Stevenson 1899-1918.”I have attempted this prologue to the Battlefield 1 campaign a number of times. No matter how skilfully I play, or how effectively I simply run away and hide from the combat, this pattern continues: the structure of the game forces the player’s avatar to be repeatedly killed in order for the narrative to progress. Over a series of player deaths, respawning as an entirely new character each time, the combat grows in ferocity and the music also becomes increasingly frenetic. The fighting turns to hand-to-hand combat, or shovel-to-head combat to be more precise, and eventually an artillery barrage wipes everybody out (Figure 1). At this point, the prologue is complete and the gamer may continue in a variety of single-player episodes in different theatres of WW1, each of which is structured according to the normal rules of combat games: when your avatar is killed, you respawn at the most recent checkpoint for a follow-up attempt.What are we to make of this alternative narrative structure deployed by the opening episode of Battlefield 1? In contrast to the normal video-game affordances of re-playability until completion, this narrative necessitation of death is in some ways motivated by the onscreen text that introduces the prologue: “What follows is frontline combat. You are not expected to survive.” Certainly it is true that the rest of the game (either single-player or in its online multiplayer deathmatch mode) follows the predictable pattern of dying, replaying, completing. And also we would not expect Battlefield 1 to be motivated primarily by a kind of historical fidelity given that an earlier instalment in the series, Battlefield 1942 (2002) was described by one reviewer as:a comic book version of WWII. The fact that any player can casually hop into a tank, drive around, hop out and pick off an enemy soldier with a sniper rifle, hop into a plane, parachute out, and then call in artillery fire (within the span of a few minutes) should tell you a lot about the game. (Osborne)However what is happening in this will-to-die structure of the game’s prologue represents an alternative and affectively unsettling game experience both in its ludological structure as well as its affective impact. Defamiliarization and Humanization Drawing upon a phenomenology of game-play, whereby the scholar examines the game “as played” (see Atkins and Kryzwinska; Keogh; Wilson) to consider how the text reveals itself to the player, I argue that the introductory single-player episode of Battlefield 1 functions to create a defamiliarizing effect on the player. Defamiliarization, the Russian Formalist term for the effect created by art when some unusual aspect of a text challenges accepted perceptions and/or representations (Schklovski; Thompson), is a remarkably common effect created by the techniques used in combat cinema and video-games. This is unsurprising. After all, warfare is one of the very examples Schklovski uses as something that audiences have developed habituated responses to and which artworks must defamiliarize. The effect may be created by many techniques in a text, and in certain cases a work may defamiliarize even its own form. For instance, recent work on the violence in Saving Private Ryan shows that during the lengthy Omaha Beach sequence, the most vivid instances of violence—including the famous shot of a soldier picking up his dismembered arm—occur well after the audience has potentially become inured to the onslaught of the earlier frequent, but less graphic, carnage (Bender Film Style and WW2). To make these moments stand out with equivalent horrific impact against the background of the Normandy beach bloodbath Spielberg also treats them with a stuttered frame effect and accompanying audio distortion, motivated (to use a related Formalist term) by the character’s apparent concussion and temporary disorientation. Effectively a sequence of point of view shots then, this moment in Private Ryan has become a model for many other war texts, and indeed the player’s death in the opening sequence of Battlefield 1 is portrayed using a very similar (though not identical) audio-visual treatment (Figure 2).Although the Formalists never played videogames, recent scholarship has approached the medium from a similar perspective. For example, Brendan Keogh has focused on the challenges to traditional videogame pleasure generated by the 2012 dystopian shooter Spec Ops: The Line. Keogh notes that the game developers intended to create displeasure and “[forcing] the player to consider what is obscured in the pixilation of war” by, for instance, having them kill fellow American troops in order for the game narrative to continue (Keogh 9). In addition, the game openly taunts the player’s expectations of entertainment based, uncritical run-and-gun gameplay with onscreen text during level loading periods such as “Do you feel like a hero yet?” (8).These kinds of challenges to the expectations of entertainment in combat shooters are found also in one sequence from the 2009 game Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 in which the player—as an undercover operative—is forced to participate in a terrorist attack in which civilians are killed (Figure 3). While playing that level, titled “No Russian,” Timothy Welsh argues: “The player may shoot the unarmed civilians or not; the level still creeps slowly forward regardless” (Welsh 409). In Welsh’s analysis, this level emerges as an unusual attempt by a popular video game to “humanize” the non-playing characters that are ordinarily gunned down without any critical and self-reflective thought by the player in most shooter games. The player is forced into a scenario in which they must make a highly difficult ethical choice, but the game will show civilians being killed either way.In contrast to the usual criticisms of violent video games—eg., that they may be held responsible for school shootings, increased adolescent aggression and so on —the “No Russian” sequence drew dramatic complaints of being a “terrorist simulator” (Welsh 389). But for Welsh this ethical choice facing the player, to shoot or not to shoot civilians, raises the game to a textual experience offering self-inspection. As in the fictional theme park of Westworld (HBO 2016), it does not really matter to the digital victim if a player kills them, but it should—and does—matter to the player. There are no external consequences to killing a computer game character composed only of pixels, or killing/raping a robot in the Westworld theme park, however there are internal consequences: it makes you a killer, or a rapist (see Harris and Bloom).Thus, from the perspective of defamiliarization, the game can be regarded as creating the effect that Matthew Payne has labelled “critical displeasure.” Writing about the way this is created by Spec Ops, Payne argues that:the result is a game that wields its affective distance as a critique of the necessary illusion that all military shooters trade in, but one that so few acknowledge. In particular, the game’s brutal mise-en-scène, its intertextual references to other war media, and its real and imagined opportunities for player choice, create a discordant feeling that lays bare the ease with which most video war games indulge in their power fantasies. (Payne 270)There is then, a minor tradition of alternative military-themed video game works that attempt to invite or enable the player to conduct a kind of ethical self-examination around their engagement with interactive representations of war via particular incursions of realism. The critical displeasure invoked by texts such as Spec Ops and the “No Russian” level of Call of Duty is particularly interesting in light of another military game that was ultimately cancelled by the publisher after it received public criticism. Titled Six Days in Fallujah, the game was developed with the participation of Marines who had fought in that real life battle and aimed to depict the events as they unfolded in 2004 during the campaign in Iraq. As Justin Rashid argues:the controversy that arose around Six Days in Fallujah was, of course, a result of the view that commercial video games can only ever be pure entertainment; games do not have the authority or credibility to be part of a serious debate. (Rashid 17)On this basis, perhaps a criterial attribute of an acceptable alternative military game is that there is enough familiarity to evoke some critical distance, but not too much familiarity that the player must think about legitimately real-life consequences and impact. After all, Call of Duty was a successful release, even amid the controversy of “No Russian.” This makes sense as the level does not really challenge the overall enjoyment of the game. The novelty of the level, on the one hand, is that it is merely one part of the general narrative and cannot be regarded as representative of the whole game experience. On the other hand, because none of the events and scenarios have a clear indexical relationship to real-world terrorist attacks (at least prior to the Brussels attack in 2016) it is easy to play the ethical choice of shooting or not shooting civilians as a mental exercise rather than a reflection on something that really happened. This is the same lesson learned by the developers of the 2010 game Medal of Honor who ultimately changed the name of the enemy soldiers from “The Taliban” to “OPFOR” (standing in for a generic “Opposing Forces”) after facing pressure from the US and UK Military who claimed that the multiplayer capacities of the game enabled players to play as the Taliban (see Rashid). Conclusion: Affective Friction in Battlefield 1In important ways then, these game experiences are precursors to Battlefield 1’s single player prologue. However, the latter does not attempt a wholesale deconstruction of the genre—as does Spec Ops—or represent an attempt to humanise (or perhaps re-humanise) the non-playable victim characters as Welsh suggests “No Russian” attempts to do. Battlefield 1’s opening structure of death-and-respawn-as-different-character can be read as humanizing the player’s avatar. But most importantly, I take Battlefield’s initially unusual gameplay as an aesthetic attempt to set a particular tone to the game. Motivated by the general cultural attitude of deferential respect for the Great War, Battlefield 1 takes an almost austere stance toward the violence depicted, paradoxically even as this impact is muted in the later gameplay structured according to normal multiplayer deathmatch rules of run-and-gun killing. The futility implied by the player’s constant dying is clearly motivated by an attempt at realism as one of the cultural memories of World War One is the sheer likelihood of being killed, whether as a frontline soldier or a citizen of a country engaged in combat (see Kramer). For Battlefield 1, the repeated dying is really part of the text’s aesthetic engagement. For this reason I prefer the term affective friction rather than critical displeasure. The austere tone of the game is indicated early, just prior to the prologue gameplay with onscreen text that reads:Battlefield 1 is based on events that unfolded over 100 years agoMore than 60 million soldiers fought in “The War to End All Wars”It ended nothing.Yet it changed the world forever. At a simple level, the player’s experience of being killed in order for the next part of the narrative to progress evokes this sense of futility. There have been real responses indicating this, for instance one reviewer argues that the structure is “a powerful treatment” (Howley). But there is potential for increased engagement with the game itself as the structure breaks the replay-cycle of usual games. For instance, another reviewer responds to the overall single-player campaign by suggesting “It is not something you can sit down and play through and not experience on a higher level than just clicking a mouse and tapping a keyboard” (Simpson). This affective friction amplifies, and draws attention to, the other advances in violent stylistics presented in the game. For instance, although the standard onscreen visual distortions are used to show character damage and the direction from which the attack came, the game does use slow-motion to draw out the character’s death. In addition, the game features incidental battlefield details of shell-shock, such as soldiers simply holding the head in their hands, frozen as the battle rages around them (Figure 4). The presence of flame-thrower troops, and subsequently the depictions of characters running as they burn to death are also significant developments in violent aesthetics from earlier games. These elements of violence are constitutive of the affective friction. We may marvel at the technical achievement of such real-time rendering of dynamic fire and the artistic care given to animate deaths and shell-shock depictions. But simultaneously, these “violent delights”—to borrow from Westworld’s citation of Shakespeare—are innovations upon the depictions of earlier games, even contemporary, combat games. Indeed, one critic has almost ashamedly noted: “For a game about one of the most horrific wars in human history, it sure is pretty” (Kain).These violent depictions show a continuation in the tradition of increased detail which has been linked to a model of “reported realism” as a means of understanding audience’s claims of realism in combat films and modern videogames as a result primarily of their hypersaturated audio-visual texture (Bender "Blood Splats"). Here, saturation refers not to the specific technical quality of colour saturation but to the densely layered audio-visual structure often found in contemporary films and videogames. For example, thick mixing of soundtracks, details of gore, and nuanced movements (particularly of dying characters) all contribute to a hypersaturated aesthetic which tends to prompt audiences to make claims of realism for a combat text regardless of whether or not these viewers/players have any real world referent for comparison. Of course, there are likely to be players who will simply blast through any shooter game, giving no regard to the critical displeasure offered by Spec Ops narrative choices or the ethical dilemma of “No Russian.” There are also likely to be players who bypass the single-player campaign altogether and only bother with the multiplayer deathmatch experience, which functions in the same way as it does in other shooter games, including the previous Battlefield games. But perhaps the value of this game’s attempt at alternative storytelling, with its emphasis on tone and affect, is that even the “kill-em-all” player may experience a momentary impact from the violence depicted. This is particularly important given that, to borrow from Stephanie Fisher’s argument in regard to WW2 games, many young people encounter the history of warfare through such popular videogames (Fisher). In the centenary period of World War One, especially in Australia amid the present Anzac commemorative moment, the opportunity for young audiences to engage with the significance of the events. As a side-note, the later part of the single-player campaign even has a Gallipoli sequence, though the narrative of this component is designed as an action-hero adventure. Indeed, this is one example of how the alternative dying-to-continue structure of the prologue creates an affective friction against the normal gameplay and narratives that feature in the rest of the text. The ambivalent ways in which this unsettling opening scenario impacts on the remainder of the game-play, including for instance its depiction of PTSD, is illustrated by some industry reviewers. As one reviewer argues, the game does generate the feeling that “war isn’t fun — except when it is” (Plante). From this view, the cognitive challenge created by the will to die in the prologue creates an affective friction with the normalised entertainment inherent in the game’s multiplayer run-and-gun components that dominate the rest of Battlefield 1’s experience. Therefore, although Battlefield 1 ultimately proves to be an entertainment-oriented combat shooter, it is significant that the developers of this major commercial production decided to include an experimental structure to the prologue as a way of generating tone and affect in a fresh way. ReferencesAtkins, Barry, and Tanya Kryzwinska. "Introduction: Videogame, Player, Text." Videogame, Player, Text. Eds. Atkins, Barry and Tanya Kryzwinska. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007.Bender, Stuart Marshall. "Blood Splats and Bodily Collapse: Reported Realism and the Perception of Violence in Combat Films and Videogames." Projections 8.2 (2014): 1-25.Bender, Stuart Marshall. Film Style and the World War II Combat Film. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013.Fisher, Stephanie. "The Best Possible Story? Learning about WWII from FPS Video Games." Guns, Grenades, and Grunts: First-Person Shooter Games. Eds. Gerald A. Voorhees, Josh Call and Katie Whitlock. New York: Continuum, 2012. 299-318.Harris, Sam, and Paul Bloom. "Waking Up with Sam Harris #56 – Abusing Dolores." Sam Harris 12 Dec. 2016. Howley, Daniel. "Review: Beautiful Battlefield 1 Gives the War to End All Wars Its Due Respect." Yahoo! 2016. Kain, Erik. "'Battlefield 1' Is Stunningly Beautiful on PC." Forbes 2016.Keogh, Brendan. Spec Ops: The Line's Conventional Subversion of the Military Shooter. Paper presented at DiGRA 2013: Defragging Game Studies.Kramer, Alan. Dynamic of Destruction: Culture and Mass Killing in the First World War. UK: Oxford University Press, 2007. Osborne, Scott. "Battlefield 1942 Review." Gamesport 2002. Payne, Matthew Thomas. "War Bytes: The Critique of Militainment in Spec Ops: The Line." Critical Studies in Media Communication 31.4 (2014): 265-82. Plante, Chris. "Battlefield 1 Is Excellent Because the Series Has Stopped Trying to Be Call of Duty." The Verge 2016. Rashid, Justin. Terrorism in Video Games and the Storytelling War against Extremism. Paper presented at Hawaii International Conference on Arts and Humanities, 9-12 Jan. 2011.Schklovski, Viktor. "Sterne's Tristram Shandy: Stylistic Commentary." Trans. Lee T. Lemon and Marion J. Reis. Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1965. 25-60.Simpson, Campbell. "Battlefield 1 Isn't a Game: It's a History Lesson." Kotaku 2016. Thompson, Kristin. Breaking the Glass Armor: Neoformalist Film Analysis. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1988. Welsh, Timothy. "Face to Face: Humanizing the Digital Display in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2." Guns, Grenade, and Grunts: First-Person Shooter Games. Eds. Gerald A. Voorhees, Josh. Call, and Katie Whitlock. New York: Continuum, 2012. 389-414. Wilson, Jason Anthony. "Gameplay and the Aesthetics of Intimacy." PhD diss. Brisbane: Griffith University, 2007.

IntroductionThis paper addresses two separate notions of embodiment – western maternal embodiment and art making as a form of embodied critical resistance. It takes as its subject breeder; my unpublished five minute video installation from 2012, which synthesises these two separate conceptual framings of embodiment as a means to visually and conceptually rupture dominant ideologies surrounding Australian motherhood. Emerging from a paradoxical landscape of fear, loathing and desire, breeder is my dark satirical take on ambivalent myths surrounding suburban Australian motherhood. Portraying my white, heavily pregnant body breeding, cooking and consuming pink, sugar-coated butterflies, breeder renders literal the Australian mother as both idealised nation-builder and vilified, self-indulgent abuser. A feminine reification of Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Children, breeder attempts to make visible my own grapplings with maternal ambivalence, to complicate even further, the already strained position of motherhood within the Australian cultural imaginary. Employing the mediums of video and performance to visually manifest an ambivalent protagonist who displays both nurturing maternal ideals and murderous inclinations, breeder pushes contradictory maternal expectations to their breaking point and challengingly offers the following proposition: “This is what you want; but what you’ll get is so much more than you bargained for” (Grosz 136). Drawing upon critical, feminist theorising that challenges idealised views of motherhood; accounts of motherhood by mothers themselves; as well as my own personal grapplings with maternal expectations, this paper weaves reflexive writing with textual analysis to explore how an art-based methodology of embodied critical resistance can problematise representations of motherhood within Australia. By visualising the disjuncture between dominant representations of motherhood that have saturated Australian mainstream media since the late 1990s and the complex ambivalent reality of some women’s actual experiences of mothering, this paper discusses how breeder’s intimate portrayal of maternal domesticity at the limits of tolerability, critically resists socially acceptable mothering practices by satirising the cultural construct of motherhood as a means “to use it, deform it, and make it groan and protest” (Nietzsche qtd. in Gutting).Contradictory Maternal KnowledgeImages of motherhood are all around us; communicating ideals and stereotypes that tell us how mothers should feel, think and act. But these images and the concepts of motherhood that underpin them are full of contradictions. Cultural representations of the idealised and sometimes “yummy mummy” - middle class, attractive, healthy, sexy and heterosexual – (see Fraser; Johnson), contrast with depictions of “bad” mothers, leading to motherhood being simultaneously idealised and demonised within the popular press (Bullen et al.; McRobbie, Top Girls; McRobbie, In the Aftermath; McRobbie, Reflections on Feminism; Walkerdine et al.). Mothers own accounts of motherhood reflect these unsettling contradictions (Miller; Thomson et al.; Wilkinson). Claiming the maternal experience is both “heaven and hell” due to the daily experience of irreconcilable and contradictory feelings (Coward), mothers (myself included), silently struggle between feelings of extreme love and opposing feelings of failure, despair and hate as we get caught up in trying to achieve a set of ideals that promulgate standards of perfection that are beyond our reach. Surrounded by images of motherhood that do not resonate with the contradictory nature of the lived maternal experience, mothers are “torn in two” as we desperately try to reconcile or find absolution for maternal emotions that dominant cultural representations of motherhood render unacceptable. According to Roszika Parker, this complicated and contradictory experience where a mother has both loving and hating feelings for her child is that of maternal ambivalence; a form of exquisite suffering that oscillates between the overwhelming affect of blissful gratification and the raw edges of bitter resentment (Parker 1). As Parker states, maternal ambivalence refers to:Those fleeting (or not so fleeting) feelings of hatred for a child that can grip a mother, the moment of recoil from a much loved body, the desire to abandon, to smash the untouched plate of food in a toddler’s face, to yank a child’s arm while crossing the road, scrub too hard with a face cloth, change the lock on an adolescent or the fantasy of hurling a howling baby out of the window (5).However, it is not only feelings of hatred that stir up ambivalence in the mother, so too can the overwhelming intensity of love itself render the rush of ambivalence so surprising and so painful. Commenting on the extreme contradictory emotions that fill a mother and how not only excessive hatred, but excessive love can turn dangerously fatal, Parker turns to Simone De Beauvoir’s idea of “carnal plenitude”; that is, where the child elicits from the mother, the emotion of domination; where the child becomes the “other” who is both prey and double (30). For Parker, De Beauvoir’s “carnal plenitude” is imaged by mothers in a myriad of ways, from a desire to gobble up the child, to feelings of wanting to gather the child into a fatal smothering hug. Commenting on her own unsettling love/hate relationship with her child, Adrienne Rich describes her experiences of maternal ambivalences as “the murderous alternation between bitter resentment and raw-edged nerves and blissful gratification and tenderness” (363). Unable to come to terms with this paradox at the core of the unfolding process of motherhood, our culture defends itself against this illogical ambivalence in the mother by separating the good nurturing mother from the bad neglectful mother in an attempt to deny the fact that they are one and the same. Resulting in a culture that either denigrates or idealises mothers, we are constantly presented with images of the good perfect nurturing mother and her murderous alter ego; the bad fatal mother who neglects and smothers. This means that how a mother feels about mothering or the meaning it has for her, is heavily determined by cultural representations of motherhood. Arguing for a creative transformation of the maternal that breaches the mutual exclusivities that separate motherhood, I am called to action by Susan Rubin Suleiman, who writes (quoting psychoanalyst Helene Deutsch): “Mothers don’t write, they are written” (Suleiman 5). As a visual attempt to negotiate, translate and thus “write” my lived experience of Australian motherhood, breeder gives voice to the raw material of contradictory (and often taboo experiences) surrounding maternal embodiment and subjectivity. Hijacking and redeploying contradictory understandings and representations of Australian motherhood to push maternal ideals to their breaking point, breeder seeks to create a kind of “mother trouble” that challenges the disjuncture between dominant social constructions of motherhood designed to keep us assigned to our proper place. Viscerally embracing the reality that much of life with small children revolves around loss of control and disintegration of physical boundaries, breeder visually explores the complex and contradictory performances surrounding lived experiences of mothering within Australia to complicate even further the already strained position of western maternal embodiment.Situated Maternal KnowledgeOver the last decade and a half, women’s bodies and their capacity to reproduce have become centre stage in the unfolding drama of Australian economic policy. In 1999 fears surrounding dwindling birth-rates and less future tax revenue, led then Victorian Premier Jeff Kennett to address a number of exclusive private girls’ schools. Making Australia-wide headlines, Kennett urged these affluent young women to abandon their desire for a university degree and instead invited them to consider motherhood as the ultimate career choice (Dever). In 2004, John Howard’s Liberal government made headlines as they announced the new maternity allowance; a $3000 lump-sum financial incentive for women to leave work and have babies. Ending this announcement by urging the assembled gathering of mostly male reporters to go home and have “one for the Dad, one for the Mum and one for the Country” (Baird and Cutcher 103), Federal Treasurer Peter Costello made a last ditch effort to save Baby Boomers from their imminent pensionless doom. Failing to come to terms with the impending saturation of the retirement market without the appropriate tax payer support, the Liberal Government turned baby-making into the ultimate Patriotic act as they saw in women bodies, the key to prevent Australia’s looming economic crisis. However, not all women’s bodies were considered up to the job of producing the longed for “Good tax-paying Citizen” (Tyler). Kennett only visited exclusive private girls’ schools (Ferrier), headhunting only the highest calibre of affluent breeders. Blue-collar inter-mingling was to be adamantly discouraged. Costello’s 2004 “baby bonus” catch-cry not only caused international ire, but also implicitly relegated the duty of child-bearing patriotism to a normalised heterosexual, nuclear family milieu. Unwed or lesbian mothers need not apply. Finally, as government spokespeople repeatedly proclaimed that the new maternity allowance was not income tested, this suggested that the target nation-builder breeder demographic was the higher than average income earner. Let’s get it straight people – only highly skilled, high IQ’s, heterosexual, wedded, young, white women were required in this exclusive breeding program (see Allen and Osgood; Skeggs; Tyler). And if the point hadn’t already been made perfectly clear, newspaper tabloids, talkback radio and current affairs programs all over the country were recruited to make sure the public knew exactly what type of mother Australia was looking for. Out of control young, jobless single mothers hit the headlines as fears abounded that they were breeding into oblivion. An inherently selfish and narcissistic lot, you could be forgiven for thinking that Australia was running rampant with so-called bogan single mothers, who left their babies trapped in hot airless cars in casino carparks all over the country as they spent their multiple “baby bonus’” on booze, ciggies, LCD’s and gambling (see Milne; O’Connor; Simpson and Dowling). Sucking the economy dry as they leeched good tax-payer dollars from Centrelink, these undesirables were the mothers Australia neither needed nor wanted. Producing offspring relegated to the category of bludgerhood before they could even crawl, these mothers became the punching bag for the Australian cultural imaginary as newspaper headlines screamed “Thou Shalt Not Breed” (Gordon). Seen as the embodiment of horror regarding the ever out-of-control nature of women’s bodies, these undesirable mothers materialised out of a socio-political landscape that although idealised women’s bodies as Australia’s economic saviour, also feared their inability to be managed and contained. Hoarding their capacity to reproduce for their own selfish narcissistic desires, these white trash mothers became the horror par excellence within the Australian cultural imaginary as they were publically regarded as the vilified evil alter-ego of the good, respectable white affluent young mother Australian policy makers were after. Forums all over the country were inundated. “Yes,” the dominant voices seemed to proclaim: “We want to build our population. We need more tax-paying citizens. But we only want white, self-less, nurturing, affluent mothers. We want women who can breed us moral upstanding subjects. We do not want lazy good for nothing moochers.” Emerging from this paradoxical maternal landscape of fear, loathing and desire, breeder is a visual and performative manifestation of my own inability to come to terms with the idealisation and denigration of motherhood within Australia. Involving a profound recognition that the personal is still the political, I not only attempt to visually trace the relationship between popular Australian cultural formations and individual experiences, but also to visually “write” my own embodied grapplings with maternal ambivalence. Following the premise that “critique without resistance is empty and resistance without critique is blind” (Hoy 6), I find art practice to be a critically situated and embodied act that can openly resist the power of dominant ideologies by highlighting maternal corporeal transgressions. A creative destablising action, I utilise the mediums of video and performance within breeder to explore personal, historical and culturally situated expectations of motherhood within Australia as a means to subvert dominant ideologies of motherhood within the Australian cultural imaginary. Performing Maternal KnowledgeReworking Goya’s Romantic Gothic vision of fatherhood in Saturn Devouring His Children, breeder is a five minute two-screen video performance that puts an ironic twist to the “good” and “bad” myths of Australian motherhood. Depicting myself as the young white heavily pregnant protagonist breeding monarch butterflies in my suburban backyard, sugar-coating, cooking and then eating them, breeder uses an exaggerated kitsch aesthetic to render literal the Australian mother as both idealistic nation-builder and self-indulgent abuser. Selfishly hoarding my breeding potential for myself, luxuriating and devouring my “offspring” for my own pleasure and delight rather than for the common good, breeder simultaneously defies and is complicit with motherhood expectations within the suburban Australian imaginary. Filmed in my backyard in the southern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia, breeder manifests my own maternal ambivalence and deliberately complicates the dichotomous and strained position motherhood holds in western society. Breeder is presented as a two screen video installation. The left screen is a fast-paced, brightly coloured, jump-cut narrative with a pregnant protagonist (myself). It has three main scenes or settings: garden, kitchen and terrace. The right screen is a slow-moving flow of images that shows the entire monarch butterfly breeding cycle in detail; close ups of eggs slowly turning into caterpillars, caterpillars creating cocoons and the gradual opening of wings as butterflies emerge from cocoons. All the while, the metamorphic cycle is aided by the pregnant protagonist, who cares for them until she sets them free of their breeding cage. In the left screen, apricot roses, orange trees, yellow hibiscus bushes, lush green lawns, a swimming pool and an Aussie backyard garden shed are glimpsed as the pregnant protagonist runs, jumps and sneaks up on butterflies while brandishing a red-handled butterfly net; dressed in red high heels and a white lace frock. Bunnies with pink bows jump, dogs in pink collars bark and a very young boy dressed in a navy-blue sailor suit all make cameo appearances as large monarch butterflies are collected and placed inside a child’s cherry red insect container. In a jump-cut transition, the female protagonist appears in a stark white kitchen; now dressed in a bright pink and apricot floral apron and baby-pink hair ribbon tied in a bow in her blonde ponytail. Standing behind the kitchen bench, she carefully measures sugar into a bowl. She then adds pink food colouring into the crystal white sugar, turning it into a bright pink concoction. Cracking eggs and separating them, she whisks the egg whites to form soft marshmallow peaks. Dipping a paint brush into the egg whites, she paints the fluffy mixture onto the butterflies (now dead), which are laid out on a well-used metal biscuit tray. Using her fingers to sprinkle the bright pink sugar concoction onto the butterflies, she then places them into the oven to bake and stands back with a smile. In the third and final scene, the female protagonist sits down at a table in a garden terrace in front of French-styled doors. Set for high tea with an antique floral tea pot and cup, lace table cloth and petit fours, she pours herself a cup of tea. Adding a teaspoon of sugar, she stirs and then selects a strawberry tart from a three-tiered high-tea stand that holds brightly iced cupcakes, cherry friands, tiny lemon meringue pies, sweet little strawberry tarts and pink sugar coated butterflies. Munching her way through tarts, pies, friands and cupcakes, she finally licks her lips and fuchsia tipped fingers and then carefully chooses a pink sugar coated butterfly. Close ups of her crimson coated mouth show her licking the pink sugar-crumbs from lips and fingers as she silently devours the butterfly. Leaning back in chair, she smiles, then picks up a pink leather bound book and relaxes as she begins to read herself into the afternoon. Screen fades to black. ConclusionAs a mother I am all fragmented, contradictory; full of ambivalence, love, guilt and shame. After seventeen years and five children, you would think that I would be used to this space. Instead, it is a space that I battle to come to terms with each and every day. So how to strategically negotiate engrained codes of maternity and embrace the complexities of embodied maternal knowledge? Indeed, how to speak of the difficulties and incomparable beauties of the maternal without having those variously inflected and complex experiences turn into clichés of what enduring motherhood is supposed to be? Visually and performatively grappling with my own fallout from mothering ideals and expectations where sometimes all I feel I am left with is “a monster of selfishness and intolerance” (Rich 363), breeder materialises my own experiences with maternal ambivalence and my inability to reconcile or negotiate multiple contradictory identities into a single maternal position. Ashamed of my self, my body, my obsessions, my anger, my hatred, my rage, my laughter, my sorrow and most of all my oscillation between a complete and utter desire to kill each and every one of my children and an overwhelming desire to gobble them all up, I make art work that is embedded in the grime and grittiness of my everyday life as a young mother living in the southern suburbs of Western Australia. A life that is most often mundane, sometimes sad, embarrassing, rude and occasionally heartbreaking. A life filled with such simple joy and such complicated sorrow. A life that in reality, is anything but manageable and contained. Although this is my experience, I know that I am not the only one. As an artist I engage in the embodied and critically resistant practice of sampling from my “mother” identities in order to bring out multiple, conflictive responses that provocatively encourage new ways of thinking and acknowledging embodied maternal knowledge. Although claims abound that this results in a practice that is “too personal” or “too specific” (Liss xv), I do not believe that this in fact risks reifying essentialism. Despite much feminist debate over the years regarding essentialist/social constructivist positions, I would still rather use my body as a site of embodied knowledge then rhetorically give it up. Acting as a disruption and challenge to the concepts of idealised or denigrated maternal embodiment, the images and performances of motherhood in breeder then, are more than simple acknowledgements of the reality of the good and bad mother, or acts reclaiming an identity that they taught me to despise (Cliff) or rebelling against having to be a "woman" at all. Instead, breeder is a lucid and explicit declaration of intent that politely refuses to keep every maternal body in its place.References Allen, Kim, and Jane Osgood. “Young Women Negotiating Maternal Subjectivities: The Significance of Social Class.” Studies in the Maternal. 1.2 (2009). 30 July 2012 ‹www.mamsie.bbk.ac.uk›.Almond, Barbara. The Monster Within. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011.Baird, Marian, and Leanne Cutcher. “’One for the Father, One for the Mother and One for the Country': An Examination of the Construction of Motherhood through the Prism of Paid Maternity Leave.” Hecate 31.2 (2005): 103-113. 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