Artigos de revistas: "Sex differences – social aspects – great britain"

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Spasovski, Milena, e Danica Santic. "Development of population geography from antropogeography to spatial-analitical approach". Stanovnistvo 51, n.º 2 (2013): 1–22. http://dx.doi.org/10.2298/stnv1302001s.

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Population geography is a subdiscipline of Human geography and studies the distribution, concentration and density of population over the terestrial surface, as well as differences in population size, changes and characteristics, like structures, migrations, activity etc, among some places present compared to others. Population geography has had a perscientific stage as long as human history. First modern scientific treatis of population in geography was the F. Ratzels book Antropogeography in 1882. During the first half of the XX century, French geographer Vidal de la Blanche gave a capital importance of population studies in his work Principes de Geographie Humaine. In interwar years, various aspects of population were studied. After The Second World War started the renovating movement of geography and new tendencies appear in human geography and, consequently in population geography. Attempts were made to define population geography as a separate sub-discipline. The world wide trend of treating population geography as separate discipline was expressed by publishing monographs, bibliographies and textbooks. The most significant authors who worked on defining population geography were French geographers P. George (1951, 1959), Beaujen-Garnier (1965, 1966); North-american geographers: G. Trewarta (1953, 1969), W. Bunge (1962), J. Clance (1965, 1971), W. Zelinski (1966); in Great Britain: J.I. Clarke (1965); in USSR: Ju.G. Sauskin i D.N. Anucin (1950), V.V. Poksisevskij (1966), D.I. Valentej (1973); in Poland V. Ormotski (1931), L. Kosinski (1967) A. Jagelski (1980). Those authors and their works had the significant influence on the development of population science in the world and also in Serbia. Although the development of population geography was different in different countries and scientific research centers, we can clearly defined four stages. First stage lasted untill 1960s and was characterised by works of G.Trewarta, H. Doerres Ju.G. Sauskin, D.N. Anucin, J. Beaujeu-Gariner. G. Trewarta argued that the population is the point of reference from which all other elements are observed and from which all derive significance and meaning. This view was adopted and shared by authors dealing with population items, explicitly or implicitly. Second stage lasted from 1960s till 1970s and the most significant authors dealing with population problems were W. Zelinsky, W. Bunge; H.Bobek, W. Hartke, K.Ruppert, F.Schaffer; D.I. Valentej, K.Korcak. This phase was characterized by the application of quantitative methods and efforts for understanding the spatial structure of the population. Many scientists see this development phase as a particularly prosperous period, because it carried more intensive relations of geography and demography through the introduction of statistical, mathematical and demographic methods and techniques in studies of population geography. Third phase lasted from 1970s to 1980s, and was characterized by close relations between population geography and formal demography. Development and application of GIS and computer data, have made population studies more complex and applicable in practice, through population policy and population projections. The most significant authors in this period were L. Kosinski, A. Jagelski, H?gerstrand. And at last, fourth stage started in 1980s and in many countries lastes untill present days. In population geography appeared new tendencies associated with the critique of positivism, the establishment of humanistic approaches and modifications of general geographic concepts. In this period, spatial analysis and quantitative scientific methods were reaffirmed, and because of that some population studies were redefined in spatial demography, a time dimension advocated in historical demography. In this context, we emphasize the work of D. Plane and P. Rogerson. Population geography is viewed differently from one country to another. Its definition differs from too narrow to overly broad. But two research areas were of particular interest to geographers - population distribution and migration. Both items acquired an international dimension. Recently, eminent population geographers exchanged various view points in an attempt to provoke new thinking on subject and define the answers of new fields research in population geography. Population geography in the XXI Century is no longer a field comprised of spatial applications of fertility, mortality and migration only. Contemporary population geography is theoretically sophisticated, integrating spatial analysis, GIS and geo-referenced data. Future progress in the field of population geography will derive from more research at the intersections of population processes and societal issues and concerns. Major themes of future empirical researches in population geography should be: global population growth, studies of migration, transnationalism, human security issues, population-health-environment nexus, human-environment sustainability, economic development and poverty issues.

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Stewart-Williams, Steve, e Lewis G. Halsey. "Men, women and STEM: Why the differences and what should be done?" European Journal of Personality 35, n.º 1 (janeiro de 2021): 3–39. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0890207020962326.

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It is a well-known and widely lamented fact that men outnumber women in a number of fields in STEM (science, technology, engineering and maths). The most commonly discussed explanations for the gender gaps are discrimination and socialization, and the most common policy prescriptions target those ostensible causes. However, a great deal of evidence in the behavioural sciences suggests that discrimination and socialization are only part of the story. The purpose of this paper is to highlight other aspects of the story: aspects that are commonly overlooked or downplayed. More precisely, the paper has two main aims. The first is to examine the evidence that factors other than workplace discrimination contribute to the gender gaps in STEM. These include relatively large average sex differences in career and lifestyle preferences, and relatively small average differences in cognitive aptitudes – some favouring males, others favouring females – which are associated with progressively larger differences the further above the average one looks. The second aim is to examine the evidence suggesting that these sex differences are not purely a product of social factors but also have a substantial biological (i.e. inherited) component. A more complete picture of the causes of the unequal sex ratios in STEM may productively inform policy discussions.

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Espinoza, Francisco, Alys Young e Claire Dodds. "Political participation among deaf youth in Great Britain". PLOS ONE 19, n.º 4 (4 de abril de 2024): e0301053. http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0301053.

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Variations in political participation are linked to demographic factors, socioeconomic disparities, and cultural-ethnic diversity. Existing research has primarily explored reduced political involvement among individuals with disabilities, particularly in electoral politics. However, little research has attended the involvement of deaf people specifically. This is of interest because deaf youth are at an intersection of disability, language and cultural identity with their language affiliations and rejection or acceptance of disability evolving through childhood. This study draws from original data collected via an online survey, comprising 163 deaf young respondents aged 16-19 in Great Britain. We compare their levels of political participation with those of general population peers to explore how sociodemographic factors, alongside variations in self-identification as deaf, and meaningful interactions with other deaf people contribute to explain their political engagement. The results challenge conventional wisdom by demonstrating that deaf youth participate more actively in politics than their hearing peers in various forms of political involvement, including collective, contact, and institutional activism. We also recognize differences among deaf youth and propose that social aspects of identity formation, particularly embracing a deaf identity and having deaf friends, can boost certain forms of political engagement. In summary, this study underscores the importance of acknowledging the diversity of deaf youth in terms of affiliation with various forms of deaf identity, rendering their experience different from both disabled and hearing youth. By identifying the factors driving heightened political participation, policymakers and advocates can develop strategies to enhance political engagement among all young people, regardless of their hearing status.

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BROESE van GROENOU, MARJOLEIN, KAREN GLASER, CECILIA TOMASSINI e THÉRÈSE JACOBS. "Socio-economic status differences in older people's use of informal and formal help: a comparison of four European countries". Ageing and Society 26, n.º 5 (1 de agosto de 2006): 745–66. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0144686x06005241.

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This study investigates the variations by older people's socio-economic status (SES) (i.e. educational level and social class) in the use of informal and formal help from outside the household in Great Britain, Italy, Belgium and The Netherlands. In all these countries, it was older people in low SES groups who mostly used such help. Multinomial logistic regression analyses showed that, in each country and for both types of help, there were SES gradients in the utilisation of both formal and informal care, and that differences in age, health and marital status largely accounted for the former but not the latter. Cross-national differences in the use of both informal and formal help remained when variations in sex, age, SES, health, marital status, home ownership and the use of privately-paid help were taken into account. Significant interaction effects were found, which indicated that older people in low SES groups in Great Britain and The Netherlands had higher odds of using informal help from outside the household than their counterparts in Italy, and similarly that those in The Netherlands were more likely to use formal help than their Italian peers. The results are discussed in relation to the cultural differences and variations in the availability of formal services among the countries.

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Marques, Iuri, Sarah Caroline Willis, Ellen Ingrid Schafheutle e Karen Hassell. "Development of an instrument to measure organisational culture in community pharmacies in Great Britain". Journal of Health Organization and Management 32, n.º 2 (9 de abril de 2018): 176–89. http://dx.doi.org/10.1108/jhom-06-2017-0131.

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Purpose Organisational culture (OC) shapes individuals’ perceptions and experiences of work. However, no instrument capable of measuring specific aspects of OC in community pharmacy exists. The purpose of this paper is to report the development and validation of an instrument to measure OC in community pharmacy in Great Britain (GB), and conduct a preliminary analysis of data collected using it. Design/methodology/approach Instrument development comprised three stages: Stage I: 12 qualitative interviews and relevant literature informed instrument design; Stage II: 30 cognitive interviews assessed content validity; and Stage III: a cross-sectional survey mailed to 1,000 community pharmacists in GB, with factor analysis for instrument validation. Statistical analysis investigated how community pharmacists perceived OC in their place of work. Findings Factor analysis produced an instrument containing 60 items across five OC dimensions – business and work configuration, social relationships, personal and professional development, skills utilisation, and environment and structures. Internal reliability for the dimensions was high (0.84 to 0.95); item-total correlations were adequate (r=0.46 to r=0.76). Based on 209 responses, analysis suggests different OCs in community pharmacy, with some community pharmacists viewing the environment in which they worked as having a higher frequency of aspects related to patient contact and safety than others. Since these aspects are important for providing high healthcare standards, it is likely that differences in OC may be linked to different healthcare outcomes. Originality/value This newly developed and validated instrument to measure OC in community pharmacy can be used to benchmark existing OC across different pharmacies and design interventions for triggering change to improve outcomes for community pharmacists and patients.

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Žygaitienė, Birutė, e Evelina Buivydaitė. "A Teacher of Technological Education in Lithuania, Great Britain and Finland. What is She Like?" Pedagogika 129, n.º 1 (25 de abril de 2018): 268–85. http://dx.doi.org/10.15823/p.2018.18.

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The aim of the article is to compare the curricular of technology education and requirements for a technology education teacher in the analysed countries. The following conclusions have been made: 1. The conceptions of technological education in Lithuania, Great Britain and Finland are closely related to the aspects of integrity with other study subjects and the aim to prepare learners for successful adaptation in society. During lessons of technologies in Lithuania the modules of nutrition, textile, constructive materials, electronics and design are learnt. The lessons of design and technologies in Great Britain include innovative project learning of digital and engineering technologies and school learners study textile, constructive materials, design and nutrition. During lessons of household economics in Finland, personal school learners’ qualities are developed while learning modules of nutrition and textile, whereas the subject-specific content of household economics is not emphasised. The aspect of technology modules is highlighted in the lessons of technologies and design and technologies, whereas that of social education is observed in household economics. 2. The requirements imposed on teachers of technological education in the analysed countries include excellent subject-specific, pedagogical and psychological preparation, ability to help school students to build up their value-based attitudes on the basis of the personal value system of an educator and ability to cooperate and work in teams. The research revealed the following differences: Finnish teachers are required to creatively implement curriculum, to be able to ensure tolerance-based education in the multicultural environment and to develop school students’ entrepreneurship skills; implementation of scientific research activities in the process of education and integration of information communication technologies are important to Finnish and Lithuanian teachers. The requirements to teachers in Great Britain are similar to those imposed on teachers in the other analysed countries.

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Jeder, Daniela. "Pedagogy of diversity in teacher training". Journal of Education, Society & Multiculturalism 3, n.º 2 (1 de dezembro de 2022): 236–43. http://dx.doi.org/10.2478/jesm-2022-0029.

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Abstract The present work outlines a series of arguments that support the need for awareness and involvement of teacher trainers in the development of competences for diversity from the stage of initial training. The work also proposes an analysis of knowledge, skills, attitudes of a cognitive, social, emotional nature, self-knowledge capacities, ethical values, etc. as structured ensembles that can be dynamically trained for the purpose of training and developing the competences for diversity of teachers. A sequential presentation of the Professional Standards for teachers from Romania, Great Britain, Australia and France from the perspective of diversity and inclusion offers some benchmarks for an educational practice that promotes equal opportunities for education and development of all children, regardless of differences in the socio-economic status, language, culture/personality, race/ethnicity, religion, abilities or disabilities, learning styles, aspects of personality etc. that differentiate them.

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PROTASOV, ANDREI D., ELENA S. STARODUBTSEVA, GABRIEL A. MOSHLYAK e ALEXANDER V. ZHESTKOV. "CONTEMPORARY GLOBAL TRENDS IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF HIGHER MEDICAL EDUCATION IN THE USA, GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND CHINA". Bulletin of Contemporary Clinical Medicine 16, n.º 5 (outubro de 2023): 127–35. http://dx.doi.org/10.20969/vskm.2023.16(5).127-135.

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Introduction. Higher medical education is one of the most sought-after and elite degrees worldwide. Systems of higher medical education differ from country to country, although they have certain features in common. Core differences are as follows: Training duration at various stages, contents of educational programs, learning technologies, etc. Much attention is paid to physicians training, which is determined by the high social significance of medical education. Aim: To provide an overview of the contemporary global trends in the development of higher medical education in the USA, Great Britain, France, and China. Materials and Methods. World literature was analyzed on trends in the development of higher medical education. Results and Discussion. Development of the healthcare system in the UK requires an integrated approach that considers various aspects in higher medical education, personnel policy, and workplace management. French healthcare system is experiencing various problems, such as the affordability of medical services and staffing shortages in remote regions. The Government of France shall continue to invest in healthcare and address the challenges to ensure universal access to quality medical services, including through its higher education system. US medical education keeps pace with the challenges healthcare systems are facing in the 21st century. To address today’s challenges, US medical education is taking a more interdisciplinary and inclusive approach, focusing on public health, interdisciplinary teamwork, and community-based training. Chinese medical universities pay more attention to practical skills and to integrating various disciplines in training, which allows graduates to be the best medical experts able to solve complex practical problems. Conclusions. Global trends identified herein in the development of higher medical education in the USA, Great Britain, France, and China require reflection, while the best practices should be introduced into the Russian system of higher education. However, approaches to be implemented should be first adapted to the historical, cultural, social, geographical, political, and other realities of Russia.

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Pless, Ivan B., Christine Power e Catherine S. Peckham. "Long-term Psychosocial Sequelae of Chronic Physical Disorders in Childhood". Pediatrics 91, n.º 6 (1 de junho de 1993): 1131–36. http://dx.doi.org/10.1542/peds.91.6.1131.

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Objective. This study was designed to examine the long-term psychosocial sequelae of chronic physical disorders that begin during childhood. Design. We analyzed data from a national birth cohort. 12 537 children were followed until age 23 years—76% of all born in Britain during one week in 1958. Of these, 1667 had a chronic disorder before age 16 and 1279 were included in the 23-year follow-up. Measures. Outcome measures included self-reported psychological disturbances between ages 16 and 23, scores on the Malaise Inventory, social class, educational qualifications, unemployment, and social activities. Results. The total cumulative incidence rate before 16 years was 109.5 per 1000. Demographic comparisons showed that the group with chronic physical disorders was similar to those free of chronic disorders in all respects except the sex ratio. Men with chronic physical disorders had significantly higher relative risks for abnormal scores on the Malaise Inventory (1.52, confidence interval [C]]1.13, 2.05); specialist psychological care (1.43, CI 1.00, 2.03); poor educational qualifications (1.26, CI 1.08, 1.47); periods of unemployment (1.20, CI 1.03, 1.41); and less social drinking (1.36, CI 1.15, 1.60). In contrast, women only had a significantly elevated risk for having seen a mental health specialist (1.32, CI 1.02, 1.71). Among the men some of the risks were further elevated for those in specific diagnostic groups. These findings are examined in the light of postulates about the impact of chronic physical disorders as a whole and in an attempt to explain the striking sex differences. For clinicians they provide further reason to justify concern about the psychosocial aspects of care for children with chronic disorders.

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Sage, Lucas, Marco Albertini e Stefani Scherer. "The spreading of SARS-CoV-2: Interage contacts and networks degree distribution". PLOS ONE 16, n.º 8 (25 de agosto de 2021): e0256036. http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0256036.

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Notable cross-country differences exist in the diffusion of the Covid-19 and in its lethality. Contact patterns in populations, and in particular intergenerational contacts, have been argued to be responsible for the most vulnerable, the elderly, getting infected more often and thus driving up mortality in some context, like in the southern European one. This paper asks a simple question: is it between whom contacts occur that matters or is it simply how many contacts people have? Due to the high number of confounding factors, it is extremely difficult to empirically assess the impact of single network features separately. This is why we rely on a simulation exercise in which we counterfactually manipulate single aspects of countries’ age distribution and network structures. We disentangle the contributions of the kind and of the number of contacts while holding constant the age structure. More precisely, we isolate the respective effects of inter-age contact patterns, degree distribution and clustering on the virus propagation across age groups. We use survey data on face-to-face contacts for Great Britain, Italy, and Germany, to reconstruct networks that mirror empirical contact patterns in these three countries. It turns out that the number of social contacts (degree distribution) largely accounts for the higher infection rates of the elderly in the Italian context, while differences in inter-age contacts patterns are only responsible for minor differences. This suggests that policies specifically targeting inter-age contacts would be little effective.

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Daston, Lorraine. "The Naturalized Female Intellect". Science in Context 5, n.º 2 (1992): 209–35. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s0269889700001162.

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The ArgumentNaturalization confers authority on beliefs, conventions, and claims, but what kind of authority? Because the meaning of nature has a history, so does that of naturalization:naturalization is not the same tactic when marshaled in, say, eighteenth-century France and in late nineteenth-century Britain. Although the authority of nature may be invoked in both cases, the import of that authority depends crucially on whether nature is understood normatively or descriptively, within the framework of the natural laws of jurisprudence or within that of the natural laws of mechanics. During the early modern period, the denotative center of gravity of the word “nature” shifted dramatically. Writings about the female intellect are particularly well suited to reflect and focus these changes for three reasons: first, as with so many aspects of gender identity, what was distinctively female about women's way of thinking was usually alleged to be part and parcel of their “nature”; second, thepolitical and social implications of the female intellect were debated heatedly and in unprecedented detail, particularly in France; and third, the actual content of beliefs about what traits sex the intellect as female remained relatively constant during this period, despite sharp differences of opinion over their putative “natural” causes. The female intellect was naturalized not once but repeatedly, and therein lies its value for a history of naturalization.

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Alieva, Liudmila V., Lidia V. Antonova e Tatiana G. Khrishkevich. "Contemporary historiography on the phenomenon of the social cohesion in the period of the Second World War". Journal of the Belarusian State University. History, n.º 4 (31 de outubro de 2019): 7–16. http://dx.doi.org/10.33581/2520-6338-2019-4-7-16.

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The historiography of World War II is one of the most extensive research topics in historical science. Over the years, a comprehensive study of the military, political and economic history of wartime has been conducted. Particular attention during recent decades has been given to the social aspects of the war. However, the topic of social cohesion in the warring countries remains insufficiently analyzed. Thus, the main objective of the article is to analyze the current state of research on social cohesion in the context of World War II in contemporary British, German and Russian historical literature. The present study of the reflection of cohesion problems in Soviet Union, Great Britain and Germany during World War II is based on the principles of a new interdisciplinary branch of social science – anthropology of war. It integrates the achievements, subject areas and research tools of history, sociology, military psychology, cultural studies, pedagogy, medicine and other disciplines that study the existence of people and society at large in wartime conditions. A comparative analysis of the chosen historiography shows that at the present stage there is a commonality of approaches among historians related to interest in certain personalities, everyday life during World War II and war’s gender dimension. The differences in assessments and methods are determined by the role and place of a particular state in the military-political confrontation as well as by prevailing historiographical paradigms. In any case, the theme of social cohesion was not adequately reflected in these studies. In conclusion, the authors note the research potential of analyzing the problems of social cohesion during World War II.

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Taras, Maria Antonietta, e Alessandra Pellegrini. "Sex/Gender Psychological Differences in the Adult Diabetic Patient and How a Child’s Response to Chronic Disease Varies with Age and Can Be Influenced by Technology". Diabetology 2, n.º 4 (1 de novembro de 2021): 215–25. http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/diabetology2040019.

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Chronic diseases have a negative impact on quality of life and perceived well-being. Depression tends to be more frequent in people with chronic diseases than the general population, and, for example, in diabetes, it has an incidence of two to three times higher and often remains under-diagnosed. The inability to control and predict the course of the disease exposes chronic patients to mood fluctuations which are often difficult to manage, also in virtue of the fact that in any chronic pathology a stabilization aimed at attenuating the symptoms or slowing the course is pursued, but it cannot tend to achieve complete healing. This fact of incurability for many subjects means the loss of control over their own body, in which the social and family role is also perceived as compromised and the experienced distress can result in the appearance of underlying disorders, both psychological or psychiatric. In this area, there is currently a great deal of focus on sex/gender differences. The aim of this article is to highlight these differences with regard to the emotional aspects that most affect the management of diabetic pathology. In this paper, we will underline a particularly underestimated eating disorder: diabulimia, then that the perception of itself is not only related to the sex assigned at birth, but also to the gender that is acquired during life, and we will also analyze the three phases related to the acquisition of gender identity during the evolutionary period. Finally, we will talk about the use of technology in diabetic patients (insulin pumps, continuous glucose monitoring variably integrated into each other) that might generate a series of psychological–behavioral reactions related to the integration between technology and body image and the experience of social acceptance of the individual, particularly in the evolution age.

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Stezhenskaya, Lidiya. "Protestant Missionary Accounts of Chinese Secret Societies in the Beginning of the 19th Century". Vostok. Afro-aziatskie obshchestva: istoriia i sovremennost, n.º 2 (2023): 215. http://dx.doi.org/10.31857/s086919080024726-5.

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The paper examines the earliest information by Europeans concerning activities of the secret societies–traditional public organizations that have played a significant role in history of China and continues to be a phenomenon of public life in China and abroad. By analogy with the “colonial school” of the studies of secret societies in China, it is proposed to single out the earliest period of the Protestant historiography of secret societies, tentatively designating it as a “missionary school” of William Milne and Robert Morrison. Amendments are done to the available bio-bibliographic data on Milne’s publications in The Indo-Chinese Gleaner. The authorship and time of the reports on secret societies in China delivered by R. Morrison at the Royal Asiatic Society are clarified. Milne’s reports indicated that the secret societies were anti-government, and some of them were anti-Qing. However, he did not notice the slogans for the restoration of the late Chinese Ming dynasty. The purpose of the destruction of the Qing dynasty is directly expressed in the materials of R. Morrison, which also talked about the hope for help from the spirits of the Ming emperors. It is noted that the ‘Mason paradigm’ of the study of secret societies proposed by W. Milne was based on the similarity of some formal aspects in their activities with the practice of the Freemason Society in Great Britain. At the same time, W. Milne pointed out the differences in the social status and social role of such societies in Europe and in China.

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Krivokapic, Z., e R. Sapic. "Characteristics of Sexual Functioning of Alcoholics". European Psychiatry 24, S1 (janeiro de 2009): 1. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/s0924-9338(09)70688-1.

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Consequences of the alcohol illness are evident on psychic, physical and social plan. Sexual behaviour is also changed. Our research aimed at complex recognition of sexual functioning, usual behaviour in all revealing spheres, normal aspects: dreams, imagining, masturbation, foreplay, coitus and sexual attitudes. 200 persons were sample in this research: 100 alcohol addicts and 100 persons of the control group. Following results were obtained:•dreams of sexual contents are rare both with addicts and other population, but significantly larger percent of alcoholics has “wet or orgasmic” dreams,•day-dreaming is less noticed with alcoholics, meaning that the need for raising sexual vigilance is reduced,•alcoholics masturbate more, they start to masturbate in later stage,•addicts rarely have foreplay and its duration is shorter, as a consequence of disturbed intimacy and impossibility of total harmony and exchange with a partner,•alcoholics have less sexual intercourses and feel different during them•there are no great differences in opinions about sex,•structural personal characteristics also have effect on sexual behaviour and alcoholism. Alcoholics have certain personal characteristics that clearly define them and which, because of their nature, influence addiction development and sexual behaviour.We can conclude from the research that a tendency in behaviour is evidenced, and for which can be said that it is "pattern of sexual functioning of alcoholics". Except difficulties in genital response, "pattern" refers to emotional component, meaning closeness or a level of intimacy with partner, as well as modification of "normal” sexual aspects.

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Topolewski, Łukasz, e Kamila Topolewska. "Standard of living in European Union countries". Ekonomia i Prawo 22, n.º 2 (30 de junho de 2023): 369–83. http://dx.doi.org/10.12775/eip.2023.021.

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Motivation: Researchers have been concerned with the issues related to the differences among economies for many years. The level of differentiation is an important matter as excessive economic and social differences among the states may lead to limited scope of integration processes, which in turn determine the development rate of regions. Due to how significant this issue is, it was decided that the level differentiation of the standard of living of the population in selected European Union countries ought to be investigated.Aim: The purpose of the article is to compare the standard of living in the countries of the European Union, with particular emphasis placed on the countries that joined the Union in 2004. The authors try to answer the question whether the economic policy pursued by the EU achieves the intended effect. A synthetic measure was constructed to measure the standard of living, taking into account various aspects of life. The time scope of the study covers the period of 2005–2020. The choice of a specific time frame was dictated by the expansion of the number of European Union members in 2004 and the availability of data. Therefore, the analysis covered the countries of the European Union post 2005 (excluding Great Britain). Data were obtained from Eurostat.Results: Taking into account the values of the synthetic variable, it may be claimed that one the one hand, the standard of living in the countries is increasing, and on the other hand, the disparity between countries is decreasing. Therefore it should be noticed, that the economic policy pursued by the European Union achieves the intended effect.

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Järvstad, Kristin. "Kristevas teorier i en återvändsgränd". Tidskrift för genusvetenskap 15, n.º 1 (21 de junho de 2022): 56–64. http://dx.doi.org/10.55870/tgv.v15i1.4930.

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Julia Kristeva has been ver)' populär in the Scandinavian countries among feminist literary critics because of her subverting the essentialist definitions of woman by talking about 'the feminine', not as related to sex but as a linguistically and psychoanalytically founded term. But what is she actually saying about woman as a temporal and social being, the kind of being feminists are dealing with? And where in her theories floes the woman author fit in? In spite of woman's closeness to the semiotic and revolutionary aspects of language, due to her marginalized position in the phallocentric structure, she suffers from great difflculties, even psychically threatening ones according to Kristeva, when exploring this kind of language in her writing. The first article of some length which Kristeva has written about a female author cleai ly discloses an ambivalent stance: when discussing Duras she finds that Duras' language is not able to transcend her depressive melancholia in the way Dostoievski's is. On the whole, niale authors are able to use the semiotic aspects of language and tum it into an artistic ttiumph whereas women authors, like Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath and Maria Tsvetaeva, grapple with their mothers and thence are threatened by either madness or suicide. This is in accordance with Kristeva's view of the mother/- daughter-relationship where separation is all but impossible, whereas the little boy is taught to look upon himself as a distinct and separate being. According to Kristeva, woman is able to express herself mainly through her body, especially through her pregnancies, but this only leaves her where she was positioned long ago, as the sacred object of procreation. Kristeva is critical to feminism in many respects and therefore introduces an alternative of her own, namely tlie so called 'third generation' of feminism. As a solution to what she terms 'the war of the sexes' and the implacable difference that separates them. Kristeva proposes a deconstruction of the subject, down to its very nucleus, but in doing so removes ever\' trace of a politically and socially anchored feminism. The problem also is that the acomplishments of the former generations of feminism vanish. And what is the starting point of feminism once we have been told that the sexual differences belong to metaphysics, as Kristeva claims? After having left feminism with this ultimate deconstruction, there is hardly any possibilitiy of construction: the subversion of Kristeva's has been too thoroughgoing.

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Numgaudienė, Ariana, e Birutė Žygaitienė. "Content Analysis of Technology Teacher Training Programmes of Some European Countries". Pedagogika 113, n.º 1 (5 de março de 2014): 112–22. http://dx.doi.org/10.15823/p.2014.1755.

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The article deals with the problems of designing and updating study programmes during the integration process of the Lithuanian education system into the European education space. After the substantial change of general programmes of Basic education(2008) and Secondary education (2011) and seeking to fully involve self-development of general cultural, subject specific, generic and specific competencies which are necessary for teachers, it is important to update the study programmes.The problem of the research: what content of technology teacher training programme should be from the innovations point of view in order to meet the expectations of the changing society.The object of the research: the innovative content of the technology teacher training programme.The aim of the research: to highlight the innovative aspects of the content of technology teacher training programmes, having performed content analysis of technology teacher training programmes of the universities of Lithuania and some European countries.Research methods:analysis of scientific literature, analysis of the programmes of universities of some European countries which provide training for technology teachers as well as the analysis of the legal acts and strategic education policy documents of the European Union and the Republic of Lithuania.Updating of the study programme of technological education is a permanent process, which is conditioned by the following factors: market economy and the needs of information society, the fact that higher education is becoming mass, penetration of humanistic ideas into the content of education as well as the valid unified study quality assessment policy in the European Union.Taking into account the recommendations of the international experts’ group and considering international changes of analogous study programmes, the Committee of Technology Pedagogics Study Programmes of Lithuanian University of Educational Sciences in cooperation with the social partners carried out a research of opinions of students, graduates, university lecturers and employers on the study quality.They also performed a comprehensive analysis of the Bachelor’s degree study programmes of some Western European universities. The analysis revealed that theoretical models of study programmes design of different European universities have similarities and differences, which are determined by the philosophical aspect, humanistic ideas and the context of the national education policy. In the research the experience of five universities from the innovations point of view was used: the University of Helsinki (Finland), Queen Margaret University, Edinburgh (Great Britain), the Polytechnic Institute of Tomar (Portugal), and the University of Iceland.The following elective subjects have been included in the study programme of technology pedagogics: pedagogical ethics, sustainable development and social welfare, educational creative projects, family health education, health promoting nutrition education, visualization of technology education, eco creations, national and global food culture, interior design, technology education for special needs students, art therapy, development of leadership competencies, formation of study archives. The hidden curriculum of the study programme of technology pedagogics is ethnic culture, ecology, project activities.

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Szadziewska, Arleta, e Halina Waniak-Michalak. "Editorial". Zeszyty Teoretyczne Rachunkowości 109, n.º 165 (29 de outubro de 2020): 7–10. http://dx.doi.org/10.5604/01.3001.0014.4338.

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We would like to present to you a thematic issue of “Zeszyty Teoretyczne Rachun-kowości” no. 109 (165) – (ZTR, “The Theoretical Journal of Accounting”), in English entitled Accounting as a source of financial and non-financial information. It is the second volume of our journal to be guest-edited by a foreign editor – Dr. Fredrik Karlsson (Linnaeus University, Sweden). The purpose of this issue of ZTR is to indicate the directions in the evolution of accounting theory and practice, in particular, with regard to corporate reporting, which constitutes the basis for assessing the effectiveness of an enterprise’s opera-tions. The articles submitted for publication raise important issues regarding the re-porting of financial and non-financial information that is requisite for the develop-ment of trust-based relationships with the stakeholders of companies operating on the market. Due to the lack of unified applicable non-financial reporting standards in corporate reporting, the provision of reliable and useful information on the environ-mental and social aspects of functioning presents a huge challenge. It is connected with adjusting the accounting systems that entities use in order to obtain a reliable picture of the impact of their economic activity on the environment. We believe that the articles presented in this volume will contribute to a better un-derstanding of the challenges accounting faces in the new, dynamically changing reality. We tried to involve scientists from various countries in the discussion on the directions in the evolution of accounting theory and practice. By accepting for publi-cation ten articles that have received positive reviews, we believe that we have succeeded in our attempt. The Authors of the works come from research centers in seven European and South American countries, such as Chile, Croatia, Italy, Lithuania, Poland, the UK, and Ukraine. The articles present the results of research on the disclosure of the financial and non-financial information in corporate reporting, which constitutes the basis for as-sessing companies’ economic, environmental, and social performance. The Authors additionally discuss the applicable accounting rules, which are requisite to obtain financial information of adequate quality for economic decision making. Various research methods have been used in the articles, such as statistical analysis, content analysis, comparative analysis, a review of the literature and legal acts, methods of deduction and synthesis, questionnaire surveys, and interviews. We can distinguish three main topic areas chosen by the Authors. The first group of papers concerns communication with users of the companies’ reports, especially regarding corporate social responsibility. The work written by Polish Authors from the University of Łódź (E. Śnieżek, M. Wiatr, K. Ciach, J. Piłacik) presents the results of research on the information needs of business information users with regard to improving the financial and non-financial information presented in annual reports. A total of 694 responses obtained from Polish accounting and tax specialists with professional experience were analyzed. The inter-pretation of the survey results takes into account the relationship between the responses received and the respondents’ characteristics, such as gender, age, and education. The Authors from Great Britain (A. Herdan, L. Neri, and A. Ruso) present the rela-tionship between sustainable development and financial indicators on the British mar-ket. The increasing social pressure exerted on enterprises, as well as the changes in legal regulations, are forcing enterprises to operate in a manner that considers the prin-ciples of sustainable development. For this reason, it is particularly important to deter-mine the relationship between the economic situation of an enterprise and sustainable development. The article written by Authors from Poland and Croatia (M. Remlein and V. Roŝka) examines the quality of the information on CSR-related investments presented in the reports prepared by Polish and Croatian companies. Based on a content analysis of re-ports prepared by non-financial companies listed on the Warsaw Stock Exchange and the Zagreb Stock Exchange, it has been found that socially responsible investment in Poland and Croatia is still at its infancy since not many investors have been exposed to this type of investment. The authors of the next article (A. Szadziewska, B. Kotowska, L. Kloviene, S. Legenchyk, D. Prša, and M.T. Speziale) noted the existence of differences in the implementation of Directive 2014/95/EU into the national law of individual countries included in their survey, i.e., Croatia, Poland, Lithuania, Italy, Great Britain, and Ukraine. Additionally, the results of the content analysis regarding the non-financial reports presented by branches of one corporation that operates in different countries indicated a different scope of the non-financial indicators published. What is more, sig-nificant differences were found between the scope of the non-financial indicators pub-lished by the capital group and its subsidiaries that operate in different countries. In the article by Polish authors from the University of Gdańsk (C. Kotyla and M. Hyży), we find a discussion on the disclosure of information on the environmental impact of companies from the mass passenger transport industry. The content analysis covered the financial statements and the management reports published by the three largest rail carriers and two airlines. The results indicate that the environmental disclo-sures in the reports analyzed do not allow for an objective assessment of the surveyed mass passenger transport enterprises’ impact on the environment. The second thematic area covered issues concerning the historical and current con-ditions that characterize accounting systems in different countries. The first article (H. Waniak-Michalak, I. Perica, and S. Leitonie) concerns non-gov-ernmental entities and the impact of accounting regulations on these organizations in Poland, Croatia, and Lithuania at the level of public trust. The results of their research indicate that accounting regulations are of marginal importance for social trust. How-ever, they have identified the possible impact of disasters and the country’s economic situation on public trust. B. Zyznarska-Dworczak, I. Mamić Sačer, and D. Mokošová conducted a compara-tive analysis of accounting systems in Central and Eastern European countries – Croa-tia, Poland, and Slovakia. The authors found important differences in the accounting standards of these countries despite their geopolitical proximity and Slavic roots. The other three articles concerned special rules of recording and reporting. M. Gierusz raises the problem of companies using the regulation of recognizing ac-quired goodwill in order to extend the useful life of goodwill. Authors from Poland and Chile (F. Morales Parada, R. Höllander Sanhueza, and M. Węgrzyńska) attempt to identify accrual adjustments as a tool to modify financial results. They indicate that Chilean firms exhibit more cases of accounting manipula-tions than Polish companies. According to the Authors, Polish firms use accrual adjust-ments to reduce the operating results, whereas Chilean companies apply accrual adjust-ments to increase their operating results. M. Szulc and P. Zieniuk answered the research question of whether listed compa-nies comply with the requirements of the International Financial Reporting Standards regarding the disclosure of events after the balance sheet date. They believe that the occurrence of such events in the economic practice of companies listed on the Warsaw Stock Exchange is much more frequent than in other European countries. The editorial team takes the opportunity to thank all the supporters of the English issue of ZTR. We very much appreciate the involvement of the reviewers, the commit-ment of the authors of the papers, as well as the help of other academics and friends engaged in the preparation of the issue. We also encourage you to visit our website, www.ztr.skwp.pl, where you can find the latest information on our projects as well as all the procedures needed to submit a paper to the journal. Please submit articles to the new special issue of ZTR in 2021, entitled Ethical Issues in Accounting in Prosperity and a Financial Crisis.

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Cooper, Nichola, Alexandra Kruse, Caroline Kruse, Shirley Watson, Mervyn Morgan, James B. Bussel, Waleed Ghanima et al. "Results from the ITP World IMPACT Survey (I-WISh): Patients with Immune Thrombocytopenia (ITP) Experience Impaired Quality of Life (QoL) Regarding Daily Activities, Social Interactions, Emotional Well-Being and Working Lives". Blood 132, Supplement 1 (29 de novembro de 2018): 4804. http://dx.doi.org/10.1182/blood-2018-99-112858.

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Abstract Background: The impact of ITP on patient (pt) QoL is multidimensional, broadly encompassing daily activities, emotional health, and work life. Health-related QoL has been shown to be substantially reduced in ITP pts relative to healthy controls, yet the full impact of ITP on affected pts is not well-defined. Aims: I-WISh studied the burden of ITP and its impact on QoL using a global pt and physician (MD) sampling frame. This analysis reports the impact of ITP on QoL, emotional health, and work productivity, and evaluates similarities and differences between pt and MD viewpoints. Methods : I-WISh is a cross-sectional survey of ITP pts, recruited via MDs and pt support groups, and MDs recruited via local fieldwork agencies. Participants (pts and MDs) completed a 30-minute online survey that included demographics and the impact of ITP on QoL, emotional health, work productivity, and need for caregivers. A steering committee of expert MD and pt advocacy leads specializing in ITP designed and endorsed survey materials. Results: 1491 pts from 12 countries completed the survey; 65% were female, mean (SD) age was 47 (16) years. 472 MDs from 13 countries completed the survey; 56% were university or teaching hospital based, with a mean (SD) ITP pt caseload of 34 (50) and a mean (SD) of 18 (36) newly-diagnosed pts in the past year. Overall, 84% (n=1258/1489) of pts reported that ITP reduced their energy levels, 77% (n=1149/1489) said ITP reduced their capacity to exercise, 75% (n=1116/1489) said ITP limited their ability to perform daily tasks, and 70% (n=1035/1485) said ITP impaired their social life. The proportion of pts reporting an impact of ITP on their QoL increased with symptom burden (Figure A); 98% of pts (n=298/303) with the greatest symptom burden reported an impact on energy levels and >90% reported an impact of ITP for 6/10 questions. MDs perceived potential bleeding as having the greatest impact on pt QoL (scored ≥5 on a 7-point Likert scale, where 7=great deal), with 88%, 73%, and 69% perceiving concerns of increased bleeding risk during sport, travel, and sex, respectively, as areas in which pt QoL could be affected. Fewer MDs than pts felt that ITP would greatly impact daily activities (52% vs 75%) or family and social life (45% vs 70%). 82% of MDs indicated they either do or would use a pt QoL tool at least every 6 months to monitor pts. Almost half (49%; n=731) of all pts stated ITP had a high impact on their emotional well-being (score ≥5 on 7-point Likert scale, where 7=great deal), with 63% (n=944) worried their condition would worsen. More pts with very high symptom burden reported high emotional impact (75%; n=227/303), with 85% (n=259/303) worrying about their condition worsening. MDs gave similar results to pts for emotional impact and considered anxiety about platelet counts the primary cause (85%). Nearly half of pts who worked (43%; n=383/894) reported that ITP affects their work productivity (score ≥4 on a 10-point scale, where 10=completely prevented from working), with 24% (n=212/889) having missed ≥6 hours' work in the week prior to survey completion. 48% (n=715/1491) of all pts had either reduced or seriously considered reducing their hours at work, and 21% (n=306/1491) had considered terminating their employment because of ITP (Figure B). Despite this, 62% (n=554/888) work >30 hours/week. Pts with very high symptom burden (n=303) reported greater impact on their work, with 69% either having reduced or seriously considering reducing their hours and 43% having considered terminating employment. Over half of pts (52%) reported needing care assistance, with their spouse being the main caregiver (59%; n=461/775), requiring an average of 16.3 hours of support in a week. Caregivers provided companionship (69%; n=534/775), helped with household chores (55%; n=429/775), and aided transportation (50%; n=386/775). Summary/conclusions: I-WISh demonstrates that most ITP pts experience substantially impaired QoL, with daily activities, social interactions, emotional well-being, and working lives all affected. Pts frequently report severe fatigue and pts with high ITP symptom burden were particularly affected, with nearly all pts reporting substantially reduced energy levels. Pts also worried about their condition worsening and had reduced work capacity. These results highlight the need for MDs to consider the impact of ITP disease burden on all aspects of individual pts' lives during management of ITP. Disclosures Cooper: Amgen, Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Kruse:Novartis/ITP: Consultancy; Rigel/ITP: Honoraria; Amgen/ITP: Consultancy. Watson:Novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Bussel:Rigel: Consultancy, Research Funding; Protalex: Consultancy; Momenta: Consultancy; Prophylix: Consultancy, Research Funding; Amgen Inc.: Consultancy, Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy, Research Funding; Uptodate: Honoraria. Ghanima:Amgen, Novartis: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Bayer, BMS, Novartis: Research Funding. Arnold:Novartis: Consultancy, Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy, Research Funding; UCB: Consultancy; Bristol Myers Squibb: Research Funding; Amgen: Consultancy, Research Funding; UCB: Consultancy; Amgen: Consultancy, Research Funding; Bristol Myers Squibb: Research Funding. Santoro:Bayer, CSL, Novo Nordisk, Pfizer, Shire, Sobi: Other: advisory boards, Speakers Bureau; Grifols, Gilead: Other: advisory boards; Amgen, Glaxo: Speakers Bureau. Tomiyama:Sysmex Corporation: Consultancy; Kyowa Hakko Kirin Co., Ltd.: Honoraria; Novartis Pharma Co., Ltd.: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Chugai Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd.: Honoraria. Waller:Novartis: Consultancy. Bailey:Novartis: Consultancy. Taylor-Stokes:Novartis: Consultancy. Stankovic:Novartis: Employment. Provan:Amgen, Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding.

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Harrington, Mary. "Feminism against Progress". Perspectives on Science and Christian Faith 75, n.º 3 (dezembro de 2023): 200–201. http://dx.doi.org/10.56315/pscf12-23harrington.

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FEMINISM AGAINST PROGRESS by Mary Harrington. Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, 2023. 249 pages. Hardcover; $29.99. ISBN: 9781684514878. *In many ways, this book is an autobiography of Mary Harrington losing faith. Not losing faith in God. It is not at all clear that she has any faith in God or a higher being. This is a book about her loss of faith in a post-modern worldview with ideas of progress that go along with that worldview. She suggests that this worldview is, in fact, a "quasi-theological regime" (p. 12), and one with powerful economic, social, and media support. In Christian terms, we could call it the "god of this age," a god with many false promises and claims. *At the heart of this worldview is the idea that "progress" entails "a structure of belief" in which "there exists a kind of axis along which progress can be measured, and that we're inexorably moving along that axis from 'more bad' to 'less bad,'" and furthermore, "this movement is unstoppable" (p. 12). Harrington writes that her starting premise for this book "is that this structure is a belief, not a fact" and that she is not "a believer in Progress Theology" (p. 13). The book is her attempt to demonstrate why this is the case, why she lost her faith. *The aspect of progress she is most interested in is purported progress with respect to gender, especially where that concerns women. Harrington still considers herself a feminist in the sense that she cares about women's interests. But she has rejected what she formerly took for granted: "that men and women are substantially the same," and that both sexes have the equal right "to self-realisation [sic], shorn of culturally imposed obligations, expectations, stereotypes or constraints" (p. 14). *Her transformation to "reactionary feminist" took hold when she became a mother. She realized that feminist ideals like radical autonomy and personal fulfillment are not the greatest goods. Mothering, she discovered, was a great good that entailed giving up one's autonomy and finding fulfillment in nurturing another. *The book lays out a comprehensive set of propositions for rethinking what it is to be man and woman in today's complicated world. She traces the various contours of the sexual revolution which has roots in the feminism of the early twentieth century. She is critical of the advent of the birth control pill for its effects on women's bodies, mental health, relationships, and the environment, citing various studies to support her critique. The pill, she suggests, is one of the first technological steps toward the feminist ideal of ridding society of sexed differences and increasing female autonomy. But this has not turned out as positive as feminists would have us believe. She asserts that "half a century of concerted feminist effort to stamp out sexed differences as baseless 'stereotypes,' in the name of furthering that freedom [from relationships], has succeeded only in shaping what's for sale" (p. 98). Furthermore, although women have the autonomy they desired with respect to their bodies, this has not led to the utopia they envisioned (pp. 99-100). *One of the most interesting chapters is entitled "Meat Lego Gnosticism." The premise of this "cyborg theology," writes Harrington, is "that inner identity is unrelated to physiological form" (p. 142). For cyborg theology, body parts are just that: exchangeable bits of meat that you can dispose of or take on at will--meat Lego pieces. Any wholistic notion of human persons is completely absent from this campaign, a campaign she claims was spawned by technology (pp. 138-39), encouraged by markets, embedded in elite class politics (pp. 150-51), and supported through a variety of sources. *In opposition to all of this, Harrington introduces readers to "reactionary feminism," a feminism that she claims is good not just for women, but also for men. She specifically argues for three things. First, she argues for traditional, life-long marriage as a common, and therefore a foundational and stabilizing, factor for society (pp. 178-81). Specifically, she suggests that marriage is less for "personal fulfillment, or even romantic love, than an enabling condition for building a meaningful life" (p. 182), and that it includes "cooperation on the domestic economy, and the intimate work of creating a safe and stable space for children" (p. 185). *Second, based on her research, she argues for men-only and women-only spaces because men and women are different by nature and therefore have different social needs. For Harrington, these sorts of spaces allow men to interact with other men as men, and women to interact with other women as women, while also allowing young men to learn from older men and young women to learn from older women. Interestingly, both of these first two claims are supported by historic Christian teaching as well. *Finally, she advocates against hormonal birth control, not only because the physiological effects on women are often unhealthy, but also because of the effect of estradiol on the environment (p. 208). Once again, Christian teaching about stewardship both of one's body and the creation as a whole dovetail with her ideas here. *Harrington's book is comprehensive, weaving together aspects of marketing, technology, and sociology to provide a revised story of what it is to be male and female. Her research includes everything from personal interviews to Twitter feeds to peer-reviewed journals and studies, the details of which are included in her extensive endnotes. Although she writes in the context of the United Kingdom, she does, at times, refer to work done in the United States, noting the politicized nature of her ideas in that context. *The comprehensive nature of the book along with the lack of a clear thesis, is at times confusing. She is clearly critical of progressive feminism and the prevailing gender ideology that she associates with it, criticism that is lately being leveled by other women who were sold a story by gender studies gurus.1 Her association of this story with the free-market system and the technology giants embedded in that system is interesting. But it seems, at times, as if she were trying to write two books: one defending male and female as ineluctable categories of nature, and one blaming tech-dominated markets for their profit-based interests in promoting the alternate paradigm of denying sexed differences. Trying to do both muddied the waters in ways that were not always helpful and sometimes confusing.2 *Scientific specialists in the area of sex and gender may be more critical than I of the studies she cites. From my nonspecialist perspective, I appreciated that she not only took account of scientific studies from peer-reviewed journals, but also included personal reflections from her own experience, as well as that of others, and included opinions and experiences she learned of through various social media outlets. In general, these are not stories we are told. *As a Christian theologian, I found her insights both surprising and interesting. Surprising because they comport remarkably well with a Christian worldview despite the fact that she is not a Christian. It was also interesting because the new Gnosticism she describes is diametrically opposed to the historic Christian affirmation of the goodness of the material world, including our material bodies. She unknowingly affirms both the biblical teaching that humans are created male and female, and the biblical understanding that humans flourish when they live within the boundaries set by our Creator. *Although her language is at times crass, and some of the examples she offers may be offensive, this book is pro-women as women--including our bodies--and as such, is also pro-men. I would recommend this book to a wide variety of people, including social scientists, technology experts, and theologians. For Christians who feel marginalized by current cultural pressures toward a nonsexed society, pressures that are even supported by many churches, this book will ring true with respect to the historic teachings of the church on sex and gender. It will also encourage them that their basic instincts about sex and gender are, in fact, in line with God's created intentions for humans. *Notes *1For a Christian perspective on this, see, for example, Abigail Favale, The Genesis of Gender (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2022). *2For a helpful look at the problem of big tech companies and their undue influence via social media on young people, a problem that is especially pronounced in young women as Harrington writes, see the Center for Humane Technology's various resources on this topic, including the 2020 film, "The Social Dilemma," https://www.humanetech.com/. *Reviewed by Mary Vanden Berg, Professor of Systematic Theology at Calvin Theological Seminary, Grand Rapids, MI 49546.

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Anagnostis, Panagiotis, George Sfikas, Efthimios Gotsis, Spyridon Karras e Vasilios G. Athyros. "EDITORIAL: Is the Beneficial Effect of Mediterranean Diet on Cardiovascular Risk Partly Mediated through Better Blood Pressure Control?" Open Hypertension Journal 5, n.º 1 (14 de novembro de 2013): 36–39. http://dx.doi.org/10.2174/1876526201305010036.

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A few days ago, in August 2013, a Cochrane Database Systemic Review reported that the existing limited evidence to date on the effect of Mediterranean diet (MD) on primary prevention of cardiovascular disease (CVD), suggests some favorable effects on risk factors; however, the reduction of CVD event rates was not mentioned [1]. The review included 11 trials (15 papers, 52,044 participants); 7 trials described the intervention as a MD. Clinical events were reported in only one trial [Women's Health Initiative (WHI) 48,835 postmenopausal women with an intervention not described as a MD but increased fruit and vegetable and cereal intake], where no statistically significant effects of the intervention were seen on fatal and non-fatal endpoints during the 8 years of its duration [1]. Since the WHI study was huge and had a great weight in the analysis, it eliminated any other beneficial effect on CVD incidence from other studies. Moreover, in this study the diet used as an intervention was not MD. On April 2013 the results of the Prevención con Dieta Mediterránea (PREDIMED), a multicenter trial from Spain, were published in New England Journal of Medicine [2]. The study included a total of 7,447 persons (aged 55-80 years) with no CVD at baseline. These were randomized to 1 of 3 diets: a MD supplemented with extra-virgin olive oil, a MD supplemented with mixed nuts or a control diet (advice to reduce dietary fat) [2]. An interim analysis terminated the trial prematurely at 4.8 years. The primary endpoint was the rate of major CVD (myocardial infarction, stroke, or CVD death). The multivariable-adjusted hazard ratios were 0.70 (95% confidence interval [CI], 0.54 to 0.92) and 0.72 (95% CI, 0.54 to 0.96) for the group assigned to a MD with extravirgin olive oil and the group assigned to a MD with nuts, respectively, vs. the control group [2]. No diet-related adverse effects were reported [2]. Moreover, a post hoc analysis of PREDIMED that will be published in September 2013, in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, suggests that one of the mechanisms by which MD, particularly if supplemented with virgin olive oil, can exert health benefits is through changes in the transcriptomic response of genes related to CVD risk [3]. These results of the PREDIMED trial confirm that changes in diet can have beneficial effects on CVD risk. However, the study was criticized for mainly 3 reasons. One is that in MD the dietary pattern as an entity is rather more important than the inclusion or avoidance of specific nutrients [4]. Second there were low (in absolute terms) primary composite CVD outcome rates (3.8% and 3.4% in the intervention groups vs. 4.4% in the control group) and a minor absolute risk difference (range 0.6 to 1%), thus limiting the importance of the study findings [5]. Furthermore there were statistically significant differences in baseline characteristics between the groups: men (+5.7%), obese persons (+4.7%), diuretic use (+3.5%), and oral hypoglycaemic use (+3.2%) in the control group than in the intervention group [5]. And third there was a complete lack of policy implications [6]. The PREDIMED trial was neither a pure test of a Mediterranean-style diet nor a pure test of extra- virgin olive oil or nuts. All the above make the interpretation of the PREDIMED trial similarly difficult to that of the Lyon Diet Heart Study [7], which tested provision of a margarine rich in alpha-linolenic acid on top of brief advice to consume a MD in high CVD risk patients with astonishing results [7]. Policymakers [8] and Great Scientific Organizations, like Mayo Clinic [9], already recommend consumption of a Mediterranean-style diet on the basis of a body of evidence from observational and interventional studies, in antithesis to the findings of the Cochrane Database Systemic Review [1]. On the other hand, the policy implications of the PREDIMED trial related primarily to the supplemental foods [2] and not MD itself, thus, we probably have to go both back and elsewhere to find evidence base for the benefits of MD and if these are related in any degree to blood pressure (BP) reduction. The Seven Countries Study showed that the risk and rates of heart attack and stroke both at the population and at the individual level were directly and independently related to the level of serum total cholesterol (TC). It demonstrated that the association between TC level and coronary heart disease (CHD) risk from 5 to 40 years follow-up is found consistently across different cultures [10,11]. The Seven Countries Study started in 1958 in former Yugoslavia. In total, 12,763 men, 40–59 years of age, were enrolled as 16 cohorts, in 7 countries, in 4 regions of the world (United States, Northern Europe, Southern Europe, Japan); 1 cohort is in the United States, 2 cohorts in Finland, 1 in the Netherlands, 3 in Italy, 5 in the former Yugoslavia (two in Croatia, and three in Serbia), 2 in Greece (1 in Crete and 1 in Corfu), and 2 in Japan [10]. The Seven Countries Study has continued, with high levels of participation, for more than 50 years.􀀁The initial and objective data on CVD health in relation to the MD originated from the Seven Countries Study [10]. CHD deaths in the United States and Northern Europe greatly exceeded those in Southern Europe, even when controlled for age, TC and BP levels, smoking, physical activity, and weight [12]. After further investigation, the importance of the eating pattern characterized as the MD became clear [12,13]. What exactly is meant by "Mediterranean diet" today, and its benefits, is detailed by other researches during the last 20 years [14,15]. During the 90's, for the first time, the concept of a food pyramid and the need for an adherence to MD score were born [14-16]. As a result of the Seven Countries Study, the MD has been popularized as a "healthy" diet. Nevertheless, it has not replaced the "prudent" diet commonly prescribed to coronary patients [17]. The Crete cohort of the Seven Countries Study had the lowest rates of deaths from CVD [10]; even the 25 year mortality was lower than others (for example vs. the Italian cohort) [18]. This was attributed to the entire lifestyle of Cretans including a variation of MD, the Cretan-type MD. Many investigators during the last 20 years would rather refer to the Cretan-type MD rather than plain MD, which is a rather abstract definition [19-22]. The 40 years’ CVD mortality in the Corfu cohort showed that participants also benefited from the long-term adoption of a nutritional pattern (close to the Cretan-type) of MD, the presence of physical activity, optimism, and a positive psychological profile [23]. During the last 15 years, and before the economic crisis, Greeks adopted a more western way of life. Nevertheless, several aspects of the traditional Greek way of life and diet, suggest that a relatively high consumption of vegetables and fruits or olive oil and bread, remained well-established among large segments of the Greek population, and may explain why a population with a few healthy habits still enjoys one of the longer life expectancies among the 16 cohorts of the Seven Country Study 40 years after its initiation [23]. The Working Group on Epidemiology and Prevention of the European Society of Cardiology (ESC) coordinated in 2003 information from 12 European cohort studies, including 205,000 persons, and assessed the 10-year CVD mortality rates. This gave birth to the SCORE (Systematic Coronary Risk Estimation) project [24]. The European Society of Cardiology encouraged the creation of local SCORES for each country, based on the original SCORE and local data. Indeed the HellenicSCORE (equations and charts) present the calibration of the risk by age group and sex, based on mortality data, as reported by the National Statistical Services of Greece and prevalence data regarding smoking, TC and BP levels, as reported by the ATTICA study [25]. This was very successfully tested in the ATTEMPT Study [26]. The predicated rates of CVD were verified in a survival study with a nearly 4-year follow-up in patients with metabolic syndrome and randomization to intensive versus moderate risk factor treatment [27]. In the meantime the MD score (MedDietScore) was developed, according to the adherence to MD [28].􀀁The weekly consumption of the following 9 food groups: non-refined cereals(whole grain bread and pasta, brown rice, etc.), fruits, vegetables, legumes, potatoes, fish, meat and meat products, poultry, full fat dairy products (like cheese, yoghurt, milk), as well asolibe oil and alcohol intake, were included [28]. The inclusion of dietary evaluation (MedDietScore), as well as other sociodemographic and anthropometric characteristics, increases the accuracy and reduces estimating bias of CVD risk prediction models [29]. Thus, we have a country adjusted integrated system that can predict CVD risk. It was clear, during the use of HellenicSCORE and MedDietScore, that a better adherence to MD was related to a lower CVD risk. On the contrary, aging, central fat, hypertension (HTN), diabetes, inflammation, low social status and abstinence from a MD seem to predict CVD events within a 5-year period; actual data from the ATTICA study [30]. All these put the adoption of MD at a high position among CVD risk factors, for good and for bad, according to the degree of adoption (MedDietScore). However, does MD affect the level of BP? Is HTN one of the factors to increase CVD risk if the adherence to MD (MedDietScore) is low? There is some evidence on this issue. It has been suggested by a review on the dietary influences on BP that there is more than enough evidence from observational and clinical studies that diets low in saturated fats and sodium and rich in fruits, vegetables, and fiber, with adequate amounts of potassium, calcium, and magnesium, are effective in the prevention and treatment of HTN alone or as an adjunct to pharmacologic therapy [31]. Such dietary combinations are provided by the MD [31]. The association of adherence to the MD with the incidence of HTN was evaluated among 9,408 men and women enrolled in a dynamic Spanish prospective cohort (SUN) study during 1999- 2005 [32]. The adherence to MD was associated with reduced mean values of systolic BP [moderate adherence, -2.4 mm Hg (95% CI: -4.0, -0.8); high adherence, -3.1 mm Hg (95% CI: -5.4, -0.8)] and diastolic BP [moderate adherence, - 1.3 mm Hg (95% CI: -2.5, -0.1); high adherence, -1.9 mm Hg (95% CI: -3.6, -0.1)] after 6 years of follow-up [32]. These results suggest that adhering to a Mediterranean-type diet could contribute to the prevention of age-related increase in BP [32]. In the ATTICA Study the mean value of the MedDiet Score was 25.5 (±3) for men and 27 (±3) for women (p<0.001). The prevalence of HTN was 36.6% in men and 23.7% in women (p<0.001) [33]. Diet score was 23.5±6.4 in hypertensive and 26.8±6.6 in normotensive individuals (p<0.001). The sensitivity of defining people with HTN was higher than for any other CVD risk factor, suggesting that the adoption of MD reduces the risk for HTN [33]. In an elderly population of Cyprus, another Mediterranean Country, 60% of men and 58% of women have HTN, along with other classical CVD risk factors [34]. A 10-unit increase in the MedDietScore was associated with 21% lower odds of having one additional risk factor, including HTN, in women (p< 0.001) and with 14% lower odds in men (p=0.05) [34]. The results of the CARDIO2000 study [35] point out that the adoption of MD by physically active subjects seems to significantly reduce the coronary heart disease (CHD) events and prevent, just about, the one-third of acute CHD syndromes, in controlled subjects with HTN [35]. This supports the idea that MD combined with physical activity provides substantial protection from acute coronary events in patients with HTN [35]. Other data from the SUN Study also [36] suggest that there is an inverse relationship between fruit and vegetable consumption and the prevalence of nonpreviously diagnosed HTN in a Mediterranean population with a very high intake of both fat (paradoxically) and plantderived foods [36]. There was a 77 % reduction in the prevalence of HTN for those with the higher consumption of both fruit and vegetables compared with those at the lower quintiles of both food groups [36]. This inverse relationship was also evident when considering BP as a continuous variable, with a mean systolic BP and diastolic BP of 2.2 mmHg lower for those with the highest consumption of fruit and vegetables compared with those with the lowest intake [36]. The study concludes that in a Mediterranean population, with an elevated fat consumption, a high fruit and vegetable intake is inversely associated with BP levels [36]. From the same (SUN) study it was reported that there is an inverse association between fiber or fruit/vegetable consumption and weight gain, thus emphasizing the importance of replacing some dietary compounds by such foods and fiber-rich products, which may help to avoid weight gain [37]. This brinks about the issue of MD and obesity, mainly central, which is the key clinical manifestation of metabolic syndrome (MetS); this includes HTN. Data suggest that the prevalence of MetS has dramatically increased during the recent years, especially in Western Countries and South East Asia [38]. More than one third (35 %) of adults in the U.S. could be characterized as having the MetS, which translates to nearly 84 million U.S. adults affected by MetS [38]. Unfortunately the prevalence of MetS in Mediterranean Countries is high (one forth of the adult population), although definitely lower than that in U.S. [39,40]. It has been shown by prospective cohort studies, cross-sectional studies and clinical trials that adherence to the MD was associated with reduced risk of the MetS and its individual components also, in particular waist circumference, triglycerides levels, low density lipoprotein cholesterol (HDL-C), BP levels and glucose metabolism [38,41]. These effects of MD increase life expectancy in patients with MetS [42]. On the other hand, Mediterranean countries, such as Greece, have experienced a rapid social-economic change in the last 15 years and recently an economic crisis; both having negative impacts on healthy eating. These community changes affect nutritional habits and there is a tendency to abandon the traditional healthy MD [43]. However, if we continue to try at the elementary school level, things might be better than they look. A study aiming to examine the long-term effects of the "Cretan Health and Nutrition Education Program" on BP, examined several parameters: BP, dietary, anthropometrical and physical activity data nearly 10 years after the original study (at baseline year 1992-1993, and follow-up examination at year 2001-2002) [44]. The findings of the study revealed that the increase over the 10- year period in systolic BP and diastolic BP was higher in the control group than in the MD intervention group (P=0.003 and P<0.001 respectively). These facts are encouraging, indicating favorable changes in BP, micronutrients intake, body mass index (BMI) and physical activity over a 10-year period and 4 years after program's cessation [44]. We just have to keep trying to establish MD at an early age. In brief, MD reduces CVD risk and this action could be at least in part attributed to the reduction of BP and MetS. Given that the complete adoption of MD is practically impossible, a high degree of adherence is desirable. This could substantially reduce adverse CVD events as well as the incidence of acute coronary syndromes, by one third, If combined with a high level of physical activity. A high adherence to MD also reduces the prevalence of MetS, a part of which is HTN, and diminishes its clinical consequences, improving life expectancy. It is more effective if MD is adopted early in life.

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Almutairi, Majed, Gerry McKenna e Ciaran O’Neill. "Satisfaction with dental care services in Great Britain 1998–2019". BMC Oral Health 22, n.º 1 (26 de julho de 2022). http://dx.doi.org/10.1186/s12903-022-02343-7.

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Abstract Background Satisfaction with dental services can provide valuable insights into aspects of quality including access as well as changes in this over time. In the UK publicly funded dental services are ostensibly delivered by private sector general dental practitioners for whom private patients represent an opportunity cost to the provision of care to public patients. This study examined changes in satisfaction as economic circumstances and policy changed in Britain between 1998 and 2019. Methods Data were taken from successive waves of the British Social Attitudes Survey a representative cross-sectional survey of the population between 1998 and 2019. Descriptive statistics and a series of logistic regression analyses were used to examine the relationships between satisfaction and a range of socio-demographic characteristics over time. Results 37,328 usable responses were extracted from the survey spanning 21 years of data. Over the course of the survey approximately 71% of the sample was very satisfied, satisfied or neither satisfied nor dissatisfied with publicly funded dental services. Satisfaction fell at the outset of the study period but rose following the economic downturn from 2008 which coincided with increased use of publicly funded services. Differences were evident in satisfaction between older versus younger respondents, more affluent versus less affluent respondents and better educated versus less well-educated respondents. Satisfaction did not appear to change in response to policy changes. Conclusion Satisfaction is an important outcome of service provision. Policies aiming to improve satisfaction with publicly funded dental care in the UK must take account of the competing demands on dentists’ time from private patients. At times of economic expansion or when supply has been disrupted, these may be particularly acute and require specific interventions to improve access for those who depend on public services.

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Otten, Daniëlle, Ana N. Tibubos, Georg Schomerus, Elmar Brähler, Harald Binder, Johannes Kruse, Karl-Heinz Ladwig, Philipp S. Wild, Hans J. Grabe e Manfred E. Beutel. "Similarities and Differences of Mental Health in Women and Men: A Systematic Review of Findings in Three Large German Cohorts". Frontiers in Public Health 9 (5 de fevereiro de 2021). http://dx.doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2021.553071.

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In Germany, large, population-based cohort studies have been implemented in order to identify risk and protective factors for maintaining health across the life span. The purpose of this systematic review is to analyse findings from three large ongoing cohorts and to identify sex-specific prevalence rates, risk and protective factors for mental health. Published studies from the Cooperative Health Research in the Region Augsburg (KORA), the Study of Health in Pomerania (SHIP) and the Gutenberg Health Study (GHS)), representing the southern, north-eastern and middle parts of Germany, were identified through searches of the databases PubMed and Web of Science. A total of 52 articles was identified from the start of each cohort until June 2019. Articles reporting prevalence rates of mental health [N = 22], explanatory factors for mental health [N = 25], or both [N = 5] were identified. Consistent across cohorts, higher prevalence rates of internalizing disorders were found for women and more externalizing disorders for men. Risk and protective factors for mental health included social factors, lifestyle, physical health, body mass index (BMI), diabetes, genetic and biological factors. In all areas, differences and similarities were found between women and men. The most evident were the sex-specific risk profiles for depression with mostly external risk factors for men and internal risk factors for women. Gender was not assessed directly, therefore we examined whether socioeconomic and family-related factors reflecting gender roles or institutionalized gender could be used as a proxy for gender. Overall, this systematic review shows differences and similarities in prevalence rates and determinants of mental health indicators between women and men. They underline the importance of focussing on sex specific approaches in mental health research and in the development of prevention measures. Current research on mental health still lacks focus on gender aspects. Therefore, an increased focus on sex and gender in mental health research is of great importance.

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Tiffany, K., e M. Anto-Ocrah. "(040) A Pandemic, Technology and Sex". Journal of Sexual Medicine 20, Supplement_3 (junho de 2023). http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/jsxmed/qdad068.038.

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Abstract Introduction Prompted by global restrictions on public gatherings, quarantine & lockdown measures, travel limitations, and decreased access to “non- essential” services, the Covid-19 pandemic has redefined our sense of normalcy in many ways. During this collective global trauma, there has been a substantial rise in the use of technology as the pandemic shifted most human interactions from physical settings to virtual interactions. People are now spending even more time with technology while consuming news media, watching television, using social media to connect with others, utilizing lifestyle apps to shop for groceries and other consumer goods, and engaging in home workouts (Nielsen Global Media 2020). Objectives In this paper we explore the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on the sexual health of individuals, and the technological adaptations that took place to allow maintenance of sexual health in a socially distanced manner. As appropriate, we stratify our findings by gender to highlight any differences noted. Methods We used primary and secondary sources and reports for this project. Primary sources included recorded interviews found online, Reddit threads and government guidelines released to the public. Secondary sources included various news articles and journal articles. We included any articles that discussed the following in the title or content “sex”, “sexual health”, “technology”, “online”, “social media”,“covid-19”, “coronavirus”, “pandemic”. Results We found 32 sources and included 19 of them in the final work. The main findings of this research were that the pandemic greatly affected people’s sexual health but society found many ways to adapt. The technological impact of the pandemic was seen in the sex worker industry, access to pornography and online dating tools. In the United States, many sex workers, who were mostly female, transitioned to an online platform as quarantine measures were instituted and the pandemic began to take an economic toll on their business. In interviews, female sex workers discussed how their interactions with their mostly male customers changed from purely sexual acts to intimate conversations about their mental health and coping during the pandemic (VICE 2020). The pornographic website PornHub became a free service in Italy and globally, doctors released guidelines on how to have sex while avoiding the coronavirus (Tacopino 2020). OnlyFans, which is a website for selling and viewing pornographic content, saw a great rise in their memberships as the pandemic worsened and more people were forced to stay at home (Cook 2020). Reports from popular dating applications Tinder and Bumble showed users interacting in longer conversations through the apps (relative to pre-pandemic durations) because they couldn’t meet in person (Today Show 2020). Conclusions The coronavirus pandemic reframed the use of technology in sexual health and changed the nature of intimate relationships. These findings provide us with an understanding of what people are willing to use technology for and could be the basis for using technology in telemedicine platforms for maintaining the biological aspects of sexual health such as, sexually transmitted diseases and mental health surrounding sex. Disclosure No.

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Avery, L. Creighton, Tracy L. Prowse e Megan B. Brickley. "Dental Health and Dietary Difference at Late Roman Winchester". Bioarchaeology International 3, n.º 3 (28 de janeiro de 2020). http://dx.doi.org/10.5744/bi.2019.1011.

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Gendered experiences are not static but are influenced by other aspects of identity. This study investigates the influence of interrelated aspects of identity on diet through an analysis of dental health at Late Roman Winchester (fourth and fifth centuries A.D.), England. Specifically, we investigate the influence of age and social status on gendered dietary experiences. Antemortem tooth loss (AMTL), carious lesions, and tooth wear were recorded for 186 adults (20+ years) and compared between sex-, age-, and status-based groups, using burial type as a proxy for status. Mann-Whitney U tests indicate that females had significantly higher rates of total carious lesions than males (p < 0.05) in the combined sample, while old adult males exhibited higher rates of posterior tooth wear than females, and middle adult males presented lower rates of AMTL than females. When burial type is also incorporated, a more variable picture emerges. In monumental constructions the sexes exhibited no differences in dental health, whereas in earthen pits and coffins both age and sex affected the prevalence of dental disease.These results suggest that gendered dietary experiences at Late Roman Winchester were partly dependent on social status and age and may be associated with differences in occupations or daily activities. By incorporating multiple aspects of identity, this study moves beyond broad-scale patterns of dental health, providing a more nuanced understanding of gendered experiences in Roman Britain, and demonstrates how cross-cutting variables of identity can be used to better understand the past. Las experiencias diferenciadas por género no son estáticas sino influenciadas por otros aspectos de identidad. Este estudio investiga la influencia de los aspectos interrelacionados de la identidad sobre la dieta a través de un análisis de la salud dental en la época romana tardía (4-5 º siglo, dc), en Winchester, Inglaterra. En concreto, se investiga la influencia de la edad y el estatus social sobre las experiencias dietéticas según género. La pérdida de dientes ante mortem (AMTL), las lesiones cariosas y el desgaste de los dientes fueron registrados en 186 adultos (20 años y más) y luego comparado entre el sexo, la edad y los grupos basados en estatus, utilizando el tipo de entierro como representante del estatus. Las pruebas Mann-Whitney U indican que las mujeres tenían tasas significativamente más altas de lesiones cariosas en total que los machos (p < .05) en la muestra combinada, mientras que los viejos adultos machos mostraron mayores tasas de desgaste de dientes posteriores que las hembras, y los machos medios adultos presentaron menores tasas de AMTL que las hembras. Cuando el tipo de entierro también se incorpora, una imagen más variable aparece. En construcciones monumentales, los sexos no mostraron diferencias en la salud dental, mientras que en los pozos de tierras y en los ataúdes, la edad y el sexo ambos afectaron la prevalencia de la enfermedad dental.Estos resultados sugieren que las experiencias dietéticas de los géneros en Winchester en la época romana tardía fueron parcialmente dependientes del estatus social y la edad, y puede estar asociadas con diferencias de ocupaciones o actividades diarias. Mediante la incorporación de múltiples aspectos de identidad, este estudio va más allá de la amplia escala de los patrones de salud dental, proporcionando una comprensión más matizada de las experiencias según género en la Gran Bretaña Romana y muestra cómo variables transversales de identidad pueden ser utilizados para mejor comprender el pasado.

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King, Emerald L., e Denise N. Rall. "Re-imagining the Empire of Japan through Japanese Schoolboy Uniforms". M/C Journal 18, n.º 6 (7 de março de 2016). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1041.

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Introduction“From every kind of man obedience I expect; I’m the Emperor of Japan.” (“Miyasama,” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s musical The Mikado, 1885)This commentary is facilitated by—surprisingly resilient—oriental stereotypes of an imagined Japan (think of Oscar Wilde’s assertion, in 1889, that Japan was a European invention). During the Victorian era, in Britain, there was a craze for all things oriental, particularly ceramics and “there was a craze for all things Japanese and no middle class drawing room was without its Japanese fan or teapot.“ (V&A Victorian). These pastoral depictions of the ‘oriental life’ included the figures of men and women in oriental garb, with fans, stilt shoes, kimono-like robes, and appropriate headdresses, engaging in garden-based activities, especially tea ceremony variations (Landow). In fact, tea itself, and the idea of a ceremony of serving it, had taken up a central role, even an obsession in middle- and upper-class Victorian life. Similarly, landscapes with wild seas, rugged rocks and stunted pines, wizened monks, pagodas and temples, and particular fauna and flora (cranes and other birds flying through clouds of peonies, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums) were very popular motifs (see Martin and Koda). Rather than authenticity, these designs heightened the Western-based romantic stereotypes associated with a stylised form of Japanese life, conducted sedately under rule of the Japanese Imperial Court. In reality, prior to the Meiji period (1868–1912), the Emperor was largely removed from everyday concerns, residing as an isolated, holy figure in Kyoto, the traditional capital of Japan. Japan was instead ruled from Edo (modern day Tokyo) led by the Shogun and his generals, according to a strict Confucian influenced code (see Keene). In Japan, as elsewhere, the presence of feudal-style governance includes policies that determine much of everyday life, including restrictions on clothing (Rall 169). The Samurai code was no different, and included a series of protocols that restricted rank, movement, behaviour, and clothing. As Vincent has noted in the case of the ‘lace tax’ in Great Britain, these restrictions were designed to punish those who seek to penetrate the upper classes through their costume (28-30). In Japan, pre-Meiji sumptuary laws, for example, restricted the use of gold, and prohibited the use of a certain shade of red by merchant classes (V&A Kimono).Therefore, in the governance of pre-globalised societies, the importance of clothing and textile is evident; as Jones and Stallybrass comment: We need to understand the antimatedness of clothes, their ability to “pick up” subjects, to mould and shape them both physically and socially—to constitute subjects through their power as material memories […] Clothing is a worn world: a world of social relations put upon the wearer’s body. (2-3, emphasis added)The significant re-imagining of Japanese cultural and national identities are explored here through the cataclysmic impact of Western ideologies on Japanese cultural traditions. There are many ways to examine how indigenous cultures respond to European, British, or American (hereafter Western) influences, particularly in times of conflict (Wilk). Western ideology arrived in Japan after a long period of isolation (during which time Japan’s only contact was with Dutch traders) through the threat of military hostility and war. It is after this outside threat was realised that Japan’s adoption of military and industrial practices begins. The re-imagining of their national identity took many forms, and the inclusion of a Western-style military costuming as a schoolboy uniform became a highly visible indicator of Japan’s mission to protect its sovereign integrity. A brief history of Japan’s rise from a collection of isolated feudal states to a unified military power, in not only the Asian Pacific region but globally, demonstrates the speed at which they adopted the Western mode of warfare. Gunboats on Japan’s ShorelinesJapan was forcefully opened to the West in the 1850s by America under threat of First Name Perry’s ‘gunboat diplomacy’ (Hillsborough 7-8). Following this, Japan underwent a rapid period of modernisation, and an upsurge in nationalism and military expansion that was driven by a desire to catch up to the European powers present in the Pacific. Noted by Ian Ferguson in Civilization: The West and the Rest, Unsure, the Japanese decided […] to copy everything […] Japanese institutions were refashioned on Western models. The army drilled like Germans; the navy sailed like Britons. An American-style system of state elementary and middle schools was also introduced. (221, emphasis added)This was nothing short of a wide-scale reorganisation of Japan’s entire social structure and governance. Under the Emperor Meiji, who wrested power from the Shogunate and reclaimed it for the Imperial head, Japan steamed into an industrial revolution, achieving in a matter of years what had taken Europe over a century.Japan quickly became a major player-elect on the world stage. However, as an island nation, Japan lacked the essentials of both coal and iron with which to fashion not only industrial machinery but also military equipment, the machinery of war. In 1875 Japan forced Korea to open itself to foreign (read: Japanese) trade. In the same treaty, Korea was recognised as a sovereign nation, separate from Qing China (Tucker 1461). The necessity for raw materials then led to the Sino-Japanese War (1894–95), a conflict between Japan and China that marked the emergence of Japan as a major world power. The Korean Peninsula had long been China’s most important client state, but its strategic location adjacent to the Japanese archipelago, and its natural resources of coal and iron, attracted Japan’s interest. Later, the Russo-Japanese War (1904–05), allowed a victorious Japan to force Russia to abandon its expansionist policy in the Far East, becoming the first Asian power in modern times to defeat a European power. The Russo-Japanese War developed out of the rivalry between Russia and Japan for dominance in Korea and Manchuria, again in the struggle for natural resources (Tucker 1534-46).Japan’s victories, together with the county’s drive for resources, meant that Japan could now determine its role within the Asia-Pacific sphere of influence. As Japan’s military, and their adoption of Westernised combat, proved effective in maintaining national integrity, other social institutions also looked to the West (Ferguson 221). In an ironic twist—while Victorian and Continental fashion was busy adopting the exotic, oriental look (Martin and Koda)—the kimono, along with other essentials of Japanese fashions, were rapidly altered (both literally and figuratively) to suit new, warlike ideology. It should be noted that kimono literally means ‘things that you wear’ and which, prior to exposure to Western fashions, signified all worn clothing (Dalby 65-119). “Wearing Things” in Westernised JapanAs Japan modernised during the late 1800s the kimono was positioned as symbolising barbaric, pre-modern, ‘oriental’ Japan. Indeed, on 17 January 1887 the Meiji Empress issued a memorandum on the subject of women’s clothing in Japan: “She [the Empress] believed that western clothes were in fact closer to the dress of women in ancient Japan than the kimonos currently worn and urged that they be adopted as the standard clothes of the reign” (Keene 404). The resemblance between Western skirts and blouses and the simple skirt and separate top that had been worn in ancient times by a people descended from the sun goddess, Amaterasu wo mikami, was used to give authority and cultural authenticity to Japan’s modernisation projects. The Imperial Court, with its newly ennobled European style aristocrats, exchanged kimono silks for Victorian finery, and samurai armour for military pomp and splendour (Figure 1).Figure 1: The Meiji Emperor, Empress and Crown Prince resplendent in European fashions on an outing to Asukayama Park. Illustration: Toyohara Chikanobu, circa 1890.It is argued here that the function of a uniform is to prepare the body for service. Maids and butlers, nurses and courtesans, doctors, policemen, and soldiers are all distinguished by their garb. Prudence Black states: “as a technology, uniforms shape and code the body so they become a unit that belongs to a collective whole” (93). The requirement to discipline bodies through clothing, particularly through uniforms, is well documented (see Craik, Peoples, and Foucault). The need to distinguish enemies from allies on the battlefield requires adherence to a set of defined protocols, as referenced in military fashion compendiums (see Molloy). While the postcolonial adoption of Western-based clothing reflects a new form of subservience (Rall, Kuechler and Miller), in Japan, the indigenous garments were clearly designed in the interests of ideological allegiance. To understand the Japanese sartorial traditions, the kimono itself must be read as providing a strong disciplinary element. The traditional garment is designed to represent an upright and unbending column—where two meters of under bindings are used to discipline the body into shape are then topped with a further four meters of a stiffened silk obi wrapped around the waist and lower chest. To dress formally in such a garment requires helpers (see Dalby). The kimono both constructs and confines the women who wear it, and presses them into their roles as dutiful, upper-class daughters (see Craik). From the 1890s through to the 1930s, when Japan again enters a period of militarism, the myth of the kimono again changes as it is integrated into the build-up towards World War II.Decades later, when Japan re-established itself as a global economic power in the 1970s and 1980s, the kimono was re-authenticated as Japan’s ‘traditional’ garment. This time it was not the myth of a people descended from solar deities that was on display, but that of samurai strength and propriety for men, alongside an exaggerated femininity for women, invoking a powerful vision of Japanese sartorial tradition. This reworking of the kimono was only possible as the garment was already contained within the framework of Confucian family duty. However, in the lead up to World War II, Japanese military advancement demanded of its people soldiers that could win European-style wars. The quickest solution was to copy the military acumen and strategies of global warfare, and the costumes of the soldiery and seamen of Europe, including Great Britain (Ferguson). It was also acknowledged that soldiers were ‘made not born’ so the Japanese educational system was re-vamped to emulate those of its military rivals (McVeigh). It was in the uptake of schoolboy uniforms that this re-imagining of Japanese imperial strength took place.The Japanese Schoolboy UniformCentral to their rapid modernisation, Japan adopted a constitutional system of education that borrowed from American and French models (Tipton 68-69). The government viewed education as a “primary means of developing a sense of nation,” and at its core, was the imperial authorities’ obsession with defining “Japan and Japaneseness” (Tipton 68-69). Numerous reforms eventually saw, after an abolition of fees, nearly 100% attendance by both boys and girls, despite a lingering mind-set that educating women was “a waste of time” (Tipton 68-69). A boys’ uniform based on the French and Prussian military uniforms of the 1860s and 1870s respectively (Kinsella 217), was adopted in 1879 (McVeigh 47). This jacket, initially with Prussian cape and cap, consists of a square body, standing mandarin style collar and a buttoned front. It was through these education reforms, as visually symbolised by the adoption of military style school uniforms, that citizen making, education, and military training became interrelated aspects of Meiji modernisation (Kinsella 217). Known as the gakuran (gaku: to study; ran: meaning both orchid, and a pun on Horanda, meaning Holland, the only Western country with trading relations in pre-Meiji Japan), these jackets were a symbol of education, indicating European knowledge, power and influence and came to reflect all things European in Meiji Japan. By adopting these jackets two objectives were realised:through the magical power of imitation, Japan would, by adopting the clothing of the West, naturally rise in military power; and boys were uniformed to become not only educated as quasi-Europeans, but as fighting soldiers and sons (suns) of the nation.The gakuran jacket was first popularised by state-run schools, however, in the century and a half that the garment has been in use it has come to symbolise young Japanese masculinity as showcased in campus films, anime, manga, computer games, and as fashion is the preeminent garment for boybands and Japanese hipsters.While the gakuran is central to the rise of global militarism in Japan (McVeigh 51-53), the jacket would go on to form the basis of the Sun Yat Sen and Mao Suits as symbols of revolutionary China (see McVeigh). Supposedly, Sun Yat Sen saw the schoolboy jacket in Japan as a utilitarian garment and adopted it with a turn down collar (Cumming et al.). For Sun Yat Sen, the gakuran was the perfect mix of civilian (school boy) and military (the garment’s Prussian heritage) allowing him to walk a middle path between the demands of both. Furthermore, the garment allowed Sun to navigate between Western style suits and old-fashioned Qing dynasty styles (Gerth 116); one was associated with the imperialism of the National Products Movement, while the other represented the corruption of the old dynasty. In this way, the gakuran was further politicised from a national (Japanese) symbol to a global one. While military uniforms have always been political garments, in the late 1800s and early 1900s, as the world was rocked by revolutions and war, civilian clothing also became a means of expressing political ideals (McVeigh 48-49). Note that Mahatma Ghandi’s clothing choices also evolved from wholly Western styles to traditional and emphasised domestic products (Gerth 116).Mao adopted this style circa 1927, further defining the style when he came to power by adding elements from the trousers, tunics, and black cotton shoes worn by peasants. The suit was further codified during the 1960s, reaching its height in the Cultural Revolution. While the gakuran has always been a scholarly black (see Figure 2), subtle differences in the colour palette differentiated the Chinese population—peasants and workers donned indigo blue Mao jackets, while the People’s Liberation Army Soldiers donned khaki green. This limited colour scheme somewhat paradoxically ensured that subtle hierarchical differences were maintained even whilst advocating egalitarian ideals (Davis 522). Both the Sun Yat Sen suit and the Mao jacket represented the rejection of bourgeois (Western) norms that objectified the female form in favour of a uniform society. Neo-Maoism and Mao fever of the early 1990s saw the Mao suit emerge again as a desirable piece of iconic/ironic youth fashion. Figure 2: An example of Gakuran uniform next to the girl’s equivalent on display at Ichikawa Gakuen School (Japan). Photo: Emerald King, 2015.There is a clear and vital link between the influence of the Prussian style Japanese schoolboy uniform on the later creation of the Mao jacket—that of the uniform as an integral piece of worn propaganda (Atkins).For Japan, the rapid deployment of new military and industrial technologies, as well as a sartorial need to present her leaders as modern (read: Western) demanded the adoption of European-style uniforms. The Imperial family had always been removed from Samurai battlefields, so the adoption of Western military costume allowed Japan’s rulers to present a uniform face to other global powers. When Japan found itself in conflict in the Asia Pacific Region, without an organised military, the first requirement was to completely reorganise their system of warfare from a feudal base and to train up national servicemen. Within an American-style compulsory education system, the European-based curriculum included training in mathematics, engineering and military history, as young Britons had for generations begun their education in Greek and Latin, with the study of Ancient Greek and Roman wars (Bantock). It is only in the classroom that ideological change on a mass scale can take place (Reference Please), a lesson not missed by later leaders such as Mao Zedong.ConclusionIn the 1880s, the Japanese leaders established their position in global politics by adopting clothing and practices from the West (Europeans, Britons, and Americans) in order to quickly re-shape their country’s educational system and military establishment. The prevailing military costume from foreign cultures not only disciplined their adopted European bodies, they enforced a new regime through dress (Rall 157-174). For boys, the gakuran symbolised the unity of education and militarism as central to Japanese masculinity. Wearing a uniform, as many authors suggest, furthers compliance (Craik, Nagasawa Kaiser and Hutton, and McVeigh). As conscription became a part of Japanese reality in World War II, the schoolboys just swapped their military-inspired school uniforms for genuine military garments.Re-imagining a Japanese schoolboy uniform from a European military costume might suit ideological purposes (Atkins), but there is more. The gakuran, as a uniform based on a close, but not fitted jacket, was the product of a process of advanced industrialisation in the garment-making industry also taking place in the 1800s:Between 1810 and 1830, technical calibrations invented by tailors working at the very highest level of the craft [in Britain] eventually made it possible for hundreds of suits to be cut up and made in advance [...] and the ready-to-wear idea was put into practice for men’s clothes […] originally for uniforms for the War of 1812. (Hollander 31) In this way, industrialisation became a means to mass production, which furthered militarisation, “the uniform is thus the clothing of the modern disciplinary society” (Black 102). There is a perfect resonance between Japan’s appetite for a modern military and their rise to an industrialised society, and their conquests in Asia Pacific supplied the necessary material resources that made such a rapid deployment possible. The Japanese schoolboy uniform was an integral part of the process of both industrialisation and militarisation, which instilled in the wearer a social role required by modern Japanese society in its rise for global power. Garments are never just clothing, but offer a “world of social relations put upon the wearer’s body” (Jones and Stallybrass 3-4).Today, both the Japanese kimono and the Japanese schoolboy uniform continue to interact with, and interrogate, global fashions as contemporary designers continue to call on the tropes of ‘military chic’ (Tonchi) and Japanese-inspired clothing (Kawamura). References Atkins, Jaqueline. Wearing Propaganda: Textiles on the Home Front in Japan, Britain, and the United States. Princeton: Yale UP, 2005.Bantock, Geoffrey Herman. Culture, Industrialisation and Education. London: Routledge & K. Paul, 1968.Black, Prudence. “The Discipline of Appearance: Military Style and Australian Flight Hostess Uniforms 1930–1964.” Fashion & War in Popular Culture. Ed. Denise N. Rall. Bristol: Intellect/U Chicago P, 2014. 91-106.Craik, Jenifer. Uniforms Exposed: From Conformity to Transgression. Oxford: Berg, 2005.Cumming, Valerie, Cecil Williet Cunnington, and Phillis Emily Cunnington. “Mao Style.” The Dictionary of Fashion History. Eds. Valerie Cumming, Cecil Williet Cunnington, and Phillis Emily Cunnington. Oxford: Berg, 2010.Dalby, Liza, ed. Kimono: Fashioning Culture. London: Vintage, 2001.Davis, Edward L., ed. Encyclopaedia of Contemporary Chinese Culture. London: Routledge, 2005.Dees, Jan. Taisho Kimono: Speaking of Past and Present. Milan: Skira, 2009.Ferguson, N. Civilization: The West and the Rest. London: Penguin, 2011.Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. London: Penguin, 1997. Gerth, Karl. China Made: Consumer Culture and the Creation of the Nation, Cambridge: East Asian Harvard Monograph 224, 2003.Gilbert, W.S., and Arthur Sullivan. The Mikado or, The Town of Titipu. 1885. 16 Nov. 2015 ‹http://math.boisestate.edu/gas/mikado/mk_lib.pdf›. Hillsborough, Romulus. Samurai Revolution: The Dawn of Modern Japan Seen through the Eyes of the Shogun's Last Samurai. Vermont: Tuttle, 2014.Jones, Anne R., and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing and the Materials of Memory. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000.Keene, Donald. Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852-1912. New York: Columbia UP, 2002.King, Emerald L. “Schoolboys and Kimono Ladies.” Presentation to the Un-Thinking Asian Migrations Conference, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand, 24-26 Aug. 2014. Kinsella, Sharon. “What’s Behind the Fetishism of Japanese School Uniforms?” Fashion Theory 6.2 (2002): 215-37. Kuechler, Susanne, and Daniel Miller, eds. Clothing as Material Culture. Oxford: Berg, 2005.Landow, George P. “Liberty and the Evolution of the Liberty Style.” 22 Aug. 2010. ‹http://www.victorianweb.org/art/design/liberty/lstyle.html›.Martin, Richard, and Harold Koda. Orientalism: Vision of the East in Western Dress. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1994.McVeigh, Brian J. Wearing Ideology: State, Schooling, and Self-Presentation in Japan. Oxford: Berg, 2000.Molloy, John. Military Fashion: A Comparative History of the Uniforms of the Great Armies from the 17th Century to the First World War. New York: Putnam, 1972.Peoples, Sharon. “Embodying the Military: Uniforms.” Critical Studies in Men’s Fashion 1.1 (2014): 7-21.Rall, Denise N. “Costume & Conquest: A Proximity Framework for Post-War Impacts on Clothing and Textile Art.” Fashion & War in Popular Culture, ed. Denise N. Rall. Bristol: Intellect/U Chicago P, 2014. 157-74. Tipton, Elise K. Modern Japan: A Social and Political History. 3rd ed. London: Routledge, 2016.Tucker, Spencer C., ed. A Global Chronology of Conflict: From the Ancient World to the Modern Middle East. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2013.V&A Kimono. Victoria and Albert Museum. “A History of the Kimono.” 2004. 2 Oct. 2015 ‹http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/h/a-history-of-the-kimono/›.V&A Victorian. Victoria and Albert Museum. “The Victorian Vision of China and Japan.” 10 Nov. 2015 ‹http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/t/the-victorian-vision-of-china-and-japan/›.Vincent, Susan J. The Anatomy of Fashion: Dressing the Body from the Renaissance to Today. Berg: Oxford, 2009.Wilde, Oscar. “The Decay of Lying.” 1889. In Intentions New York: Berentano’s 1905. 16 Nov. 2015 ‹http://virgil.org/dswo/courses/novel/wilde-lying.pdf›. Wilk, Richard. “Consumer Goods as a Dialogue about Development.” Cultural History 7 (1990) 79-100.

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Inoriza, José M., Marc Carreras, Jordi Coderch, Oriol Turro-Garriga, Marc Sáez e Josep Garre-Olmo. "A 14-Year Longitudinal Analysis of Healthcare Expenditure on Dementia and Related Factors (DEMENCOST Study)". Journal of Alzheimer's Disease, 15 de julho de 2023, 1–17. http://dx.doi.org/10.3233/jad-221220.

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Background: The large number of dementia cases produces a great pressure on health and social care services, which requires efficient planning to meet the needs of patients through infrastructure, equipment, and financial, technical, and personal resources adjusted to their demands. Dementia analysis requires studies with a very precise patient characterization of both the disease and comorbidities present, and long-term follow-up of patients in clinical aspects and patterns of resource utilization and costs generated. Objective: To describe and quantify direct healthcare expenditure and its evolution from three years before and up to ten years after the diagnosis of dementia, compared to a matched group without dementia. Methods: Retrospective cohort design with follow-up from 6 to 14 years. We studied 996 people with dementia (PwD) and 2,998 controls matched for age, sex, and comorbidity. This paper adopts the provider’s perspective as the perspective of analysis and refers to the costs actually incurred in providing the services. Aggregate costs and components per patient per year were calculated and modelled. Results: Total health expenditure increases in PwD from the year of diagnosis and in each of the following 7 years, but not thereafter. Health status and mortality are factors explaining the evolution of direct costs. Dementia alone is not a statistically significant factor in explaining differences between groups. Conclusion: The incremental direct cost of dementia may not be as high or as long as studies with relatively short follow-up suggest. Dementia would have an impact on increasing disease burden and mortality.

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Wessell, Adele. "Cookbooks for Making History: As Sources for Historians and as Records of the Past". M/C Journal 16, n.º 3 (23 de agosto de 2013). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.717.

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Historians have often been compared with detectives; searching for clues as evidence of a mystery they are seeking to solve. I would prefer an association with food, making history like a trained cook who blends particular ingredients, some fresh, some traditional, using specific methods to create an object that is consumed. There are primary sources, fresh and raw ingredients that you often have to go to great lengths to procure, and secondary sources, prepared initially by someone else. The same recipe may yield different meals, the same meal may provoke different responses. On a continuum of approaches to history and food, there are those who approach both as a scientific endeavour and, at the other end of the spectrum, those who make history and food as art. Brought together, it is possible to see cookbooks as history in at least two important ways; they give meaning to the past by representing culinary heritage and they are in themselves sources of history as documents and blueprints for experiences that can be interpreted to represent the past. Many people read cookbooks and histories with no intention of preparing the meal or becoming a historian. I do a little of both. I enjoy reading history and cookbooks for pleasure but, as a historian, I also read them interchangeably; histories to understand cookbooks and cookbooks to find out more about the past. History and the past are different of course, despite their use in the English language. It is not possible to relive the past, we can only interpret it through the traces that remain. Even if a reader had an exact recipe and an antique stove, vegetables grown from heritage seeds in similar conditions, eggs and grains from the same region and employed the techniques his or her grandparents used, they could not replicate their experience of a meal. Undertaking those activities though would give a reader a sense of that experience. Active examination of the past is possible through the processes of research and writing, but it will always be an interpretation and not a reproduction of the past itself. Nevertheless, like other histories, cookbooks can convey a sense of what was important in a culture, and what contemporaries might draw on that can resonate a cultural past and make the food palatable. The way people eat relates to how they apply ideas and influences to the material resources and knowledge they have. Used in this way, cookbooks provide a rich and valuable way to look at the past. Histories, like cookbooks, are written in the present, inspired and conditioned by contemporary issues and attitudes and values. Major shifts in interpretation or new directions in historical studies have more often arisen from changes in political or theoretical preoccupations, generated by contemporary social events, rather than the recovery of new information. Likewise, the introduction of new ingredients or methods rely on contemporary acceptance, as well as familiarity. How particular versions of history and new recipes promote both the past and present is the concern of this paper. My focus below will be on the nineteenth century, although a much larger study would reveal the circumstances that separated that period from the changes that followed. Until the late nineteenth century Australians largely relied on cookbooks that were brought with them from England and on their own private recipe collection, and that influenced to a large extent the sort of food that they ate, although of course they had to improvise by supplementing with local ingredients. In the first book of recipes that was published in Australia, The English and Australian Cookery Book that appeared in 1864, Edward Abbott evoked the ‘roast beef of old England Oh’ (Bannerman, Dictionary). The use of such a potent symbol of English identity in the nineteenth century may seem inevitable, and colonists who could afford them tended to use their English cookbooks and the ingredients for many years, even after Abbott’s publication. New ingredients, however, were often adapted to fit in with familiar culinary expectations in the new setting. Abbott often drew on native and exotic ingredients to produce very familiar dishes that used English methods and principles: things like kangaroo stuffed with beef suet, breadcrumbs, parsley, shallots, marjoram, thyme, nutmeg, pepper, salt, cayenne, and egg. It was not until the 1890s that a much larger body of Australian cookbooks became available, but by this time the food supply was widely held to be secure and abundant and the cultivation of exotic foods in Australia like wheat and sheep and cattle had established a long and familiar food supply for English colonists. Abbott’s cookbook provides a record of the culinary heritage settlers brought with them to Australia and the contemporary circumstances they had to adapt to. Mrs Beeton’s Cookery Book and Household Guide is an example of the popularity of British cookbooks in Australia. Beeton’s Kangaroo Tail Curry was included in the Australian cooking section of her household management (2860). In terms of structure it is important for historians as one of the first times, because Beeton started writing in the 1860s, that ingredients were clearly distinguished from the method. This actually still presents considerable problems for publishers. There is debate about whether that should necessarily be the case, because it takes up so much space on the page. Kangaroo Tail CurryIngredients:1 tail2 oz. Butter1 tablespoon of flour1 tablespoon of curry2 onions sliced1 sour apple cut into dice1 desert spoon of lemon juice3/4 pint of stocksaltMethod:Wash, blanch and dry the tail thoroughly and divide it at the joints. Fry the tail in hot butter, take it up, put it in the sliced onions, and fry them for 3 or 4 minutes without browning. Sprinkle in the flour and curry powder, and cook gently for at least 20 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the stock, apple, salt to taste, bring to the boil, stirring meanwhile, and replace the tail in the stew pan. Cover closely, and cook gently until tender, then add the lemon juice and more seasoning if necessary. Arrange the pieces of tail on a hot dish, strain the sauce over, and serve with boiled rice.Time: 2-3 hoursSufficient for 1 large dish. Although the steps are not clearly distinguished from each other the method is more systematic than earlier recipes. Within the one sentence, however, there are still two or three different sorts of tasks. The recipe also requires to some extent a degree of discretion, knowledge and experience of cooking. Beeton suggests adding things to taste, cooking something until it is tender, so experience or knowledge is necessary to fulfil the recipe. The meal also takes between two and three hours, which would be quite prohibitive for a lot of contemporary cooks. New recipes, like those produced in Delicious have recipes that you can do in ten minutes or half an hour. Historically, that is a new development that reveals a lot about contemporary conditions. By 1900, Australian interest in native food had pretty much dissolved from the record of cookbooks, although this would remain a feature of books for the English public who did not need to distinguish themselves from Indigenous people. Mrs Beeton’s Cookery Book and Household Guide gave a selection of Australian recipes but they were primarily for the British public rather than the assumption that they were being cooked in Australia: kangaroo tail soup was cooked in the same way as ox tail soup; roast wallaby was compared to hare. The ingredients were wallaby, veal, milk and butter; and parrot pie was said to be not unlike one made of pigeons. The novelty value of such ingredients may have been of interest, rather than their practical use. However, they are all prepared in ways that would make them fairly familiar to European tastes. Introducing something new with the same sorts of ingredients could therefore proliferate the spread of other foods. The means by which ingredients were introduced to different regions reflects cultural exchanges, historical processes and the local environment. The adaptation of recipes to incorporate local ingredients likewise provides information about local traditions and contemporary conditions. Starting to see those ingredients as a two-way movement between looking at what might have been familiar to people and what might have been something that they had to do make do with because of what was necessarily available to them at that time tells us about their past as well as the times they are living in. Differences in the level of practical cooking knowledge also have a vital role to play in cookbook literature. Colin Bannerman has suggested that the shortage of domestic labour in Australia an important factor in supporting the growth of the cookbook industry in the late nineteenth century. The poor quality of Australian cooking was also an occasional theme in the press during the same time. The message was generally the same: bad food affected Australians’ physical, domestic, social and moral well-being and impeded progress towards civilisation and higher culture. The idea was really that Australians had to learn how to cook. Colin Bannerman (Acquired Tastes 19) explains the rise of domestic science in Australia as a product of growing interest in Australian cultural development and the curse of bad cookery, which encouraged support for teaching girls and women how to cook. Domestic Economy was integrated into the Victorian and New South Wales curriculum by the end of the nineteenth century. Australian women have faced constant criticism of their cooking skills but the decision to teach cooking shouldn’t necessarily be used to support that judgement. Placed in a broader framework is possible to see the support for a modern, scientific approach to food preparation as part of both the elevation of science and systematic knowledge in society more generally, and a transnational movement to raise the status of women’s role in society. It would also be misleading not to consider the transnational context. Australia’s first cookery teachers were from Britain. The domestic-science movement there can be traced to the congress on domestic economy held in Manchester in 1878, at roughly the same time as the movement was gaining strength in Australia. By the 1890s domestic economy was widely taught in both British and Australian schools, without British women facing the same denigration of their cooking skills. Other comparisons with Britain also resulted from Australia’s colonial heritage. People often commented on the quality of the ingredients in Australia and said they were more widely available than they were in England but much poorer in quality. Cookbooks emerged as a way of teaching people. Among the first to teach cookery skills was Mina Rawson, author of The Antipodean Cookery Book and the Kitchen Companion first published in 1885. The book was a compilation of her own recipes and remedies, and it organised and simplified food preparation for the ordinary housewife. But the book also included directions and guidance on things like household tasks and how to cure diseases. Cookbooks therefore were not completely distinct from other aspects of everyday life. They offered much more than culinary advice on how to cook a particular meal and can similarly be used by historians to comment on more than food. Mrs Rawson also knew that people had to make do. She included a lot of bush foods that you still do not get in a lot of Australian meals, ingredients that people could substitute for the English ones they were used to like pig weed. By the end of the nineteenth century cooking had become a recognised classroom subject, providing early training in domestic service, and textbooks teaching Australians how to cook also flourished. Measurements became much more uniform, the layout of cookbooks became more standardised and the procedure was clearly spelled out. This allowed companies to be able to sell their foods because it also meant that you could duplicate the recipes and they could potentially taste the same. It made cookbooks easier to use. The audience for these cookbooks were mostly young women directed to cooking as a way of encouraging social harmony. Cooking was elevated in lots of ways at this stage as a social responsibility. Cookbooks can also be seen as a representation of domestic life, and historically this prescribed the activities of men and women as being distinct The dominance of women in cookbooks in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries attested to the strength of that idea of separate spheres. The consequences of this though has been debated by historians: whether having that particular kind of market and the identification that women were making with each other also provided a forum for women’s voices and so became quite significant in women’s politics at a later date. Cookbooks have been a strategic marketing device for products and appliances. By the beginning of the twentieth century food companies began to print recipes on their packets and to release their own cookbooks to promote their products. Davis Gelatine produced its first free booklet in 1904 and other companies followed suit (1937). The largest gelatine factory was in New South Wales and according to Davis: ‘It bathed in sunshine and freshened with the light breezes of Botany all year round.’ These were the first lavishly illustrated Australian cookbooks. Such books were an attempt to promote new foods and also to sell local foods, many of which were overproduced – such as milk, and dried fruits – which provides insights into the supply chain. Cookbooks in some ways reflected the changing tastes of the public, their ideas, what they were doing and their own lifestyle. But they also helped to promote some of those sorts of changes too. Explaining the reason for cooking, Isabella Beeton put forward an historical account of the shift towards increasing enjoyment of it. She wrote: "In the past, only to live has been the greatest object of mankind, but by and by comforts are multiplied and accumulating riches create new wants. The object then is to not only live but to live economically, agreeably, tastefully and well. Accordingly the art of cookery commences and although the fruits of the earth, the fowls of the air, the beasts of the field and the fish of the sea are still the only food of mankind, yet these are so prepared, improved and dressed by skill and ingenuity that they are the means of immeasurably extending the boundaries of human enjoyment. Everything that is edible and passes under the hands of cooks is more or less changed and assumes new forms, hence the influence of that functionary is immense upon the happiness of the household" (1249). Beeton anticipates a growing trend not just towards cooking and eating but an interest in what sustains cooking as a form of recreation. The history of cookbook publishing provides a glimpse into some of those things. The points that I have raised provide a means for historians to use cookbooks. Cookbooks can be considered in terms of what was eaten, by whom and how: who prepared the food, so to whom the books were actually directed? Clever books like Isabella Beeton’s were directed at both domestic servants and at wives, which gave them quite a big market. There are also changes in the inclusion of themes. Economy and frugality becomes quite significant, as do organisation and management at different times. Changes in the extent of detail, changes in authorship, whether it is women, men, doctors, health professionals, home economists and so on all reflect contemporary concerns. Many books had particular purposes as well, used to fund raise or promote a particular perspective, relate food reform and civic life which gives them a political agenda. Promotional literature produced by food and kitchen equipment companies were a form of advertising and quite significant to the history of cookbook publishing in Australia. Other themes include the influence of cookery school and home economics movements; advice on etiquette and entertaining; the influence of immigration and travel; the creation of culinary stars and authors of which we are all fairly familiar. Further themes include changes in ingredients, changes in advice about health and domestic medicine, and the impact of changes in social consciousness. It is necessary to place those changes in a more general historical context, but for a long time cookbooks have been ignored as a source of information in their own right about the period in which they were published and the kinds of social and political changes that we can see coming through. More than this active process of cooking with the books as well becomes a way of imagining the past in quite different ways than historians are often used to. Cookbooks are not just sources for historians, they are histories in themselves. The privileging of written and visual texts in postcolonial studies has meant other senses, taste and smell, are frequently neglected; and yet the cooking from historical cookbooks can provide an embodied, sensorial image of the past. From nineteenth century cookbooks it is possible to see that British foods were central to the colonial identity project in Australia, but the fact that “British” culinary culture was locally produced, challenges the idea of an “authentic” British cuisine which the colonies tried to replicate. By the time Abbot was advocating rabbit curry as an Australian family meal, back “at home” in England, it was not authentic Indian food but the British invention of curry power that was being incorporated into English cuisine culture. More than cooks, cookbook authors told a narrative that forged connections and disconnections with the past. They reflected the contemporary period and resonated with the culinary heritage of their readers. Cookbooks make history in multiple ways; by producing change, as the raw materials for making history and as historical narratives. References Abbott, Edward. The English and Australian Cookery Book: Cookery for the Many, as well as the Upper Ten Thousand. London: Sampson Low, Son & Marston, 1864. Bannerman, Colin. Acquired Tastes: Celebrating Australia’s Culinary History. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 1998. Bannerman, Colin. "Abbott, Edward (1801–1869)." Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University. 21 May 2013. . Beeton, Isabella. Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management. New Ed. London and Melbourne: Ward, Lock and Co. Ltd., n.d. (c. 1909). Davis Gelatine. Davis Dainty Dishes. Rev ed. Sydney: Davis Gelatine Organization, 1937. Rawson, Lance Mrs. The Antipodean Cookery Book and Kitchen Companion. Melbourne: George Robertson & Co., 1897.

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Hodge, Bob. "The Complexity Revolution". M/C Journal 10, n.º 3 (1 de junho de 2007). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2656.

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‘Complex(ity)’ is currently fashionable in the humanities. Fashions come and go, but in this article I argue that the interest in complexity connects with something deeper, an intellectual revolution that began before complexity became trendy, and will continue after the spotlight passes on. Yet to make this case, and understand and advance this revolution, we need a better take on ‘complexity’. ‘Complex’ is of course complex. In common use it refers to something ‘composed of many interrelated parts’, or problems ‘so complicated or intricate as to be hard to deal with’. I will call this popular meaning, with its positive and negative values, complexity-1. In science it has a more negative sense, complexity-2, referring to the presenting complexity of problems, which science will strip down to underlying simplicity. But recently it has developed positive meanings in both science and humanities. Complexity-3 marks a revolutionarily more positive attitude to complexity in science that does seek to be reductive. Humanities-style complexity-4, which acknowledges and celebrates the inherent complexity of texts and meanings, is basic in contemporary Media and Cultural studies (MaC for short). The underlying root of complex is plico bend or fold, plus con- together, via complector grasp (something), encompass an idea, or person. The double of ‘complex’ is ‘simple’, from Latin simplex, which less obviously also comes from plico, plus semel once, at the same time. ‘Simple’ and ‘complex’ are closer than people think: only a fold or two apart. A key idea is that these elements are interdependent, parts of a single underlying form. ‘Simple(x)’ is another modality of ‘complex’, dialectically related, different in degree not kind, not absolutely opposite. The idea of ‘holding together’ is stronger in Latin complex, the idea of difficulty more prominent in modern usage, yet the term still includes both. The concept ‘complex’ is untenable apart from ‘simple’. This figure maps the basic structures in ‘complexity’. This complexity contains both positive and negative values, science and non-science, academic and popular meanings, with folds/differences and relationships so dynamically related that no aspect is totally independent. This complex field is the minimum context in which to explore claims about a ‘complexity revolution’. Complexity in Science and Humanities In spite of the apparent similarities between Complexity-3 (sciences) and 4 (humanities), in practice a gulf separates them, policed from both sides. If these sides do not talk to each other, as they often do not, the result is not a complex meaning for ‘complex’, but a semantic war-zone. These two forms of complexity connect and collide because they reach into a new space where discourses of science and non-science are interacting more than they have for many years. For many, in both academic communities, a strong, taken-for-granted mindset declares the difference between them is absolute. They assume that if ‘complexity’ exists in science, it must mean something completely different from what it means in humanities or everyday discourse, so different as to be incomprehensible or unusable by humanists. This terrified defence of the traditional gulf between sciences and humanities is not the clinching argument these critics think. On the contrary, it symptomises what needs to be challenged, via the concept complex. One influential critic of this split was Lord Snow, who talked of ‘two cultures’. Writing in class-conscious post-war Britain he regretted the ignorance of humanities-trained ruling elites about basic science, and scientists’ ignorance of humanities. No-one then or now doubts there is a problem. Most MaC students have a science-light education, and feel vulnerable to critiques which say they do not need to know any science or maths, including complexity science, and could not understand it anyway. To understand how this has happened I go back to the 17th century rise of ‘modern science’. The Royal Society then included the poet Dryden as well as the scientist Newton, but already the fissure between science and humanities was emerging in the elite, re-enforcing existing gaps between both these and technology. The three forms of knowledge and their communities continued to develop over the next 400 years, producing the education system which formed most of us, the structure of academic knowledges in which culture, technology and science form distinct fields. Complexity has been implicated in this three-way split. Influenced by Newton’s wonderful achievement, explaining so much (movements of earthly and heavenly bodies) with so little (three elegant laws of motion, one brief formula), science defined itself as a reductive practice, in which complexity was a challenge. Simplicity was the sign of a successful solution, altering the older reciprocity between simplicity and complexity. The paradox was ignored that proof involved highly complex mathematics, as anyone who reads Newton knows. What science held onto was the outcome, a simplicity then retrospectively attributed to the universe itself, as its true nature. Simplicity became a core quality in the ontology of science, with complexity-2 the imperfection which challenged and provoked science to eliminate it. Humanities remained a refuge for a complexity ontology, in which both problems and solutions were irreducibly complex. Because of the dominance of science as a form of knowing, the social sciences developed a reductivist approach opposing traditional humanities. They also waged bitter struggles against anti-reductionists who emerged in what was called ‘social theory’. Complexity-4 in humanities is often associated with ‘post-structuralism’, as in Derrida, who emphasises the irreducible complexity of every text and process of meaning, or ‘postmodernism’, as in Lyotard’s controversial, influential polemic. Lyotard attempted to take the pulse of contemporary Western thought. Among trends he noted were new forms of science, new relationships between science and humanities, and a new kind of logic pervading all branches of knowledge. Not all Lyotard’s claims have worn well, but his claim that something really important is happening in the relationship between kinds and institutions of knowledge, especially between sciences and humanities, is worth serious attention. Even classic sociologists like Durkheim recognised that the modern world is highly complex. Contemporary sociologists agree that ‘globalisation’ introduces new levels of complexity in its root sense, interconnections on a scale never seen before. Urry argues that the hyper-complexity of the global world requires a complexity approach, combining complexity-3 and 4. Lyotard’s ‘postmodernism’ has too much baggage, including dogmatic hostility to science. Humanities complexity-4 has lost touch with the sceptical side of popular complexity-1, and lacks a dialectic relationship with simplicity. ‘Complexity’, incorporating Complexity-1 and 3, popular and scientific, made more complex by incorporating humanities complexity-4, may prove a better concept for thinking creatively and productively about these momentous changes. Only complex complexity in the approach, flexible and interdisciplinary, can comprehend these highly complex new objects of knowledge. Complexity and the New Condition of Science Some important changes in the way science is done are driven not from above, by new theories or discoveries, but by new developments in social contexts. Gibbons and Nowottny identify new forms of knowledge and practice, which they call ‘mode-2 knowledge’, emerging alongside older forms. Mode-1 is traditional academic knowledge, based in universities, organised in disciplines, relating to real-life problems at one remove, as experts to clients or consultants to employers. Mode-2 is orientated to real life problems, interdisciplinary and collaborative, producing provisional, emergent knowledge. Gibbons and Nowottny do not reference postmodernism but are looking at Lyotard’s trends as they were emerging in practice 10 years later. They do not emphasise complexity, but the new objects of knowledge they address are fluid, dynamic and highly complex. They emphasise a new scale of interdisciplinarity, in collaborations between academics across all disciplines, in science, technology, social sciences and humanities, though they do not see a strong role for humanities. This approach confronts and welcomes irreducible complexity in object and methods. It takes for granted that real-life problems will always be too complex (with too many factors, interrelated in too many ways) to be reduced to the sort of problem that isolated disciplines could handle. The complexity of objects requires equivalent complexity in responses; teamwork, using networks, drawing on relevant knowledge wherever it is to be found. Lyotard famously and foolishly predicted the death of the ‘grand narrative’ of science, but Gibbons and Nowottny offer a more complex picture in which modes-1 and 2 will continue alongside each other in productive dialectic. The linear form of science Lyotard attacked is stronger than ever in some ways, as ‘Big Science’, which delivers wealth and prestige to disciplinary scientists, accessing huge funds to solve highly complex problems with a reductionist mindset. But governments also like the idea of mode-2 knowledge, under whatever name, and try to fund it despite resistance from powerful mode-1 academics. Moreover, non-reductionist science in practice has always been more common than the dominant ideology allowed, whether or not its exponents, some of them eminent scientists, chose to call it ‘complexity’ science. Quantum physics, called ‘the new physics’, consciously departed from the linear, reductionist assumptions of Newtonian physics to project an irreducibly complex picture of the quantum world. Different movements, labelled ‘catastrophe theory’, ‘chaos theory’ and ‘complexity science’, emerged, not a single coherent movement replacing the older reductionist model, but loosely linked by new attitudes to complexity. Instead of seeing chaos and complexity as problems to be removed by analysis, chaos and complexity play a more ambiguous role, as ontologically primary. Disorder and complexity are not later regrettable lapses from underlying essential simplicity and order, but potentially creative resources, to be understood and harnessed, not feared, controlled, eliminated. As a taste of exciting ideas on complexity, barred from humanities MaC students by the general prohibition on ‘consorting with the enemy’ (science), I will outline three ideas, originally developed in complexity-3, which can be described in ways requiring no specialist knowledge or vocabulary, beyond a Mode-2 openness to dynamic, interdisciplinary engagement. Fractals, a term coined by mathematician Benoit Mandelbrot, are so popular as striking shapes produced by computer-graphics, circulated on T-shirts, that they may seem superficial, unscientific, trendy. They exist at an intersection between science, media and culture, and their complexity includes transactions across that folded space. The name comes from Latin fractus, broken: irregular shapes like broken shards, which however have their own pattern. Mandelbrot claims that in nature, many such patterns partly repeat on different scales. When this happens, he says, objects on any one scale will have equivalent complexity. Part of this idea is contained in Blake’s famous line: ‘To see the world in a grain of sand’. The importance of the principle is that it fundamentally challenges reductiveness. Nor is it as unscientific as it may sound. Geologists indeed see grains of sand under a microscope as highly complex. In sociology, instead of individuals (literal meaning ‘cannot be divided’) being the minimally simple unit of analysis, individuals can be understood to be as complex (e.g. with multiple identities, linked with many other social beings) as groups, classes or nations. There is no level where complexity disappears. A second concept is ‘fuzzy logic’, invented by an engineer, Zadeh. The basic idea is not unlike the literary critic Empson’s ‘ambiguity’, the sometimes inexhaustible complexity of meanings in great literature. Zadeh’s contribution was to praise the inherent ambiguity and ambiguity of natural languages as a resource for scientists and engineers, making them better, not worse, for programming control systems. Across this apparently simple bridge have flowed many fuzzy machines, more effective than their over-precise brothers. Zadeh crystallised this wisdom in his ‘Principle of incompatibility’: As the complexity of a system increases, our ability to make precise and yet significant statements about its behaviour decreases until a threshold is reached beyond which precision and significance (or relevance) become almost mutually exclusive characteristics (28) Something along these lines is common wisdom in complexity-1. For instance, under the headline “Law is too complex for juries to understand, says judge” (Dick 4), the Chief Justice of Australia, Murray Gleeson, noted a paradox of complexity, that attempts to improve a system by increasing its complexity make it worse (meaningless or irrelevant, as Zadeh said). The system loses its complexity in another sense, that it no longer holds together. My third concept is the ‘Butterfly Effect’, a name coined by Lorenz. The butterfly was this scientist’s poetic fantasy, an imagined butterfly that flaps its wings somewhere on the Andes, and introduces a small change in the weather system that triggers a hurricane in Montana, or Beijing. This idea is another riff on the idea that complex situations are not reducible to component elements. Every cause is so complex that we can never know in advance just what factor will operate in a given situation, or what its effects might be across a highly complex system. Travels in Complexity I will now explore these issues with reference to a single example, or rather, a nested set of examples, each (as in fractal theory) equivalently complex, yet none identical at any scale. I was travelling in a train from Penrith to Sydney in New South Wales in early 2006 when I read a publicity text from NSW State Rail which asked me: ‘Did you know that delays at Sydenham affect trains to Parramatta? Or that a sick passenger on a train at Berowra can affect trains to Penrith?’ No, I did not know that. As a typical commuter I was impressed, and even more so as an untypical commuter who knows about complexity science. Without ostentatious reference to sources in popular science, NSW Rail was illustrating Lorenz’s ‘butterfly effect’. A sick passenger is prosaic, a realistic illustration of the basic point, that in a highly complex system, a small change in one part, so small that no-one could predict it would matter, can produce a massive, apparently unrelated change in another part. This text was part of a publicity campaign with a scientific complexity-3 subtext, which ran in a variety of forms, in their website, in notices in carriages, on the back of tickets. I will use a complexity framework to suggest different kinds of analysis and project which might interest MaC students, applicable to objects that may not refer to be complexity-3. The text does two distinct things. It describes a planning process, and is part of a publicity program. The first, simplifying movement of Mode-1 analysis would see this difference as projecting two separate objects for two different specialists: a transport expert for the planning, a MaC analyst for the publicity, including the image. Unfortunately, as Zadeh warned, in complex conditions simplification carries an explanatory cost, producing descriptions that are meaningless or irrelevant, even though common sense (complexity-1) says otherwise. What do MaC specialists know about rail systems? What do engineers know about publicity? But collaboration in a mode-2 framework does not need extensive specialist knowledge, only enough to communicate with others. MaC specialists have a fuzzy knowledge of their own and other areas of knowledge, attuned by Humanities complexity-4 to tolerate uncertainty. According to the butterfly principle it would be foolish to wish our University education had equipped us with the necessary other knowledges. We could never predict what precise items of knowledge would be handy from our formal and informal education. The complexity of most mode-2 problems is so great that we cannot predict in advance what we will need to know. MaC is already a complex field, in which ‘Media’ and ‘Culture’ are fuzzy terms which interact in different ways. Media and other organisations we might work with are often imbued with linear forms of thought (complexity-2), and want simple answers to simple questions about complex systems. For instance, MaC researchers might be asked as consultants to determine the effect of this message on typical commuters. That form of analysis is no longer respectable in complexity-4 MaC studies. Old-style (complexity-2) effects-research modelled Senders, Messages and Receivers to measure effects. Standard research methods of complexity-2 social sciences might test effects of the message by a survey instrument, with a large sample to allow statistically significant results. Using this, researchers could claim to know whether the publicity campaign had its desired effect on its targeted demographic: presumably inspiring confidence in NSW Rail. However, each of these elements is complex, and interactions between them, and others that don’t enter into the analysis, create further levels of complexity. To manage this complexity, MaC analysts often draw on Foucault’s authority to use ‘discourse’ to simplify analysis. This does not betray the principle of complexity. Complexity-4 needs a simplicity-complexity dialectic. In this case I propose a ‘complexity discourse’ to encapsulate the complex relations between Senders, Receivers and Messages into a single word, which can then be related to other such elements (e.g. ‘publicity discourse’). In this case complexity-3 can also be produced by attending to details of elements in the S-M-R chain, combining Derridean ‘deconstruction’ with expert knowledge of the situation. This Sender may be some combination of engineers and planners, managers who commissioned the advertisement, media professionals who carried it out. The message likewise loses its unity as its different parts decompose into separate messages, leaving the transaction a fraught, unpredictable encounter between multiple messages and many kinds of reader and sender. Alongside its celebration of complexity-3, this short text runs another message: ‘untangling our complex rail network’. This is complexity-2 from science and engineering, where complexity is only a problem to be removed. A fuller text on the web-site expands this second strand, using bullet points and other signals of a linear approach. In this text, there are 5 uses of ‘reliable’, 6 uses of words for problems of complexity (‘bottlenecks’, ‘delays’, ‘congestion’), and 6 uses of words for the new system (‘simpler’, ‘independent’). ‘Complex’ is used twice, both times negatively. In spite of the impression given by references to complexity-3, this text mostly has a reductionist attitude to complexity. Complexity is the enemy. Then there is the image. Each line is a different colour, and they loop in an attractive way, seeming to celebrate graceful complexity-2. Yet this part of the image is what is going to be eliminated by the new program’s complexity-2. The interesting complexity of the upper part of the image is what the text declares is the problem. What are commuters meant to think? And Railcorp? This media analysis identifies a fissure in the message, which reflects a fissure in the Sender-complex. It also throws up a problem in the culture that produced such interesting allusions to complexity science, but has linear, reductionist attitudes to complexity in its practice. We can ask: where does this cultural problem go, in the organisation, in the interconnected system and bureaucracy it manages? Is this culture implicated in the problems the program is meant to address? These questions are more productive if asked in a collaborative mode-2 framework, with an organisation open to such questions, with complex researchers able to move between different identities, as media analyst, cultural analyst, and commuter, interested in issues of organisation and logistics, engaged with complexity in all senses. I will continue my imaginary mode-2 collaboration with Railcorp by offering them another example of fractal analysis, looking at another instant, captured in a brief media text. On Wednesday 14 March, 2007, two weeks before a State government election, a very small cause triggered a systems failure in the Sydney network. A small carbon strip worth $44 which was not properly attached properly threw Sydney’s transport network into chaos on Wednesday night, causing thousands of commuters to be trapped in trains for hours. (Baker and Davies 7) This is an excellent example of a butterfly effect, but it is not labelled as such, nor regarded positively in this complexity-1 framework. ‘Chaos’ signifies something no-one wants in a transport system. This is popular not scientific reductionism. The article goes on to tell the story of one passenger, Mark MacCauley, a quadriplegic left without power or electricity in a train because the lift was not working. He rang City Rail, and was told that “someone would be in touch in 3 to 5 days” (Baker and Davies 7). He then rang emergency OOO, and was finally rescued by contractors “who happened to be installing a lift at North Sydney” (Baker and Davies 7). My new friends at NSW Rail would be very unhappy with this story. It would not help much to tell them that this is a standard ‘human interest’ article, nor that it is more complex than it looks. For instance, MacCauley is not typical of standard passengers who usually concern complexity-2 planners of rail networks. He is another butterfly, whose specific needs would be hard to predict or cater for. His rescue is similarly unpredictable. Who would have predicted that these contractors, with their specialist equipment, would be in the right place at the right time to rescue him? Complexity provided both problem and solution. The media’s double attitude to complexity, positive and negative, complexity-1 with a touch of complexity-3, is a resource which NSW Rail might learn to use, even though it is presented with such hostility here. One lesson of the complexity is that a tight, linear framing of systems and problems creates or exacerbates problems, and closes off possible solutions. In the problem, different systems didn’t connect: social and material systems, road and rail, which are all ‘media’ in McLuhan’s highly fuzzy sense. NSW Rail communication systems were cumbrously linear, slow (3 to 5 days) and narrow. In the solution, communication cut across institutional divisions, mediated by responsive, fuzzy complex humans. If the problem came from a highly complex system, the solution is a complex response on many fronts: planning, engineering, social and communication systems open to unpredictable input from other surrounding systems. As NSW Rail would have been well aware, the story responded to another context. The page was headed ‘Battle for NSW’, referring to an election in 2 weeks, in which this newspaper editorialised that the incumbent government should be thrown out. This political context is clearly part of the complexity of the newspaper message, which tries to link not just the carbon strip and ‘chaos’, but science and politics, this strip and the government’s credibility. Yet the government was returned with a substantial though reduced majority, not the swingeing defeat that might have been predicted by linear logic (rail chaos = electoral defeat) or by some interpretations of the butterfly effect. But complexity-3 does not say that every small cause produces catastrophic effects. On the contrary, it says that causal situations can be so complex that we can never be entirely sure what effects will follow from any given case. The political situation in all its complexity is an inseparable part of the minimal complex situation which NSW Rail must take into account as it considers how to reform its operations. It must make complexity in all its senses a friend and ally, not just a source of nasty surprises. My relationship with NSW Rail at the moment is purely imaginary, but illustrates positive and negative aspects of complexity as an organising principle for MaC researchers today. The unlimited complexity of Humanities’ complexity-4, Derridean and Foucauldian, can be liberating alongside the sometimes excessive scepticism of Complexity-2, but needs to keep in touch with the ambivalence of popular complexity-1. Complexity-3 connects with complexity-2 and 4 to hold the bundle together, in a more complex, cohesive, yet still unstable dynamic structure. It is this total sprawling, inchoate, contradictory (‘complex’) brand of complexity that I believe will play a key role in the up-coming intellectual revolution. But only time will tell. References Baker, Jordan, and Anne Davies. “Carbon Strip Caused Train Chaos.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Mar. 2007: 7. Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1976. Dick, Tim. “Law Is Now Too Complex for Juries to Understand, Says Judge.” Sydney Morning Herald 26 Mar. 2007: 4. Empson, William. Seven Types of Ambiguity. London: Chatto and Windus, 1930. Foucault, Michel. “The Order of Discourse.” In Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M Sheridan Smith. London: Tavistock, 1972. Gibbons, Michael. The New Production of Knowledge. London: Sage, 1994. Lorenz, Edward. The Essence of Chaos. London: University College, 1993. Lyotard, Jean-Francois. The Postmodern Condition. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1984. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media. London: Routledge, 1964. Mandelbrot, Benoit. “The Fractal Geometry of Nature.” In Nina Hall, ed. The New Scientist Guide to Chaos. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963. Nowottny, Henry. Rethinking Science. London: Polity, 2001. Snow, Charles Percy. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. London: Faber 1959. Urry, John. Global Complexity. London: Sage, 2003. Zadeh, Lotfi Asker. “Outline of a New Approach to the Analysis of Complex Systems and Decision Processes.” ILEE Transactions on Systems, Man, and Cybernetics 3.1 (1973): 28-44. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Hodge, Bob. "The Complexity Revolution." M/C Journal 10.3 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>. APA Style Hodge, B. (Jun. 2007) "The Complexity Revolution," M/C Journal, 10(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0706/01-hodge.php>.

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Aly, Anne, e Lelia Green. "Less than Equal: Secularism, Religious Pluralism and Privilege". M/C Journal 11, n.º 2 (1 de junho de 2008). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.32.

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In its preamble, The Western Australian Charter of Multiculturalism (WA) commits the state to becoming: “A society in which respect for mutual difference is accompanied by equality of opportunity within a framework of democratic citizenship”. One of the principles of multiculturalism, as enunciated in the Charter, is “equality of opportunity for all members of society to achieve their full potential in a free and democratic society where every individual is equal before and under the law”. An important element of this principle is the “equality of opportunity … to achieve … full potential”. The implication here is that those who start from a position of disadvantage when it comes to achieving that potential deserve more than ‘equal’ treatment. Implicitly, equality can be achieved only through the recognition of and response to differential needs and according to the likelihood of achieving full potential. This is encapsulated in Kymlicka’s argument that neutrality is “hopelessly inadequate once we look at the diversity of cultural membership which exists in contemporary liberal democracies” (903). Yet such a potential commitment to differential support might seem unequal to some, where equality is constructed as the same or equal treatment regardless of differing circumstances. Until the past half-century or more, this problematic has been a hotly-contested element of the struggle for Civil Rights for African-Americans in the United States, especially as these rights related to educational opportunity during the years of racial segregation. For some, providing resources to achieve equal outcomes (rather than be committed to equal inputs) may appear to undermine the very ethos of liberal democracy. In Australia, this perspective has been the central argument of Pauline Hanson and her supporters who denounce programs designed as measures to achieve equality for specific disadvantaged groups; including Indigenous Australians and humanitarian refugees. Nevertheless, equality for all on all grounds of legally-accepted difference: gender, race, age, family status, sexual orientation, political conviction, to name a few; is often held as the hallmark of progressive liberal societies such as Australia. In the matter of religious freedoms the situation seems much less complex. All that is required for religious equality, it seems, is to define religion as a private matter – carried out, as it were, between consenting parties away from the public sphere. This necessitates, effectively, the separation of state and religion. This separation of religious belief from the apparatus of the state is referred to as ‘secularism’ and it tends to be regarded as a cornerstone of a liberal democracy, given the general assumption that secularism is a necessary precursor to equal treatment of and respect for different religious beliefs, and the association of secularism with the Western project of the Enlightenment when liberty, equality and science replaced religion and superstition. By this token, western nations committed to equality are also committed to being liberal, democratic and secular in nature; and it is a matter of state indifference as to which religious faith a citizen embraces – Wiccan, Christian, Judaism, etc – if any. Historically, and arguably more so in the past decade, the terms ‘democratic’, ‘secular’, ‘liberal’ and ‘equal’ have all been used to inscribe characteristics of the collective ‘West’. Individuals and states whom the West ascribe as ‘other’ are therefore either or all of: not democratic; not liberal; or not secular – and failing any one of these characteristics (for any country other than Britain, with its parliamentary-established Church of England, headed by the Queen as Supreme Governor) means that that country certainly does not espouse equality. The West and the ‘Other’ in Popular Discourse The constructed polarisation between the free, secular and democratic West that values equality; and the oppressive ‘other’ that perpetuates theocracies, religious discrimination and – at the ultimate – human rights abuses, is a common theme in much of the West’s media and popular discourse on Islam. The same themes are also applied in some measure to Muslims in Australia, in particular to constructions of the rights of Muslim women in Australia. Typically, Muslim women’s dress is deemed by some secular Australians to be a symbol of religious subjugation, rather than of free choice. Arguably, this polemic has come to the fore since the terrorist attacks on the United States in September 2001. However, as Aly and Walker note, the comparisons between the West and the ‘other’ are historically constructed and inherited (Said) and have tended latterly to focus western attention on the role and status of Muslim women as evidence of the West’s progression comparative to its antithesis, Eastern oppression. An examination of studies of the United States media coverage of the September 11 attacks, and the ensuing ‘war on terror’, reveals some common media constructions around good versus evil. There is no equal status between these. Good must necessarily triumph. In the media coverage, the evil ‘other’ is Islamic terrorism, personified by Osama bin Laden. Part of the justification for the war on terror is a perception that the West, as a force for good in this world, must battle evil and protect freedom and democracy (Erjavec and Volcic): to do otherwise is to allow the terror of the ‘other’ to seep into western lives. The war on terror becomes the defence of the west, and hence the defence of equality and freedom. A commitment to equality entails a defeat of all things constructed as denying the rights of people to be equal. Hutcheson, Domke, Billeaudeaux and Garland analysed the range of discourses evident in Time and Newsweek magazines in the five weeks following September 11 and found that journalists replicated themes of national identity present in the communication strategies of US leaders and elites. The political and media response to the threat of the evil ‘other’ is to create a monolithic appeal to liberal values which are constructed as being a monopoly of the ‘free’ West. A brief look at just a few instances of public communication by US political leaders confirms Hutcheson et al.’s contention that the official construction of the 2001 attacks invoked discourses of good and evil reminiscent of the Cold War. In reference to the actions of the four teams of plane hijackers, US president George W Bush opened his Address to the Nation on the evening of September 11: “Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts” (“Statement by the President in His Address to the Nation”). After enjoining Americans to recite Psalm 23 in prayer for the victims and their families, President Bush ended his address with a clear message of national unity and a further reference to the battle between good and evil: “This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None of us will ever forget this day. Yet, we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world” (“Statement by the President in His Address to the Nation”). In his address to the joint houses of Congress shortly after September 11, President Bush implicated not just the United States in this fight against evil, but the entire international community stating: “This is the world’s fight. This is civilisation’s fight” (cited by Brown 295). Addressing the California Business Association a month later, in October 2001, Bush reiterated the notion of the United States as the leading nation in the moral fight against evil, and identified this as a possible reason for the attack: “This great state is known for its diversity – people of all races, all religions, and all nationalities. They’ve come here to live a better life, to find freedom, to live in peace and security, with tolerance and with justice. When the terrorists attacked America, this is what they attacked”. While the US media framed the events of September 11 as an attack on the values of democracy and liberalism as these are embodied in US democratic traditions, work by scholars analysing the Australian media’s representation of the attacks suggested that this perspective was echoed and internationalised for an Australian audience. Green asserts that global media coverage of the attacks positioned the global audience, including Australians, as ‘American’. The localisation of the discourses of patriotism and national identity for Australian audiences has mainly been attributed to the media’s use of the good versus evil frame that constructed the West as good, virtuous and moral and invited Australian audiences to subscribe to this argument as members of a shared Western democratic identity (Osuri and Banerjee). Further, where the ‘we’ are defenders of justice, equality and the rule of law; the opposing ‘others’ are necessarily barbaric. Secularism and the Muslim Diaspora Secularism is a historically laden term that has been harnessed to symbolise the emancipation of social life from the forced imposition of religious doctrine. The struggle between the essentially voluntary and private demands of religion, and the enjoyment of a public social life distinct from religious obligations, is historically entrenched in the cultural identities of many modern Western societies (Dallmayr). The concept of religious freedom in the West has evolved into a principle based on the bifurcation of life into the objective public sphere and the subjective private sphere within which individuals are free to practice their religion of choice (Yousif), or no religion at all. Secularism, then, is contingent on the maintenance of a separation between the public (religion-free) and the private or non- public (which may include religion). The debate regarding the feasibility or lack thereof of maintaining this separation has been a matter of concern for democratic theorists for some time, and has been made somewhat more complicated with the growing presence of religious diasporas in liberal democratic states (Charney). In fact, secularism is often cited as a precondition for the existence of religious pluralism. By removing religion from the public domain of the state, religious freedom, in so far as it constitutes the ability of an individual to freely choose which religion, if any, to practice, is deemed to be ensured. However, as Yousif notes, the Western conception of religious freedom is based on a narrow notion of religion as a personal matter, possibly a private emotional response to the idea of God, separate from the rational aspects of life which reside in the public domain. Arguably, religion is conceived of as recognising (or creating) a supernatural dimension to life that involves faith and belief, and the suspension of rational thought. This Western notion of religion as separate from the state, dividing the private from the public sphere, is constructed as a necessary basis for the liberal democratic commitment to secularism, and the notional equality of all religions, or none. Rawls questioned how people with conflicting political views and ideologies can freely endorse a common political regime in secular nations. The answer, he posits, lies in the conception of justice as a mechanism to regulate society independently of plural (and often opposing) religious or political conceptions. Thus, secularism can be constructed as an indicator of pluralism and justice; and political reason becomes the “common currency of debate in a pluralist society” (Charney 7). A corollary of this is that religious minorities must learn to use the language of political reason to represent and articulate their views and opinions in the public context, especially when talking with non-religious others. This imposes a need for religious minorities to support their views and opinions with political reason that appeals to the community at large as citizens, and not just to members of the minority religion concerned. The common ground becomes one of secularism, in which all speakers are deemed to be indifferent as to the (private) claims of religion upon believers. Minority religious groups, such as fundamentalist Mormons, invoke secular language of moral tolerance and civil rights to be acknowledged by the state, and to carry out their door-to-door ‘information’ evangelisation/campaigns. Right wing fundamentalist Christian groups and Catholics opposed to abortion couch their views in terms of an extension of the secular right to life, and in terms of the human rights and civil liberties of the yet-to-be-born. In doing this, these religious groups express an acceptance of the plurality of the liberal state and engage in debates in the public sphere through the language of political values and political principles of the liberal democratic state. The same principles do not apply within their own associations and communities where the language of the private religious realm prevails, and indeed is expected. This embracing of a political rhetoric for discussions of religion in the public sphere presents a dilemma for the Muslim diaspora in liberal democratic states. For many Muslims, religion is a complete way of life, incapable of compartmentalisation. The narrow Western concept of religious expression as a private matter is somewhat alien to Muslims who are either unable or unwilling to separate their religious needs from their needs as citizens of the nation state. Problems become apparent when religious needs challenge what seems to be publicly acceptable, and conflicts occur between what the state perceives to be matters of rational state interest and what Muslims perceive to be matters of religious identity. Muslim women’s groups in Western Australia for example have for some years discussed the desirability of a Sharia divorce court which would enable Muslims to obtain divorces according to Islamic law. It should be noted here that not all Muslims agree with the need for such a court and many – probably a majority – are satisfied with the existing processes that allow Muslim men and women to obtain a divorce through the Australian family court. For some Muslims however, this secular process does not satisfy their religious needs and it is perceived as having an adverse impact on their ability to adhere to their faith. A similar situation pertains to divorced Catholics who, according to a strict interpretation of their doctrine, are unable to take the Eucharist if they form a subsequent relationship (even if married according to the state), unless their prior marriage has been annulled by the Catholic Church or their previous partner has died. Whereas divorce is considered by the state as a public and legal concern, for some Muslims and others it is undeniably a religious matter. The suggestion by the Anglican Communion’s Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, that the adoption of certain aspects of Sharia law regarding marital disputes or financial matters is ultimately unavoidable, sparked controversy in Britain and in Australia. Attempts by some Australian Muslim scholars to elaborate on Dr Williams’s suggestions, such as an article by Anisa Buckley in The Herald Sun (Buckley), drew responses that, typically, called for Muslims to ‘go home’. A common theme in these responses is that proponents of Sharia law (and Islam in general) do not share a commitment to the Australian values of freedom and equality. The following excerpts from the online pages of Herald Sun Readers’ Comments (Herald Sun) demonstrate this perception: “These people come to Australia for freedoms they have never experienced before and to escape repression which is generally brought about by such ‘laws’ as Sharia! How very dare they even think that this would be an option. Go home if you want such a regime. Such an insult to want to come over to this country on our very goodwill and our humanity and want to change our systems and ways. Simply, No!” Posted 1:58am February 12, 2008 “Under our English derived common law statutes, the law is supposed to protect an individual’s rights to life, liberty and property. That is the basis of democracy in Australia and most other western nations. Sharia law does not adequately share these philosophies and principles, thus it is incompatible with our system of law.” Posted 12:55am February 11, 2008 “Incorporating religious laws in the secular legal system is just plain wrong. No fundamentalist religion (Islam in particular) is compatible with a liberal-democracy.” Posted 2:23pm February 10, 2008 “It should not be allowed in Australia the Muslims come her for a better life and we give them that opportunity but they still believe in covering them selfs why do they even come to Australia for when they don’t follow owe [our] rules but if we went to there [their] country we have to cover owe selfs [sic]” Posted 11:28am February 10, 2008 Conflicts similar to this one – over any overt or non-private religious practice in Australia – may also be observed in public debates concerning the wearing of traditional Islamic dress; the slaughter of animals for consumption; Islamic burial rites, and other religious practices which cannot be confined to the private realm. Such conflicts highlight the inability of the rational liberal approach to solve all controversies arising from religious traditions that enjoin a broader world view than merely private spirituality. In order to adhere to the liberal reduction of religion to the private sphere, Muslims in the West must negotiate some religious practices that are constructed as being at odds with the rational state and practice a form of Islam that is consistent with secularism. At the extreme, this Western-acceptable form is what the Australian government has termed ‘moderate Islam’. The implication here is that, for the state, ‘non-moderate Islam’ – Islam that pervades the public realm – is just a descriptor away from ‘extreme’. The divide between Christianity and Islam has been historically played out in European Christendom as a refusal to recognise Islam as a world religion, preferring instead to classify it according to race or ethnicity: a Moorish tendency, perhaps. The secular state prefers to engage with Muslims as an ethnic, linguistic or cultural group or groups (Yousif). Thus, in order to engage with the state as political citizens, Muslims must find ways to present their needs that meet the expectations of the state – ways that do not use their religious identity as a frame of reference. They can do this by utilizing the language of political reason in the public domain or by framing their needs, views and opinions exclusively in terms of their ethnic or cultural identity with no reference to their shared faith. Neither option is ideal, or indeed even viable. This is partly because many Muslims find it difficult if not impossible to separate their religious needs from their needs as political citizens; and also because the prevailing perception of Muslims in the media and public arena is constructed on the basis of an understanding of Islam as a religion that conflicts with the values of liberal democracy. In the media and public arena, little consideration is given to the vast differences that exist among Muslims in Australia, not only in terms of ethnicity and culture, but also in terms of practice and doctrine (Shia or Sunni). The dominant construction of Muslims in the Australian popular media is of religious purists committed to annihilating liberal, secular governments and replacing them with anti-modernist theocratic regimes (Brasted). It becomes a talking point for some, for example, to realise that there are international campaigns to recognise Gay Muslims’ rights within their faith (ABC) (in the same way that there are campaigns to recognise Gay Christians as full members of their churches and denominations and equally able to hold high office, as followers of the Anglican Communion will appreciate). Secularism, Preference and Equality Modood asserts that the extent to which a minority religious community can fully participate in the public and political life of the secular nation state is contingent on the extent to which religion is the primary marker of identity. “It may well be the case therefore that if a faith is the primary identity of any community then that community cannot fully identify with and participate in a polity to the extent that it privileges a rival faith. Or privileges secularism” (60). Modood is not saying here that Islam has to be privileged in order for Muslims to participate fully in the polity; but that no other religion, nor secularism, should be so privileged. None should be first, or last, among equals. For such a situation to occur, Islam would have to be equally acceptable both with other religions and with secularism. Following a 2006 address by the former treasurer (and self-avowed Christian) Peter Costello to the Sydney Institute, in which Costello suggested that people who feel a dual claim from both Islamic law and Australian law should be stripped of their citizenship (Costello), the former Prime Minister, John Howard, affirmed what he considers to be Australia’s primary identity when he stated that ‘Australia’s core set of values flowed from its Anglo Saxon identity’ and that any one who did not embrace those values should not be allowed into the country (Humphries). The (then) Prime Minister’s statement is an unequivocal assertion of the privileged position of the Anglo Saxon tradition in Australia, a tradition with which many Muslims and others in Australia find it difficult to identify. Conclusion Religious identity is increasingly becoming the identity of choice for Muslims in Australia, partly because it is perceived that their faith is under attack and that it needs defending (Aly). They construct the defence of their faith as a choice and an obligation; but also as a right that they have under Australian law as equal citizens in a secular state (Aly and Green). Australian Muslims who have no difficulty in reconciling their core Australianness with their deep faith take it as a responsibility to live their lives in ways that model the reconciliation of each identity – civil and religious – with the other. In this respect, the political call to Australian Muslims to embrace a ‘moderate Islam’, where this is seen as an Islam without a public or political dimension, is constructed as treating their faith as less than equal. Religious identity is generally deemed to have no place in the liberal democratic model, particularly where that religion is constructed to be at odds with the principles and values of liberal democracy, namely tolerance and adherence to the rule of law. Indeed, it is as if the national commitment to secularism rules as out-of-bounds any identity that is grounded in religion, giving precedence instead to accepting and negotiating cultural and ethnic differences. Religion becomes a taboo topic in these terms, an affront against secularism and the values of the Enlightenment that include liberty and equality. In these circumstances, it is not the case that all religions are equally ignored in a secular framework. What is the case is that the secular framework has been constructed as a way of ‘privatising’ one religion, Christianity; leaving others – including Islam – as having nowhere to go. Islam thus becomes constructed as less than equal since it appears that, unlike Christians, Muslims are not willing to play the secular game. In fact, Muslims are puzzling over how they can play the secular game, and why they should play the secular game, given that – as is the case with Christians – they see no contradiction in performing ‘good Muslim’ and ‘good Australian’, if given an equal chance to embrace both. Acknowledgements This paper is based on the findings of an Australian Research Council Discovery Project, 2005-7, involving 10 focus groups and 60 in-depth interviews. The authors wish to acknowledge the participation and contributions of WA community members. References ABC. “A Jihad for Love.” Life Matters (Radio National), 21 Feb. 2008. 11 March 2008. < http://www.abc.net.au/rn/lifematters/stories/2008/2167874.htm >.Aly, Anne. “Australian Muslim Responses to the Discourse on Terrorism in the Australian Popular Media.” Australian Journal of Social Issues 42.1 (2007): 27-40.Aly, Anne, and Lelia Green. “‘Moderate Islam’: Defining the Good Citizen.” M/C Journal 10.6/11.1 (2008). 13 April 2008 < http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0804/08aly-green.php >.Aly, Anne, and David Walker. “Veiled Threats: Recurrent Anxieties in Australia.” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 27.2 (2007): 203-14.Brasted, Howard.V. “Contested Representations in Historical Perspective: Images of Islam and the Australian Press 1950-2000.” Muslim Communities in Australia. Eds. Abdullah Saeed and Akbarzadeh, Shahram. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 2001. 206-28.Brown, Chris. “Narratives of Religion, Civilization and Modernity.” Worlds in Collision: Terror and the Future of Global Order. Eds. Ken Booth and Tim Dunne. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002. 293-324. Buckley, Anisa. “Should We Allow Sharia Law?” Sunday Herald Sun 10 Feb. 2008. 8 March 2008 < http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,231869735000117,00.html >.Bush, George. W. “President Outlines War Effort: Remarks by the President at the California Business Association Breakfast.” California Business Association 2001. 17 April 2007 < http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/10/20011017-15.html >.———. “Statement by the President in His Address to the Nation”. Washington, 2001. 17 April 2007 < http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2001/09/20010911-16.html >.Charney, Evan. “Political Liberalism, Deliberative Democracy, and the Public Sphere.” The American Political Science Review 92.1 (1998): 97- 111.Costello, Peter. “Worth Promoting, Worth Defending: Australian Citizenship, What It Means and How to Nurture It.” Address to the Sydney Institute, 23 February 2006. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.treasurer.gov.au/DisplayDocs.aspx?doc=speeches/2006/004.htm &pageID=05&min=phc&Year=2006&DocType=1 >.Dallmayr, Fred. “Rethinking Secularism.” The Review of Politics 61.4 (1999): 715-36.Erjavec, Karmen, and Zala Volcic. “‘War on Terrorism’ as Discursive Battleground: Serbian Recontextualisation of G. W. Bush’s Discourse.” Discourse and Society 18 (2007): 123- 37.Green, Lelia. “Did the World Really Change on 9/11?” Australian Journal of Communication 29.2 (2002): 1-14.Herald Sun. “Readers’ Comments: Should We Allow Sharia Law?” Herald Sun Online Feb. 2008. 8 March 2008. < http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/comments/0,22023,23186973-5000117,00.html >.Humphries, David. “Live Here, Be Australian.” The Sydney Morning Herald 25 Feb. 2006, 1 ed.Hutcheson, John S., David Domke, Andre Billeaudeaux, and Philip Garland. “U.S. National Identity, Political Elites, and Patriotic Press Following September 11.” Political Communication 21.1 (2004): 27-50.Kymlicka, Will. “Liberal Individualism and Liberal Neutrality.” Ethics 99.4 (1989): 883-905.Modood, Tariq. “Establishment, Multiculturalism and British Citizenship.” The Political Quarterly (1994): 53-74.Osuri, Goldie, and Subhabrata B. Banerjee. “White Diasporas: Media Representations of September 11 and the Unbearable Whiteness of Being in Australia.” Social Semiotics 14.2 (2004): 151- 71.Rawls, John. A Theory of Justice. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1971.Said, Edward. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books 1978.Western Australian Charter of Multiculturalism. WA: Government of Western Australia, Nov. 2004. 11 March 2008 < http://www.equalopportunity.wa.gov.au/pdf/wa_charter_multiculturalism.pdf >.Yousif, Ahmad. “Islam, Minorities and Religious Freedom: A Challenge to Modern Theory of Pluralism.” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 20.1 (2000): 30-43.

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Goggin, Gerard. "Innovation and Disability". M/C Journal 11, n.º 3 (2 de julho de 2008). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.56.

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Critique of Ability In July 2008, we could be on the eve of an enormously important shift in disability in Australia. One sign of change is the entry into force on 3 May 2008 of the United Nations convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, which will now be adopted by the Rudd Labor government. Through this, and other proposed measures, the Rudd government has indicated its desire for a seachange in the area of disability. Bill Shorten MP, the new Parliamentary Secretary for Disabilities and Children’s Services has been at pains to underline his commitment to a rights-based approach to disability. In this inaugural speech to Parliament, Senator Shorten declared: I believe the challenge for government is not to fit people with disabilities around programs but for programs to fit the lives, needs and ambitions of people with disabilities. The challenge for all of us is to abolish once and for all the second-class status that too often accompanies Australians living with disabilities. (Shorten, “Address in reply”; see also Shorten, ”Speaking up”) Yet if we listen to the voices of people with disability, we face fundamental issues of justice, democracy, equality and how we understand the deepest aspects of ourselves and our community. This is a situation that remains dire and palpably unjust, as many people with disabilities have attested. Elsewhere I have argued (Goggin and Newell) that disability constitutes a systemic form of exclusion and othering tantamount to a “social apartheid” . While there have been improvements and small gains since then, the system that reigns in Australia is still fundamentally oppressive. Nonetheless, I would suggest that through the rise of the many stranded movements of disability, the demographic, economic and social changes concerning impairment, we are seeing significant changes in how we understand impairment and ability (Barnes, Oliver and Barton; Goggin and Newell, Disability in Australia; Snyder, Brueggemann, and Garland-Thomson; Shakespeare; Stiker). There is now considerable, if still incomplete, recognition of disability as a category that is constituted through social, cultural, and political logics, as well as through complex facets of impairment, bodies (Corker and Shakespeare), experiences, discourses (Fulcher), and modes of materiality and subjectivity (Butler), identity and government (Tremain). Also there is growing awareness of the imbrication of disability and other categories such as sex and gender (Fine and Asch; Thomas), race, age, culture, class and distribution of wealth (Carrier; Cole; Davis, Bending over Backwards, and Enforcing Normalcy; Oliver; Rosenblum and Travis), ecology and war (Bourke; Gerber; Muir). There are rich and wide-ranging debates that offer fundamental challenges to the suffocating grip of the dominant biomedical model of disability (that conceives disability as individual deficit — for early critiques see: Borsay; Walker), as well as the still influential and important (if at times limiting) social model of disability (Oliver; Barnes and Mercer; Shakespeare). All in all,there have been many efforts to transform the social and political relations of disability. If disability has been subject to considerable examination, there has not yet been an extended, concomitant critique of ability. Nor have we witnessed a thoroughgoing recognition of unmarked, yet powerful operations of ability in our lives and thought, and the potential implications of challenging these. Certainly there have been important attempts to reframe the relationship between “ability” and “disability” (for example, see Jones and Mark). And we are all familiar with the mocking response to some neologisms that seek to capture this, such as the awkward yet pointed “differently-abled.” Despite such efforts we lack still a profound critique of ability, an exploration of “able”, the topic that this special issue invites us to consider. If we think of the impact and significance of “whiteness”, as a way to open up space for how to critically think about and change concepts of race; or of “masculinity” as a project for thinking about gender and sexuality — we can see that this interrogation of the unmarked category of “able” and “ability” is much needed (for one such attempt, see White). In this paper I would like to make a small contribution to such a critique of ability, by considering what the concept of innovation and its contemporary rhetorics have to offer for reframing disability. Innovation is an important discourse in contemporary life. It offers interesting possibilities for rethinking ability — and indeed disability. And it is this relatively unexplored prospect that this paper seeks to explore. Beyond Access, Equity & Diversity In this scene of disability, there is attention being given to making long over-due reforms. Yet the framing of many of these reforms, such as the strengthening of national and international legal frameworks, for instance, also carry with them considerable problems. Disability is too often still seen as something in need of remediation, or special treatment. Access, equity, and anti-discrimination frameworks offer important resources for challenging this “special” treatment, so too do the diversity approaches which have supplemented or supplanted them (Goggin and Newell, “Diversity as if Disability Mattered”). In what new ways can we approach disability and policies relevant to it? In a surprisingly wide range of areas, innovation has featured as a new, cross-sectoral approach. Innovation has been a long-standing topic in science, technology and economics. However, its emergence as master-theme comes from its ability to straddle and yoke together previously diverse fields. Current discussions of innovation bring together and extend work on the information society, the knowledge economy, and the relationships between science and technology. We are now familiar for instance with arguments about how digital networked information and communications technologies and their consumption are creating new forms of innovation (Benkler; McPherson; Passiante, Elia, and Massari). Innovation discourse has extended to many other unfamiliar realms too, notably the area of social and community development, where a new concept of social innovation is now proposed (Mulgan), often aligned with new ideas of social entrepreneurship that go beyond earlier accounts of corporate social responsibility. We can see the importance of innovation in the ‘creative industries’ discourses and initiatives which have emerged since the 1990s. Here previously distinct endeavours of arts and culture have become reframed in a way that puts their central achievement of creativity to the fore, and recognises its importance across all sorts of service and manufacturing industries, in particular. More recently, theorists of creative industries, such as Cunningham, have begun to talk about “social network markets,” as a way to understand the new hybrid of creativity, innovation, digital technology, and new economic logics now being constituted (Cunningham and Potts). Innovation is being regarded as a cardinal priority for societies and their governments. Accordingly, the Australian government has commissioned a Review of The National Innovation System, led by Dr Terry Cutler, due to report in the second half of 2008. The Cutler review is especially focussed upon gaps and weaknesses in the Australian innovation system. Disability has the potential to figure very strongly in this innovation talk, however there has been little discussion of disability in the innovation discourse to date. The significance of disability in relation to innovation was touched upon some years ago, in a report on Disablism from the UK Demos Foundation (Miller, Parker and Gillinson). In a chapter entitled “The engine of difference: disability, innovation and creativity,” the authors discuss the area of inclusive design, and make the argument for the “involvement of disabled people to create a stronger model of user design”:Disabled people represented a market of 8.6 million customers at the last count and their experiences aren’t yet feeding through into processes of innovation. But the role of disabled people as innovators can and should be more active; we should include disabled people in the design process because they are good at it. (57) There are two reasons given for this expertise of disabled people in design. Firstly, “disabled people are often outstanding problem solvers because they have to be … life for disabled people at the moment is a series of challenges to be overcome” (57). Secondly, “innovative ideas are more likely to come from those who have a new or different angle on old problems” (57). The paradox in this argument is that as life becomes more equitable for people with disabilities, then these ‘advantages’ should disappear” (58). Accordingly, Miller et al. make a qualified argument, namely that “greater participation of disabled people in innovation in the short term may just be the necessary trigger for creating an altogether different, and better, system of innovation for everyone in the future” (58). The Demos Disablism report was written at a time when rhetorics of innovation were just beginning to become more generalized and mainstream. This was also at a time in the UK, when there was hope that new critical approaches to disability would see it become embraced as a part of the diverse society that Blair’s New Labor Britain had been indicating. The argument Disablism offers about disability and innovation is in some ways a more formalized version of vernacular theory (McLaughlin, 1996). In the disability movement we often hear, with good reason, that people with disability, by dint of their experience and knowledge are well positioned to develop and offer particular kinds of expertise. However, Miller et al. also gesture towards a more generalized account of disability and innovation, one that would intersect with the emerging frameworks around innovation. It is this possibility that I wish to take up and briefly explore here. I want to consider the prospects for a fully-fledged encounter between disability and innovation. I would like to have a better sense of whether this is worth pursuing, and what it would add to our understanding of both disability and innovation? Would the disability perspective be integrated as a long-term part of our systems of innovation rather than, as Miller et al. imply, deployed temporarily to develop better innovation systems? What pitfalls might be bound up with, or indeed be the conditions of, such a union between disability and innovation? The All-Too-Able User A leading area where disability figures profoundly in innovation is in the field of technology — especially digital technology. There is now a considerable literature and body of practice on disability and digital technology (Annable, Goggin, and Stienstra; Goggin and Newell, Digital Disability; National Council on Disability), however for my purposes here I would like to focus upon the user, the abilities ascribed to various kinds of users, and the user with disability in particular. Digital technologies are replete with challenges and opportunities; they are multi-layered, multi-media, and global in their manifestation and function. In Australia, Britain, Canada, the US, and Europe, there have been some significant digital technology initiatives which have resulted in improved accessibility for many users and populations (Annable, Goggin, and Stienstra; National Council on Disability) . There are a range of examples of ways in which users with disability are intervening and making a difference in design. There is also a substantial body of literature that clarifies why we need to include the perspective of the disabled if we are to be truly innovative in our design practices (Annable, Goggin and Stienstra; Goggin and Newell, “Disability, Identity and Interdependence”). I want to propose, however, that there is merit in going beyond recognition of the role of people with disability in technology design (vital and overlooked as it remains), to consider how disability can enrich contemporary discourses on innovation. There is a very desirable cross-over to be promoted between the emphasis on the user-as-expert in the sphere of disability and technology, and on the integral role of disability groups in the design process, on the one hand, and the rise of the user in digital culture generally, on the other. Surprisingly, such connections are nowhere near as widespread and systematic as they should be. It may be that contemporary debates about the user, and about the user as co-creator, or producer, of technology (Haddon et al.; von Hippel) actually reinstate particular notions of ability, and the able user, understood with reference to notions of disability. The current emphasis on the productive user, based as it is on changing understandings of ability and disability, provides rich material for critical revision of the field and those assumptions surrounding ability. It opens up possibilities for engaging more fully with disability and incorporating disability into the new forms and relations of digital technology that celebrate the user (Goggin and Newell, Digital Disability). While a more detailed consideration of these possibilities require more time than this essay allows, let us consider for a moment the idea of a genuine encounter between the activated user springing from the disability movement, and the much feted user in contemporary digital culture and theories of innovation. People with disability are using these technologies in innovative ways, so have much to contribute to wider discussions of digital technology (Annable, Goggin and Stienstra). The Innovation Turn Innovation policy, the argument goes, is important because it stands to increase productivity, which in turn leads to greater international competitiveness and economic benefit. Especially with the emergence of capitalism (Gleeson), productivity has strong links to particular notions of which types of production and produce are valued. Productivity is also strongly conditioned by how we understand ability and, last in a long chain of strong associations, how we as a society understand and value those kinds of people and bodies believed to contain and exercise the ordained and rewarded types of ability, produce, and productivity. Disability is often seen as antithetical to productivity (a revealing text on the contradictions of disability and productivity is the 2004 Productivity Commission Review of the Disability Discrimination Act). When we think about the history of disability, we quickly realize that productivity, and by extension, innovation, are strongly ideological. Ideological, that is, in the sense that these fields of human endeavour and our understanding of them are shaped by power relations, and are built upon implicit ‘ableist’ assumptions about productivity. In this case, the power relations of disability go right to the heart of the matter, highlighting who and what are perceived to be of value, contributing economically and in other ways to society, and who and what are considered as liabilities, as less valued and uneconomical. A stark recent example of this is the Howard government workplace and welfare reforms, which further disenfranchised, controlled, and impoverished people with disability. If we need to rethink our ideas of productivity and ability in the light of new notions of disability, then so too do we need to rethink our ideas about innovation and disability. Here the new discourses of innovation may actually be useful, but also contain limited formulations and assumptions about ability and disability that need to be challenged. The existing problems of a fresh approach to disability and innovation can be clearly observed in the touchstones of national science and technology “success.” Beyond One-Sided Innovation Disability does actually feature quite prominently in the annals of innovation. Take, for instance, the celebrated case of the so-called “bionic ear” (or cochlear implant) hailed as one of Australia’s great scientific inventions of the past few decades. This is something we can find on display in the Powerhouse Museum of Technology and Design, in Sydney. Yet the politics of the cochlear implant are highly controversial, not least as it is seen by many (for instance, large parts of the Deaf community) as not involving people with disabilities, nor being informed by their desires (Campbell, also see “Social and Ethical Aspects of Cochlear Implants”). A key problem with the cochlear implant and many other technologies is that they are premised on the abolition or overcoming of disability — rather than being shaped as technology that acknowledges and is informed by disabled users in their diverse guises. The failure to learn the lessons of the cochlear implant for disability and innovation can be seen in the fact that we are being urged now to band together to support the design of a “bionic eye” by the year 2020, as a mark of distinction of achieving a great nation (2020 Summit Initial Report). Again, there is no doubting the innovation and achievement in these artefacts and their technological systems. But their development has been marked by a distinct lack of consultation and engagement with people with disabilities; or rather the involvement has been limited to a framework that positions them as passive users of technology, rather than as “producer/users”. Further, what notions of disability and ability are inscribed in these technological systems, and what do they represent and symbolize in the wider political and social field? Unfortunately, such technologies have the effect of reproducing an ableist framework, “enforcing normalcy” (Davis), rather than building in, creating and contributing to new modes of living, which embrace difference and diversity. I would argue that this represents a one-sided logic of innovation. A two-sided logic of innovation, indeed what we might call a double helix (at least) of innovation would be the sustained, genuine interaction between different users, different notions of ability, disability and impairment, and the processes of design. If such a two-sided (or indeed many-sided logic) is to emerge there is good reason to think it could more easily do so in the field of digital cultures and technologies, than say, biotechnology. The reason for this is the emphasis in digital communication technologies on decentralized, participatory, user-determined governance and design, coming from many sources. Certainly this productive, democratic, participatory conception of the user is prevalent in Internet cultures. Innovation here is being reshaped to harness the contribution and knowledge of users, and could easily be extended to embrace pioneering efforts in disability. Innovating with Disability In this paper I have tried to indicate why it is productive for discourses of innovation to consider disability; the relationship between disability and innovation is rich and complex, deserving careful elaboration and interrogation. In suggesting this, I am aware that there are also fundamental problems that innovation raises in its new policy forms. There are the issues of what is at stake when the state is redefining its traditional obligations towards citizens through innovation frameworks and discourses. And there is the troubling question of whether particular forms of activity are normatively judged to be innovative — whereas other less valued forms are not seen as innovative. By way of conclusion, however, I would note that there are now quite basic, and increasingly accepted ways, to embed innovation in design frameworks, and while they certainly have been adopted in the disability and technology area, there is much greater scope for this. However, a few things do need to change before this potential for disability to enrich innovation is adequately realized. Firstly, we need further research and theorization to clarify the contribution of disability to innovation, work that should be undertaken and directed by people with disability themselves. Secondly, there is a lack of resources for supporting disability and technology organisations, and the development of training and expertise in this area (especially to provide viable career paths for experts with disability to enter the field and sustain their work). If this is addressed, the economic benefits stand to be considerable, not to mention the implications for innovation and productivity. Thirdly, we need to think about how we can intensify existing systems of participatory design, or, better still, introduce new user-driven approaches into strategically important places in the design processes of ICTs (and indeed in the national innovation system). Finally, there is an opportunity for new approaches to governance in ICTs at a general level, informed by disability. New modes of organising, networking, and governance associated with digital technology have attracted much attention, also featuring recently in the Australia 2020 Summit. Less well recognised are new ideas about governance that come from the disability community, such as the work of Queensland Advocacy Incorporated, Rhonda Galbally’s Our Community, disability theorists such as Christopher Newell (Newell), or the Canadian DIS-IT alliance (see, for instance, Stienstra). The combination of new ideas in governance from digital culture, new ideas from the disability movement and disability studies, and new approaches to innovation could be a very powerful cocktail indeed.Dedication This paper is dedicated to my beloved friend and collaborator, Professor Christopher Newell AM (1964-2008), whose extraordinary legacy will inspire us all to continue exploring and questioning the idea of able. 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Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?" M/C Journal 10, n.º 4 (1 de agosto de 2007). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2700.

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Introduction I am a transmigrant who has moved back and forth between the West and the Rest. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in a predominantly Muslim country, Bangladesh, but I spent several years of my childhood in Pakistan. After my marriage, I lived in the United States for a year and a half, the Middle East for 5 years, Australia for three years, back to the Middle East for another 5 years, then, finally, in Australia for the last 12 years. I speak Bengali (my mother tongue), Urdu (which I learnt in Pakistan), a bit of Arabic (learnt in the Middle East); but English has always been my medium of instruction. So where is home? Is it my place of origin, the Muslim umma, or my land of settlement? Or is it my ‘root’ or my ‘route’ (Blunt and Dowling)? Blunt and Dowling (199) observe that the lives of transmigrants are often interpreted in terms of their ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, which are two frameworks for thinking about home, homeland and diaspora. Whereas ‘roots’ might imply an original homeland from which people have scattered, and to which they might seek to return, ‘routes’ focuses on mobile, multiple and transcultural geographies of home. However, both ‘roots’ and ‘routes’ are attached to emotion and identity, and both invoke a sense of place, belonging or alienation that is intrinsically tied to a sense of self (Blunt and Dowling 196-219). In this paper, I equate home with my root (place of birth) and route (transnational homing) within the context of the ‘diaspora and belonging’. First I define the diaspora and possible criteria of belonging. Next I describe my transnational homing within the framework of diaspora and belonging. Finally, I consider how Australia can be a ‘home’ for me and other Muslim Australians. The Diaspora and Belonging Blunt and Dowling (199) define diaspora as “scattering of people over space and transnational connections between people and the places”. Cohen emphasised the ethno-cultural aspects of the diaspora setting; that is, how migrants identify and position themselves in other nations in terms of their (different) ethnic and cultural orientation. Hall argues that the diasporic subjects form a cultural identity through transformation and difference. Speaking of the Hindu diaspora in the UK and Caribbean, Vertovec (21-23) contends that the migrants’ contact with their original ‘home’ or diaspora depends on four factors: migration processes and factors of settlement, cultural composition, structural and political power, and community development. With regard to the first factor, migration processes and factors of settlement, Vertovec explains that if the migrants are political or economic refugees, or on a temporary visa, they are likely to live in a ‘myth of return’. In the cultural composition context, Vertovec argues that religion, language, region of origin, caste, and degree of cultural homogenisation are factors in which migrants are bound to their homeland. Concerning the social structure and political power issue, Vertovec suggests that the extent and nature of racial and ethnic pluralism or social stigma, class composition, degree of institutionalised racism, involvement in party politics (or active citizenship) determine migrants’ connection to their new or old home. Finally, community development, including membership in organisations (political, union, religious, cultural, leisure), leadership qualities, and ethnic convergence or conflict (trends towards intra-communal or inter-ethnic/inter-religious co-operation) would also affect the migrants’ sense of belonging. Using these scholarly ideas as triggers, I will examine my home and belonging over the last few decades. My Home In an initial stage of my transmigrant history, my home was my root (place of birth, Dhaka, Bangladesh). Subsequently, my routes (settlement in different countries) reshaped my homes. In all respects, the ethno-cultural factors have played a big part in my definition of ‘home’. But on some occasions my ethnic identification has been overridden by my religious identification and vice versa. By ethnic identity, I mean my language (mother tongue) and my connection to my people (Bangladeshi). By my religious identity, I mean my Muslim religion, and my spiritual connection to the umma, a Muslim nation transcending all boundaries. Umma refers to the Muslim identity and unity within a larger Muslim group across national boundaries. The only thing the members of the umma have in common is their Islamic belief (Spencer and Wollman 169-170). In my childhood my father, a banker, was relocated to Karachi, Pakistan (then West Pakistan). Although I lived in Pakistan for much of my childhood, I have never considered it to be my home, even though it is predominantly a Muslim country. In this case, my home was my root (Bangladesh) where my grandparents and extended family lived. Every year I used to visit my grandparents who resided in a small town in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Thus my connection with my home was sustained through my extended family, ethnic traditions, language (Bengali/Bangla), and the occasional visits to the landscape of Bangladesh. Smith (9-11) notes that people build their connection or identity to their homeland through their historic land, common historical memories, myths, symbols and traditions. Though Pakistan and Bangladesh had common histories, their traditions of language, dress and ethnic culture were very different. For example, the celebration of the Bengali New Year (Pohela Baishakh), folk dance, folk music and folk tales, drama, poetry, lyrics of poets Rabindranath Tagore (Rabindra Sangeet) and Nazrul Islam (Nazrul Geeti) are distinct in the cultural heritage of Bangladesh. Special musical instruments such as the banshi (a bamboo flute), dhol (drums), ektara (a single-stringed instrument) and dotara (a four-stringed instrument) are unique to Bangladeshi culture. The Bangladeshi cuisine (rice and freshwater fish) is also different from Pakistan where people mainly eat flat round bread (roti) and meat (gosh). However, my bonding factor to Bangladesh was my relatives, particularly my grandparents as they made me feel one of ‘us’. Their affection for me was irreplaceable. The train journey from Dhaka (capital city) to their town, Noakhali, was captivating. The hustle and bustle at the train station and the lush green paddy fields along the train journey reminded me that this was my ‘home’. Though I spoke the official language (Urdu) in Pakistan and had a few Pakistani friends in Karachi, they could never replace my feelings for my friends, extended relatives and cousins who lived in Bangladesh. I could not relate to the landscape or dry weather of Pakistan. More importantly, some Pakistani women (our neighbours) were critical of my mother’s traditional dress (saree), and described it as revealing because it showed a bit of her back. They took pride in their traditional dress (shalwar, kameez, dopatta), which they considered to be more covered and ‘Islamic’. So, because of our traditional dress (saree) and perhaps other differences, we were regarded as the ‘Other’. In 1970 my father was relocated back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, and I was glad to go home. It should be noted that both Pakistan and Bangladesh were separated from India in 1947 – first as one nation; then, in 1971, Bangladesh became independent from Pakistan. The conflict between Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) and Pakistan (then West Pakistan) originated for economic and political reasons. At this time I was a high school student and witnessed acts of genocide committed by the Pakistani regime against the Bangladeshis (March-December 1971). My memories of these acts are vivid and still very painful. After my marriage, I moved from Bangladesh to the United States. In this instance, my new route (Austin, Texas, USA), as it happened, did not become my home. Here the ethno-cultural and Islamic cultural factors took precedence. I spoke the English language, made some American friends, and studied history at the University of Texas. I appreciated the warm friendship extended to me in the US, but experienced a degree of culture shock. I did not appreciate the pub life, alcohol consumption, and what I perceived to be the lack of family bonds (children moving out at the age of 18, families only meeting occasionally on birthdays and Christmas). Furthermore, I could not relate to de facto relationships and acceptance of sex before marriage. However, to me ‘home’ meant a family orientation and living in close contact with family. Besides the cultural divide, my husband and I were living in the US on student visas and, as Vertovec (21-23) noted, temporary visa status can deter people from their sense of belonging to the host country. In retrospect I can see that we lived in the ‘myth of return’. However, our next move for a better life was not to our root (Bangladesh), but another route to the Muslim world of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia. My husband moved to Dhahran not because it was a Muslim world but because it gave him better economic opportunities. However, I thought this new destination would become my home – the home that was coined by Anderson as the imagined nation, or my Muslim umma. Anderson argues that the imagined communities are “to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined” (6; Wood 61). Hall (122) asserts: identity is actually formed through unconscious processes over time, rather than being innate in consciousness at birth. There is always something ‘imaginary’ or fantasized about its unity. It always remains incomplete, is always ‘in process’, always ‘being formed’. As discussed above, when I had returned home to Bangladesh from Pakistan – both Muslim countries – my primary connection to my home country was my ethnic identity, language and traditions. My ethnic identity overshadowed the religious identity. But when I moved to Saudi Arabia, where my ethnic identity differed from that of the mainstream Arabs and Bedouin/nomadic Arabs, my connection to this new land was through my Islamic cultural and religious identity. Admittedly, this connection to the umma was more psychological than physical, but I was now in close proximity to Mecca, and to my home of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Mecca is an important city in Saudi Arabia for Muslims because it is the holy city of Islam, the home to the Ka’aba (the religious centre of Islam), and the birthplace of Prophet Muhammad [Peace Be Upon Him]. It is also the destination of the Hajj, one of the five pillars of Islamic faith. Therefore, Mecca is home to significant events in Islamic history, as well as being an important present day centre for the Islamic faith. We lived in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia for 5 years. Though it was a 2.5 hours flight away, I treasured Mecca’s proximity and regarded Dhahran as my second and spiritual home. Saudi Arabia had a restricted lifestyle for women, but I liked it because it was a Muslim country that gave me the opportunity to perform umrah Hajj (pilgrimage). However, Saudi Arabia did not allow citizenship to expatriates. Saudi Arabia’s government was keen to protect the status quo and did not want to compromise its cultural values or standard of living by allowing foreigners to become a permanent part of society. In exceptional circumstances only, the King granted citizenship to a foreigner for outstanding service to the state over a number of years. Children of foreigners born in Saudi Arabia did not have rights of local citizenship; they automatically assumed the nationality of their parents. If it was available, Saudi citizenship would assure expatriates a secure and permanent living in Saudi Arabia; as it was, there was a fear among the non-Saudis that they would have to leave the country once their job contract expired. Under the circumstances, though my spiritual connection to Mecca was strong, my husband was convinced that Saudi Arabia did not provide any job security. So, in 1987 when Australia offered migration to highly skilled people, my husband decided to migrate to Australia for a better and more secure economic life. I agreed to his decision, but quite reluctantly because we were again moving to a non-Muslim part of the world, which would be culturally different and far away from my original homeland (Bangladesh). In Australia, we lived first in Brisbane, then Adelaide, and after three years we took our Australian citizenship. At that stage I loved the Barossa Valley and Victor Harbour in South Australia, and the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast in Queensland, but did not feel at home in Australia. We bought a house in Adelaide and I was a full time home-maker but was always apprehensive that my children (two boys) would lose their culture in this non-Muslim world. In 1990 we once again moved back to the Muslim world, this time to Muscat, Sultanate of Oman. My connection to this route was again spiritual. I valued the fact that we would live in a Muslim country and our children would be brought up in a Muslim environment. But my husband’s move was purely financial as he got a lucrative job offer in Muscat. We had another son in Oman. We enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle provided by my husband’s workplace and the service provided by the housemaid. I loved the beaches and freedom to drive my car, and I appreciated the friendly Omani people. I also enjoyed our frequent trips (4 hours flight) to my root, Dhaka, Bangladesh. So our children were raised within our ethnic and Islamic culture, remained close to my root (family in Dhaka), though they attended a British school in Muscat. But by the time I started considering Oman to be my second home, we had to leave once again for a place that could provide us with a more secure future. Oman was like Saudi Arabia; it employed expatriates only on a contract basis, and did not give them citizenship (not even fellow Muslims). So after 5 years it was time to move back to Australia. It was with great reluctance that I moved with my husband to Brisbane in 1995 because once again we were to face a different cultural context. As mentioned earlier, we lived in Brisbane in the late 1980s; I liked the weather, the landscape, but did not consider it home for cultural reasons. Our boys started attending expensive private schools and we bought a house in a prestigious Western suburb in Brisbane. Soon after arriving I started my tertiary education at the University of Queensland, and finished an MA in Historical Studies in Indian History in 1998. Still Australia was not my home. I kept thinking that we would return to my previous routes or the ‘imagined’ homeland somewhere in the Middle East, in close proximity to my root (Bangladesh), where we could remain economically secure in a Muslim country. But gradually I began to feel that Australia was becoming my ‘home’. I had gradually become involved in professional and community activities (with university colleagues, the Bangladeshi community and Muslim women’s organisations), and in retrospect I could see that this was an early stage of my ‘self-actualisation’ (Maslow). Through my involvement with diverse people, I felt emotionally connected with the concerns, hopes and dreams of my Muslim-Australian friends. Subsequently, I also felt connected with my mainstream Australian friends whose emotions and fears (9/11 incident, Bali bombing and 7/7 tragedy) were similar to mine. In late 1998 I started my PhD studies on the immigration history of Australia, with a particular focus on the historical settlement of Muslims in Australia. This entailed retrieving archival files and interviewing people, mostly Muslims and some mainstream Australians, and enquiring into relevant migration issues. I also became more active in community issues, and was not constrained by my circumstances. By circumstances, I mean that even though I belonged to a patriarchally structured Muslim family, where my husband was the main breadwinner, main decision-maker, my independence and research activities (entailing frequent interstate trips for data collection, and public speaking) were not frowned upon or forbidden (Khan 14-15); fortunately, my husband appreciated my passion for research and gave me his trust and support. This, along with the Muslim community’s support (interviews), and the wider community’s recognition (for example, the publication of my letters in Australian newspapers, interviews on radio and television) enabled me to develop my self-esteem and built up my bicultural identity as a Muslim in a predominantly Christian country and as a Bangladeshi-Australian. In 2005, for the sake of a better job opportunity, my husband moved to the UK, but this time I asserted that I would not move again. I felt that here in Australia (now in Perth) I had a job, an identity and a home. This time my husband was able to secure a good job back in Australia and was only away for a year. I no longer dream of finding a home in the Middle East. Through my bicultural identity here in Australia I feel connected to the wider community and to the Muslim umma. However, my attachment to the umma has become ambivalent. I feel proud of my Australian-Muslim identity but I am concerned about the jihadi ideology of militant Muslims. By jihadi ideology, I mean the extremist ideology of the al-Qaeda terrorist group (Farrar 2007). The Muslim umma now incorporates both moderate and radical Muslims. The radical Muslims (though only a tiny minority of 1.4 billion Muslims worldwide) pose a threat to their moderate counterparts as well as to non-Muslims. In the UK, some second- and third-generation Muslims identify themselves with the umma rather than their parents’ homelands or their country of birth (Husain). It should not be a matter of concern if these young Muslims adopt a ‘pure’ Muslim identity, providing at the same time they are loyal to their country of residence. But when they resort to terrorism with their ‘pure’ Muslim identity (e.g., the 7/7 London bombers) they defame my religion Islam, and undermine my spiritual connection to the umma. As a 1st generation immigrant, the defining criteria of my ‘homeliness’ in Australia are my ethno-cultural and religious identity (which includes my family), my active citizenship, and my community development/contribution through my research work – all of which allow me a sense of efficacy in my life. My ethnic and religious identities generally co-exist equally, but when I see some Muslims kill my fellow Australians (such as the Bali bombings in 2002 and 2005) my Australian identity takes precedence. I feel for the victims and condemn the perpetrators. On the other hand, when I see politics play a role over the human rights issues (e.g., the Tampa incident), my religious identity begs me to comment on it (see Kabir, Muslims in Australia 295-305). Problematising ‘Home’ for Muslim Australians In the European context, Grillo (863) and Werbner (904), and in the Australian context, Kabir (Muslims in Australia) and Poynting and Mason, have identified the diversity within Islam (national, ethnic, religious etc). Werbner (904) notes that in spite of the “wishful talk of the emergence of a ‘British Islam’, even today there are Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Arab mosques, as well as Turkish and Shia’a mosques”; thus British Muslims retain their separate identities. Similarly, in Australia, the existence of separate mosques for the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Arab and Shia’a peoples indicates that Australian Muslims have also kept their ethnic identities discrete (Saeed 64-77). However, in times of crisis, such as the Salman Rushdie affair in 1989, and the 1990-1991 Gulf crises, both British and Australian Muslims were quick to unite and express their Islamic identity by way of resistance (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 160-162; Poynting and Mason 68-70). In both British and Australian contexts, I argue that a peaceful rally or resistance is indicative of active citizenship of Muslims as it reveals their sense of belonging (also Werbner 905). So when a transmigrant Muslim wants to make a peaceful demonstration, the Western world should be encouraged, not threatened – as long as the transmigrant’s allegiances lie also with the host country. In the European context, Grillo (868) writes: when I asked Mehmet if he was planning to stay in Germany he answered without hesitation: ‘Yes, of course’. And then, after a little break, he added ‘as long as we can live here as Muslims’. In this context, I support Mehmet’s desire to live as a Muslim in a non-Muslim world as long as this is peaceful. Paradoxically, living a Muslim life through ijtihad can be either socially progressive or destructive. The Canadian Muslim feminist Irshad Manji relies on ijtihad, but so does Osama bin Laden! Manji emphasises that ijtihad can be, on the one hand, the adaptation of Islam using independent reasoning, hybridity and the contesting of ‘traditional’ family values (c.f. Doogue and Kirkwood 275-276, 314); and, on the other, ijtihad can take the form of conservative, patriarchal and militant Islamic values. The al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden espouses the jihadi ideology of Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), an Egyptian who early in his career might have been described as a Muslim modernist who believed that Islam and Western secular ideals could be reconciled. But he discarded that idea after going to the US in 1948-50; there he was treated as ‘different’ and that treatment turned him against the West. He came back to Egypt and embraced a much more rigid and militaristic form of Islam (Esposito 136). Other scholars, such as Cesari, have identified a third orientation – a ‘secularised Islam’, which stresses general beliefs in the values of Islam and an Islamic identity, without too much concern for practices. Grillo (871) observed Islam in the West emphasised diversity. He stressed that, “some [Muslims were] more quietest, some more secular, some more clamorous, some more negotiatory”, while some were exclusively characterised by Islamic identity, such as wearing the burqa (elaborate veils), hijabs (headscarves), beards by men and total abstinence from drinking alcohol. So Mehmet, cited above, could be living a Muslim life within the spectrum of these possibilities, ranging from an integrating mode to a strict, militant Muslim manner. In the UK context, Zubaida (96) contends that marginalised, culturally-impoverished youth are the people for whom radical, militant Islamism may have an appeal, though it must be noted that the 7/7 bombers belonged to affluent families (O’Sullivan 14; Husain). In Australia, Muslim Australians are facing three challenges. First, the Muslim unemployment rate: it was three times higher than the national total in 1996 and 2001 (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 266-278; Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 63). Second, some spiritual leaders have used extreme rhetoric to appeal to marginalised youth; in January 2007, the Australian-born imam of Lebanese background, Sheikh Feiz Mohammad, was alleged to have employed a DVD format to urge children to kill the enemies of Islam and to have praised martyrs with a violent interpretation of jihad (Chulov 2). Third, the proposed citizenship test has the potential to make new migrants’ – particularly Muslims’ – settlement in Australia stressful (Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79); in May 2007, fuelled by perceptions that some migrants – especially Muslims – were not integrating quickly enough, the Howard government introduced a citizenship test bill that proposes to test applicants on their English language skills and knowledge of Australian history and ‘values’. I contend that being able to demonstrate knowledge of history and having English language skills is no guarantee that a migrant will be a good citizen. Through my transmigrant history, I have learnt that developing a bond with a new place takes time, acceptance and a gradual change of identity, which are less likely to happen when facing assimilationist constraints. I spoke English and studied history in the United States, but I did not consider it my home. I did not speak the Arabic language, and did not study Middle Eastern history while I was in the Middle East, but I felt connected to it for cultural and religious reasons. Through my knowledge of history and English language proficiency I did not make Australia my home when I first migrated to Australia. Australia became my home when I started interacting with other Australians, which was made possible by having the time at my disposal and by fortunate circumstances, which included a fairly high level of efficacy and affluence. If I had been rejected because of my lack of knowledge of ‘Australian values’, or had encountered discrimination in the job market, I would have been much less willing to embrace my host country and call it home. I believe a stringent citizenship test is more likely to alienate would-be citizens than to induce their adoption of values and loyalty to their new home. Conclusion Blunt (5) observes that current studies of home often investigate mobile geographies of dwelling and how it shapes one’s identity and belonging. Such geographies of home negotiate from the domestic to the global context, thus mobilising the home beyond a fixed, bounded and confining location. Similarly, in this paper I have discussed how my mobile geography, from the domestic (root) to global (route), has shaped my identity. Though I received a degree of culture shock in the United States, loved the Middle East, and was at first quite resistant to the idea of making Australia my second home, the confidence I acquired in residing in these ‘several homes’ were cumulative and eventually enabled me to regard Australia as my ‘home’. I loved the Middle East, but I did not pursue an active involvement with the Arab community because I was a busy mother. Also I lacked the communication skill (fluency in Arabic) with the local residents who lived outside the expatriates’ campus. I am no longer a cultural freak. I am no longer the same Bangladeshi woman who saw her ethnic and Islamic culture as superior to all other cultures. I have learnt to appreciate Australian values, such as tolerance, ‘a fair go’ and multiculturalism (see Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79). My bicultural identity is my strength. With my ethnic and religious identity, I can relate to the concerns of the Muslim community and other Australian ethnic and religious minorities. And with my Australian identity I have developed ‘a voice’ to pursue active citizenship. Thus my biculturalism has enabled me to retain and merge my former home with my present and permanent home of Australia. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, New York: Verso, 1983. Australian Bureau of Statistics: Census of Housing and Population, 1996 and 2001. Blunt, Alison. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. 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Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>. APA Style Kabir, N. (Aug. 2007) "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>.

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Gao, Xiang. "‘Staying in the Nationalist Bubble’". M/C Journal 24, n.º 1 (15 de março de 2021). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2745.

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Introduction The highly contagious COVID-19 virus has presented particularly difficult public policy challenges. The relatively late emergence of an effective treatments and vaccines, the structural stresses on health care systems, the lockdowns and the economic dislocations, the evident structural inequalities in effected societies, as well as the difficulty of prevention have tested social and political cohesion. Moreover, the intrusive nature of many prophylactic measures have led to individual liberty and human rights concerns. As noted by the Victorian (Australia) Ombudsman Report on the COVID-19 lockdown in Melbourne, we may be tempted, during a crisis, to view human rights as expendable in the pursuit of saving human lives. This thinking can lead to dangerous territory. It is not unlawful to curtail fundamental rights and freedoms when there are compelling reasons for doing so; human rights are inherently and inseparably a consideration of human lives. (5) These difficulties have raised issues about the importance of social or community capital in fighting the pandemic. This article discusses the impacts of social and community capital and other factors on the governmental efforts to combat the spread of infectious disease through the maintenance of social distancing and household ‘bubbles’. It argues that the beneficial effects of social and community capital towards fighting the pandemic, such as mutual respect and empathy, which underpins such public health measures as social distancing, the use of personal protective equipment, and lockdowns in the USA, have been undermined as preventive measures because they have been transmogrified to become a salient aspect of the “culture wars” (Peters). In contrast, states that have relatively lower social capital such a China have been able to more effectively arrest transmission of the disease because the government was been able to generate and personify a nationalist response to the virus and thus generate a more robust social consensus regarding the efforts to combat the disease. Social Capital and Culture Wars The response to COVID-19 required individuals, families, communities, and other types of groups to refrain from extensive interaction – to stay in their bubble. In these situations, especially given the asymptomatic nature of many COVID-19 infections and the serious imposition lockdowns and social distancing and isolation, the temptation for individuals to breach public health rules in high. From the perspective of policymakers, the response to fighting COVID-19 is a collective action problem. In studying collective action problems, scholars have paid much attention on the role of social and community capital (Ostrom and Ahn 17-35). Ostrom and Ahn comment that social capital “provides a synthesizing approach to how cultural, social, and institutional aspects of communities of various sizes jointly affect their capacity of dealing with collective-action problems” (24). Social capital is regarded as an evolving social type of cultural trait (Fukuyama; Guiso et al.). Adger argues that social capital “captures the nature of social relations” and “provides an explanation for how individuals use their relationships to other actors in societies for their own and for the collective good” (387). The most frequently used definition of social capital is the one proffered by Putnam who regards it as “features of social organization, such as networks, norms and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit” (Putnam, “Bowling Alone” 65). All these studies suggest that social and community capital has at least two elements: “objective associations” and subjective ties among individuals. Objective associations, or social networks, refer to both formal and informal associations that are formed and engaged in on a voluntary basis by individuals and social groups. Subjective ties or norms, on the other hand, primarily stand for trust and reciprocity (Paxton). High levels of social capital have generally been associated with democratic politics and civil societies whose institutional performance benefits from the coordinated actions and civic culture that has been facilitated by high levels of social capital (Putnam, Democracy 167-9). Alternatively, a “good and fair” state and impartial institutions are important factors in generating and preserving high levels of social capital (Offe 42-87). Yet social capital is not limited to democratic civil societies and research is mixed on whether rising social capital manifests itself in a more vigorous civil society that in turn leads to democratising impulses. Castillo argues that various trust levels for institutions that reinforce submission, hierarchy, and cultural conservatism can be high in authoritarian governments, indicating that high levels of social capital do not necessarily lead to democratic civic societies (Castillo et al.). Roßteutscher concludes after a survey of social capita indicators in authoritarian states that social capital has little effect of democratisation and may in fact reinforce authoritarian rule: in nondemocratic contexts, however, it appears to throw a spanner in the works of democratization. Trust increases the stability of nondemocratic leaderships by generating popular support, by suppressing regime threatening forms of protest activity, and by nourishing undemocratic ideals concerning governance (752). In China, there has been ongoing debate concerning the presence of civil society and the level of social capital found across Chinese society. If one defines civil society as an intermediate associational realm between the state and the family, populated by autonomous organisations which are separate from the state that are formed voluntarily by members of society to protect or extend their interests or values, it is arguable that the PRC had a significant civil society or social capital in the first few decades after its establishment (White). However, most scholars agree that nascent civil society as well as a more salient social and community capital has emerged in China’s reform era. This was evident after the 2008 Sichuan earthquake, where the government welcomed community organising and community-driven donation campaigns for a limited period of time, giving the NGO sector and bottom-up social activism a boost, as evidenced in various policy areas such as disaster relief and rural community development (F. Wu 126; Xu 9). Nevertheless, the CCP and the Chinese state have been effective in maintaining significant control over civil society and autonomous groups without attempting to completely eliminate their autonomy or existence. The dramatic economic and social changes that have occurred since the 1978 Opening have unsurprisingly engendered numerous conflicts across the society. In response, the CCP and State have adjusted political economic policies to meet the changing demands of workers, migrants, the unemployed, minorities, farmers, local artisans, entrepreneurs, and the growing middle class. Often the demands arising from these groups have resulted in policy changes, including compensation. In other circumstances, where these groups remain dissatisfied, the government will tolerate them (ignore them but allow them to continue in the advocacy), or, when the need arises, supress the disaffected groups (F. Wu 2). At the same time, social organisations and other groups in civil society have often “refrained from open and broad contestation against the regime”, thereby gaining the space and autonomy to achieve the objectives (F. Wu 2). Studies of Chinese social or community capital suggest that a form of modern social capital has gradually emerged as Chinese society has become increasingly modernised and liberalised (despite being non-democratic), and that this social capital has begun to play an important role in shaping social and economic lives at the local level. However, this more modern form of social capital, arising from developmental and social changes, competes with traditional social values and social capital, which stresses parochial and particularistic feelings among known individuals while modern social capital emphasises general trust and reciprocal feelings among both known and unknown individuals. The objective element of these traditional values are those government-sanctioned, formal mass organisations such as Communist Youth and the All-China Federation of Women's Associations, where members are obliged to obey the organisation leadership. The predominant subjective values are parochial and particularistic feelings among individuals who know one another, such as guanxi and zongzu (Chen and Lu, 426). The concept of social capital emphasises that the underlying cooperative values found in individuals and groups within a culture are an important factor in solving collective problems. In contrast, the notion of “culture war” focusses on those values and differences that divide social and cultural groups. Barry defines culture wars as increases in volatility, expansion of polarisation, and conflict between those who are passionate about religiously motivated politics, traditional morality, and anti-intellectualism, and…those who embrace progressive politics, cultural openness, and scientific and modernist orientations. (90) The contemporary culture wars across the world manifest opposition by various groups in society who hold divergent worldviews and ideological positions. Proponents of culture war understand various issues as part of a broader set of religious, political, and moral/normative positions invoked in opposition to “elite”, “liberal”, or “left” ideologies. Within this Manichean universe opposition to such issues as climate change, Black Lives Matter, same sex rights, prison reform, gun control, and immigration becomes framed in binary terms, and infused with a moral sensibility (Chapman 8-10). In many disputes, the culture war often devolves into an epistemological dispute about the efficacy of scientific knowledge and authority, or a dispute between “practical” and theoretical knowledge. In this environment, even facts can become partisan narratives. For these “cultural” disputes are often how electoral prospects (generally right-wing) are advanced; “not through policies or promises of a better life, but by fostering a sense of threat, a fantasy that something profoundly pure … is constantly at risk of extinction” (Malik). This “zero-sum” social and policy environment that makes it difficult to compromise and has serious consequences for social stability or government policy, especially in a liberal democratic society. Of course, from the perspective of cultural materialism such a reductionist approach to culture and political and social values is not unexpected. “Culture” is one of the many arenas in which dominant social groups seek to express and reproduce their interests and preferences. “Culture” from this sense is “material” and is ultimately connected to the distribution of power, wealth, and resources in society. As such, the various policy areas that are understood as part of the “culture wars” are another domain where various dominant and subordinate groups and interests engaged in conflict express their values and goals. Yet it is unexpected that despite the pervasiveness of information available to individuals the pool of information consumed by individuals who view the “culture wars” as a touchstone for political behaviour and a narrative to categorise events and facts is relatively closed. This lack of balance has been magnified by social media algorithms, conspiracy-laced talk radio, and a media ecosystem that frames and discusses issues in a manner that elides into an easily understood “culture war” narrative. From this perspective, the groups (generally right-wing or traditionalist) exist within an information bubble that reinforces political, social, and cultural predilections. American and Chinese Reponses to COVID-19 The COVID-19 pandemic first broke out in Wuhan in December 2019. Initially unprepared and unwilling to accept the seriousness of the infection, the Chinese government regrouped from early mistakes and essentially controlled transmission in about three months. This positive outcome has been messaged as an exposition of the superiority of the Chinese governmental system and society both domestically and internationally; a positive, even heroic performance that evidences the populist credentials of the Chinese political leadership and demonstrates national excellence. The recently published White Paper entitled “Fighting COVID-19: China in Action” also summarises China’s “strategic achievement” in the simple language of numbers: in a month, the rising spread was contained; in two months, the daily case increase fell to single digits; and in three months, a “decisive victory” was secured in Wuhan City and Hubei Province (Xinhua). This clear articulation of the positive results has rallied political support. Indeed, a recent survey shows that 89 percent of citizens are satisfied with the government’s information dissemination during the pandemic (C Wu). As part of the effort, the government extensively promoted the provision of “political goods”, such as law and order, national unity and pride, and shared values. For example, severe publishments were introduced for violence against medical professionals and police, producing and selling counterfeit medications, raising commodity prices, spreading ‘rumours’, and being uncooperative with quarantine measures (Xu). Additionally, as an extension the popular anti-corruption campaign, many local political leaders were disciplined or received criminal charges for inappropriate behaviour, abuse of power, and corruption during the pandemic (People.cn, 2 Feb. 2020). Chinese state media also described fighting the virus as a global “competition”. In this competition a nation’s “material power” as well as “mental strength”, that calls for the highest level of nation unity and patriotism, is put to the test. This discourse recalled the global competition in light of the national mythology related to the formation of Chinese nation, the historical “hardship”, and the “heroic Chinese people” (People.cn, 7 Apr. 2020). Moreover, as the threat of infection receded, it was emphasised that China “won this competition” and the Chinese people have demonstrated the “great spirit of China” to the world: a result built upon the “heroism of the whole Party, Army, and Chinese people from all ethnic groups” (People.cn, 7 Apr. 2020). In contrast to the Chinese approach of emphasising national public goods as a justification for fighting the virus, the U.S. Trump Administration used nationalism, deflection, and “culture war” discourse to undermine health responses — an unprecedented response in American public health policy. The seriousness of the disease as well as the statistical evidence of its course through the American population was disputed. The President and various supporters raged against the COVID-19 “hoax”, social distancing, and lockdowns, disparaged public health institutions and advice, and encouraged protesters to “liberate” locked-down states (Russonello). “Our federal overlords say ‘no singing’ and ‘no shouting’ on Thanksgiving”, Representative Paul Gosar, a Republican of Arizona, wrote as he retweeted a Centers for Disease Control list of Thanksgiving safety tips (Weiner). People were encouraged, by way of the White House and Republican leadership, to ignore health regulations and not to comply with social distancing measures and the wearing of masks (Tracy). This encouragement led to threats against proponents of face masks such as Dr Anthony Fauci, one of the nation’s foremost experts on infectious diseases, who required bodyguards because of the many threats on his life. Fauci’s critics — including President Trump — countered Fauci’s promotion of mask wearing by stating accusingly that he once said mask-wearing was not necessary for ordinary people (Kelly). Conspiracy theories as to the safety of vaccinations also grew across the course of the year. As the 2020 election approached, the Administration ramped up efforts to downplay the serious of the virus by identifying it with “the media” and illegitimate “partisan” efforts to undermine the Trump presidency. It also ramped up its criticism of China as the source of the infection. This political self-centeredness undermined state and federal efforts to slow transmission (Shear et al.). At the same time, Trump chided health officials for moving too slowly on vaccine approvals, repeated charges that high infection rates were due to increased testing, and argued that COVID-19 deaths were exaggerated by medical providers for political and financial reasons. These claims were amplified by various conservative media personalities such as Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity and Laura Ingraham of Fox News. The result of this “COVID-19 Denialism” and the alternative narrative of COVID-19 policy told through the lens of culture war has resulted in the United States having the highest number of COVID-19 cases, and the highest number of COVID-19 deaths. At the same time, the underlying social consensus and social capital that have historically assisted in generating positive public health outcomes has been significantly eroded. According to the Pew Research Center, the share of U.S. adults who say public health officials such as those at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are doing an excellent or good job responding to the outbreak decreased from 79% in March to 63% in August, with an especially sharp decrease among Republicans (Pew Research Center 2020). Social Capital and COVID-19 From the perspective of social or community capital, it could be expected that the American response to the Pandemic would be more effective than the Chinese response. Historically, the United States has had high levels of social capital, a highly developed public health system, and strong governmental capacity. In contrast, China has a relatively high level of governmental and public health capacity, but the level of social capital has been lower and there is a significant presence of traditional values which emphasise parochial and particularistic values. Moreover, the antecedent institutions of social capital, such as weak and inefficient formal institutions (Batjargal et al.), environmental turbulence and resource scarcity along with the transactional nature of guanxi (gift-giving and information exchange and relationship dependence) militate against finding a more effective social and community response to the public health emergency. Yet China’s response has been significantly more successful than the Unites States’. Paradoxically, the American response under the Trump Administration and the Chinese response both relied on an externalisation of the both the threat and the justifications for their particular response. In the American case, President Trump, while downplaying the seriousness of the virus, consistently called it the “China virus” in an effort to deflect responsibly as well as a means to avert attention away from the public health impacts. As recently as 3 January 2021, Trump tweeted that the number of “China Virus” cases and deaths in the U.S. were “far exaggerated”, while critically citing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's methodology: “When in doubt, call it COVID-19. Fake News!” (Bacon). The Chinese Government, meanwhile, has pursued a more aggressive foreign policy across the South China Sea, on the frontier in the Indian sub-continent, and against states such as Australia who have criticised the initial Chinese response to COVID-19. To this international criticism, the government reiterated its sovereign rights and emphasised its “victimhood” in the face of “anti-China” foreign forces. Chinese state media also highlighted China as “victim” of the coronavirus, but also as a target of Western “political manoeuvres” when investigating the beginning stages of the pandemic. The major difference, however, is that public health policy in the United States was superimposed on other more fundamental political and cultural cleavages, and part of this externalisation process included the assignation of “otherness” and demonisation of internal political opponents or characterising political opponents as bent on destroying the United States. This assignation of “otherness” to various internal groups is a crucial element in the culture wars. While this may have been inevitable given the increasingly frayed nature of American society post-2008, such a characterisation has been activity pushed by local, state, and national leadership in the Republican Party and the Trump Administration (Vogel et al.). In such circumstances, minimising health risks and highlighting civil rights concerns due to public health measures, along with assigning blame to the democratic opposition and foreign states such as China, can have a major impact of public health responses. The result has been that social trust beyond the bubble of one’s immediate circle or those who share similar beliefs is seriously compromised — and the collective action problem presented by COVID-19 remains unsolved. Daniel Aldrich’s study of disasters in Japan, India, and US demonstrates that pre-existing high levels of social capital would lead to stronger resilience and better recovery (Aldrich). Social capital helps coordinate resources and facilitate the reconstruction collectively and therefore would lead to better recovery (Alesch et al.). Yet there has not been much research on how the pool of social capital first came about and how a disaster may affect the creation and store of social capital. Rebecca Solnit has examined five major disasters and describes that after these events, survivors would reach out and work together to confront the challenges they face, therefore increasing the social capital in the community (Solnit). However, there are studies that have concluded that major disasters can damage the social fabric in local communities (Peacock et al.). The COVID-19 epidemic does not have the intensity and suddenness of other disasters but has had significant knock-on effects in increasing or decreasing social capital, depending on the institutional and social responses to the pandemic. In China, it appears that the positive social capital effects have been partially subsumed into a more generalised patriotic or nationalist affirmation of the government’s policy response. Unlike civil society responses to earlier crises, such as the 2008 Sichuan earthquake, there is less evidence of widespread community organisation and response to combat the epidemic at its initial stages. This suggests better institutional responses to the crisis by the government, but also a high degree of porosity between civil society and a national “imagined community” represented by the national state. The result has been an increased legitimacy for the Chinese government. Alternatively, in the United States the transformation of COVID-19 public health policy into a culture war issue has seriously impeded efforts to combat the epidemic in the short term by undermining the social consensus and social capital necessary to fight such a pandemic. Trust in American institutions is historically low, and President Trump’s untrue contention that President Biden’s election was due to “fraud” has further undermined the legitimacy of the American government, as evidenced by the attacks directed at Congress in the U.S. capital on 6 January 2021. As such, the lingering effects the pandemic will have on social, economic, and political institutions will likely reinforce the deep cultural and political cleavages and weaken interpersonal networks in American society. Conclusion The COVID-19 pandemic has devastated global public health and impacted deeply on the world economy. Unsurprisingly, given the serious economic, social, and political consequences, different government responses have been highly politicised. Various quarantine and infection case tracking methods have caused concern over state power intruding into private spheres. The usage of face masks, social distancing rules, and intra-state travel restrictions have aroused passionate debate over public health restrictions, individual liberty, and human rights. Yet underlying public health responses grounded in higher levels of social capital enhance the effectiveness of public health measures. In China, a country that has generally been associated with lower social capital, it is likely that the relatively strong policy response to COVID-19 will both enhance feelings of nationalism and Chinese exceptionalism and help create and increase the store of social capital. In the United States, the attribution of COVID-19 public health policy as part of the culture wars will continue to impede efforts to control the pandemic while further damaging the store of American community social capital that has assisted public health efforts over the past decades. References Adger, W. Neil. “Social Capital, Collective Action, and Adaptation to Climate Change.” Economic Geography 79.4 (2003): 387-404. Bacon, John. “Coronavirus Updates: Donald Trump Says US 'China Virus' Data Exaggerated; Dr. Anthony Fauci Protests, Draws President's Wrath.” USA Today 3 Jan. 2021. 4 Jan. 2021 <https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/health/2021/01/03/COVID-19-update-larry-king-ill-4-million-december-vaccinations-us/4114363001/>. Berry, Kate A. “Beyond the American Culture Wars.” Regions & Cohesion / Regiones y Cohesión / Régions et Cohésion 7.2 (Summer 2017): 90-95. Castillo, Juan C., Daniel Miranda, and Pablo Torres. “Authoritarianism, Social Dominance and Trust in Public Institutions.” Annual Scientific Meeting of the International Society of Political Psychology, Istanbul, 9-12 July 2011. 2 Jan. 2021 <https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/>. Chapman, Roger. “Introduction, Culture Wars: Rhetoric and Reality.” Culture Wars: An Encyclopedia of Issues, Viewpoints, and Voices. Eds. Roger Chapman and M.E. Sharpe. 2010. 8-10. Chen, Jie, and Chunlong Lu. “Social Capital in Urban China: Attitudinal and Behavioral Effects on Grassroots Self-Government.” Social Science Quarterly 88.2 (June 2007): 422-442. China's State Council Information Office. “Fighting COVID-19: China in Action.” Xinhuanet 7 June 2020. 2 Sep. 2020 <http://www.xinhuanet.com/english/2020-06/07/c_139120424.htm?bsh_bid=551709954>. Fukuyama, Francis. Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity. Hamish Hamilton, 1995. Kelly, Mike. “Welcome to the COVID-19 Culture Wars. 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Gert Tinggaard Svendsen and Gunnar Lind Haase Svendsen. Edward Elgar, 2009. 17–35. Paxton, Pamela. “Is Social Capital Declining in the United States? A Multiple Indicator Assessment.” American Journal of Sociology 105.1 (1999): 88-127. People.cn. “Hubeisheng Huanggangshi chufen dangyuan ganbu 337 ren.” [“337 Party Cadres Were Disciplined in Huanggang, Hubei Province.”] 2 Feb. 2020. 10 Sep. 2020 <http://fanfu.people.com.cn/n1/2020/0130/c64371-31565382.html>. ———. “Zai yiqing fangkong douzheng zhong zhangxian weida zhongguo jingshen.” [“Demonstrating the Great Spirit of China in Fighting the Pandemic.”] 7 Apr. 2020. 9 Sep. 2020 <http://opinion.people.com.cn/n1/2020/0407/c1003-31663076.html>. Peters, Jeremy W. “How Abortion, Guns and Church Closings Made Coronavirus a Culture War.” New York Times 20 Apr. 2020. 6 Jan. 2021 <http://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/20/us/politics/coronavirus-protests-democrats-republicans.html>. Pew Research Center. “Americans Give the U.S. Low Marks for Its Handling of COVID-19, and So Do People in Other Countries.” 21 Sep. 2020. 15 Jan. 2021 <https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2020/09/21/americans-give-the-u-s-low-marks-for-its-handling-of-covid-19-and-so-do-people-in-other-countries/>. Putnam, Robert D. “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital.” Journal of Democracy 6.1 (1995): 65-78. ———. Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton University Press, 1993. Roßteutscher, Sigrid. “Social Capital Worldwide: Potential for Democratization or Stabilizer of Authoritarian Rule?” American Behavioural Scientist 53.5 (2010): 737–757. Russonello, G. “What’s Driving the Right-Wing Protesters Fighting the Quarantine?” New York Times 17 Apr. 2020. 2 Jan. 2021 <http://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/17/us/politics/poll-watch-quarantine-protesters.html>. Shear, Michael D., Maggie Haberman, Noah Weiland, Sharon LaFraniere, and Mark Mazzetti. “Trump’s Focus as the Pandemic Raged: What Would It Mean for Him?” New York Times 31 Dec. 2020. 2 Jan. 2021 <https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/31/us/politics/trump-coronavirus.html>. Tracy, Marc. “Anti-Lockdown Protesters Get in Reporters’ (Masked) Faces.” New York Times 13 May 2020. 5 Jan. 2021 <https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/13/business/media/lockdown-protests-reporters.html>. Victoria Ombudsman. “Investigation into the Detention and Treatment of Public Housing Residents Arising from a COVID-19 ‘Hard Lockdown’ in July 2020.” Dec. 2020. 8 Jan. 2021 <https://assets.ombudsman.vic.gov.au/>. Vogel, Kenneth P., Jim Rutenberg, and Lisa Lerer. “The Quiet Hand of Conservative Groups in the Anti-Lockdown Protests.” New York Times 21 Apr. 2020. 2 Jan. 2021 <http://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/21/us/politics/coronavirus-protests-trump.html>. 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Xu, Juan. “Wei yiqing fangkong zhulao fazhi diba.” [“Build a Strong Legal ‘Dam’ for Disease Control.”] People.cn 24 Feb. 2020. 10 Sep. 2020 <http://opinion.people.com.cn/n1/2020/0224/c1003-31600409.html>.

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Nolan, Huw, Jenny Wise e Lesley McLean. "The Clothes Maketh the Cult". M/C Journal 26, n.º 1 (15 de março de 2023). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2971.

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Introduction Many people interpret the word ‘cult’ through specific connotations, including, but not limited to, a community of like-minded people on the edge of civilization, often led by a charismatic leader, with beliefs that are ‘other’ to societal ‘norms’. Cults are often perceived as deviant, regularly incorporating elements of crime, especially physical and sexual violence. The adoption by some cults of a special uniform or dress code has been readily picked up by popular culture and has become a key ‘defining’ characteristic of the nature of a cult. In this article, we use the semiotic framework of myth, as discussed by Barthes, to demonstrate how cult uniforms become semiotic myths of popular culture. Narratively, the myth of the cult communicates violence, deviance, manipulation, and brainwashing. The myth of on-screen cults has derived itself from a reflexive pop culture foundation. From popular culture inspiring cults to cults inspiring popular culture and back again, society generates its cult myth through three key mechanisms: medicalisation, deviance amplification, and convergence. This means we are at risk of misrepresenting the true nature of cults, creating a definition incongruent with reality. This article traces the history of cults, the expectations of cult behaviour, and the semiotics of uniforms to start the discussion on why society is primed to accept a confusion between nature and the semiotic messaging of “what-goes-without-saying” (Barthes Mythologies 11). Semiotics and Myth Following the basic groundwork of de Saussure in the early 1900s, semiotics is the study of signs and how we use signs to derive meaning from the external world (de Saussure). Barthes expanded on this with his series of essays in Mythologies, adding a layer of connotation that leads to myth (Barthes Mythologies). Connotation, as described by Barthes, is the interaction between signs, feelings, and values. The connotations assigned to objects and concepts become a system of communication that is a message, the message becomes myth. The myth is not defined by the object or concept, but by the way society collectively understands it and all its connotations (Barthes Elements of Semiology 89-91). For scholars like Barthes, languages and cultural artifacts lend themselves to myth because many of our concepts are vague and abstract. Because the concept is vague, it is easy to impose our own values and ideologies upon it. This also means different people can interpret the same concept in different ways (Barthes Mythologies 132). The concept of a cult is no exception. Cults mean different things to different people and the boundaries between cults and religious or commercial organisations are often contested. As a pop culture artifact, the meaning of cults has been generated through repeated exposure in different media and genres. Similarly, pop culture (tv, films, news, etc.) often has the benefit of fiction, which separates itself from the true nature of cults (sensu Barthes Mythologies). Yet, through repeated exposure, we begin to share a universal meaning for the term and all the behaviours understood within the myth. Our repeated exposure to the signs of cults in pop culture is the combined effect of news media and fiction slowly building upon itself in a reflexive manner. We hear news reports of cults behaving in obscure ways, followed by a drama, parody, critique, or satire in a fictitious story. The audience then begins to see the repeated narrative as evidence to the true nature of cults. Over time the myth of the cult naturalises into the zeitgeist as concretely as any other sign, word, or symbol. Once the myth is naturalised, it is better used as a narrative device when affixed to a universally recognised symbol, such as the uniform. The uniform becomes an efficient device for communicating meaning in a short space of time. We argue that the concept of cult as myth has entered a collective understanding, and so, it is necessary to reflect on the mechanisms that drove the correlations which ultimately created the myth. Barthes’s purpose for analysing myth was “to track down, in the decorative display of what-goes-without-saying, the ideological abuse which, in my view, is hidden there” (Barthes Mythologies 11). For this reason, we must briefly look at the history of cults and their relationship with crime. A Brief History of Cults ‘Cult’ derives from the Latin root, cultus, or cultivation, and initially referred to forms of religious worship involving special rituals and ceremonies directed towards specific figures, objects, and/or divine beings. Early to mid-twentieth century sociologists adopted and adapted the term to classify a kind of religious organisation and later to signal new forms of religious expression not previously of primary or singular interest to the scholar of religion (Campbell; Jackson and Jobling; Nelson). The consequences were such that ‘cult’ came to carry new weight in terms of its meaning and reception, and much like other analytical concepts developed an intellectual significance regarding religious innovation it had not previously possessed. Unfortunately, this was not to last. By the early 1990s, ‘cult’ had become a term eschewed by scholars as pejorative, value-laden, and disparaging of its supposed subject matter; a term denuded of technical and descriptive meaning and replaced by more value-neutral alternatives (Dillon and Richardson; Richardson; Chryssides and Zeller). Results from well-published surveys (Pfeifer; Olson) and our own experience in teaching related subject matter revealed predominantly negative attitudes towards the term ‘cult’, with the inverse true for the alternative descriptors. Perhaps more importantly, the surveys revealed that for the public majority, knowledge of ‘cults’ came via media reportage of particularly the sensational few, rather than from direct experience of new religions or their members more generally (Pfeifer). For example, the Peoples Temple, Branch Davidian, and Heaven’s Gate groups featured heavily in news and mass media. Importantly, reporting of each of the tragic events marking their demise (in 1978, 1993, and 1997 respectively) reinforced a burgeoning stereotype and escalated fears about cults in our midst. The events in Jonestown, Guyana (Peoples Temple), especially, bolstered an anticult movement of purported cult experts and deprogrammers offering to save errant family members from the same fate as those who died [there]. The anticult movement portrayed all alleged cults as inherently dangerous and subject only to internal influences. They figured the charismatic leader as so powerful that he could take captive the minds of his followers and make them do whatever he wanted. (Crockford 95) While the term ‘new religious movement’ (NRM) has been used in place of cults within the academic sphere, ‘cult’ is still used within popular culture contexts precisely because of the connotations it inspires, with features including charismatic leaders, deprogrammers, coercion and mind-control, deception, perversion, exploitation, deviance, religious zealotry, abuse, violence, and death. For this reason, we still use the word cult to mean the myth of the cult as represented by popular culture. Representations of Cults and Expectations of Crime Violence and crime can be common features of some cults. Most NRMs “stay within the boundaries of the law” and practice their religion peacefully (Szubin, Jensen III, and Gregg 17). Unfortunately, it is usually those cults that are engaged in violence and crime that become newsworthy, and thus shape public ‘knowledge’ about the nature of cults and drive public expectations. Two of America’s most publicised cults, Charles Manson and the Manson Family and the Peoples Temple, are synonymous with violence and crime. Prior to committing mass suicide by poison in Jonestown, the Peoples Temple accumulated many guns as well as killing Congressman Leo Ryan and members of his party. Similarly, Charles Manson and the Manson Family stockpiled weapons, participated in illegal drug use, and murdered seven people, including Hollywood actor Sharon Tate. The high-profile victims of both groups ensured ongoing widespread media attention and continuous popular culture interest in both groups. Other cults are more specifically criminal in nature: for example, the Constanzo group in Matamoros, while presenting as a cult, are also a drug gang, leading to many calling these groups narco-cults (Kail 56). Sexual assault and abuse are commonly associated with cults. There have been numerous media reports worldwide on the sexual abuse of (usually) women and/or children. For example, a fourteen-year-old in the Children of God group alleged that she was raped when she disobeyed a leader (Rudin 28). In 2021, the regional city of Armidale, Australia, became national news when a former soldier was arrested on charges of “manipulating a woman for a ‘cult’ like purpose” (McKinnell). The man, James Davis, styles himself as the patriarch of a group known as the ‘House of Cadifor’. Police evidence includes six signed “slavery contracts”, as well as 70 witnesses to support the allegation that Mr Davis subjected a woman to “ongoing physical, sexual and psychological abuse and degradation” as well as unpaid prostitution and enslavement (McKinnell). Cults and Popular Culture The depiction of cults in popular culture is attracting growing attention. Scholars Lynn Neal (2011) and Joseph Laycock (2013) have initiated this research and identified consistent stereotypes of 'cults’ being portrayed throughout popular media. Neal found that cults began to be featured in television shows as early as the 1950s and 1960s, continually escalating until the 1990s before dropping slightly between 2000 and 2008 (the time the research was concluded). Specifically, there were 10 episodes between 1958-1969; 19 in the 1970s, which Neal attributes to the “rise of the cult scare and intense media scrutiny of NRMs” (97); 25 in the 1980s; 72 in the 1990s; and 59 between 2000 and 2008. Such academic research has identified that popular culture is important in the formation of the public perception, and social definition, of acceptable and deviant religions (Laycock 81). Laycock argues that representations of cults in popular culture reinforces public narratives about cults in three important ways: medicalisation, deviance amplification, and convergence. Medicalisation refers to the depiction of individuals becoming brainwashed and deprogrammed. The medicalisation of cults can be exacerbated by the cult uniform and clinical, ritualistic behaviours. Deviance amplification, a term coined by Leslie Wilkins in the 1960s, is the phenomenon of ‘media hype’, where the media selects specific examples of deviant behaviour, distorting them (Wilkins), such that a handful of peripheral cases appears representative of a larger social problem (Laycock 84). Following the deviance amplification, there is then often a 'moral panic' (a term coined by Stanley Cohen in 1972) where the problem is distorted and heightened within the media. Cults are often subject to deviance amplification within the media, leading to moral panics about the ‘depraved’, sexual, criminal, and violent activities of cults preying on and brainwashing innocents. Convergence “is a rhetorical device associated with deviance amplification in which two or more activities are linked so as to implicitly draw a parallel between them” (Laycock 85). An example of convergence occurred when the Branch Davidians were compared to the Peoples Temple, ultimately leading the FBI “to end the siege through an aggressive ‘dynamic entry’ in part because they feared such a mass suicide” (Laycock 85). The FBI transferred responsibility for the deaths to ‘mass suicide’, which has become the common narrative of events at Waco. Each of the three mechanisms have an important role to play in the popular culture presentation of cults to audiences. Popular media sources, fictional or not, are incentivised to present the most diabolical cult to the audience – and this often includes the medicalised elements of brainwashing and manipulation. This presentation reinforces existing deviance amplification and moral panics around the depraved activities of cults, and in particular sexual and criminal activities. And finally, convergence acts as a 'cultural script’ where the portrayal of these types of characteristics (brainwashing, criminal or violent behaviour, etc.) is automatically associated with cults. As Laycock argues, “in this way, popular culture has a unique ability to promote convergence and, by extension, deviance amplification” (85). The mechanisms of medicalisation, deviance amplification and convergence are important to the semiotic linking of concepts, signs, and signifiers in the process of myth generation. In efficiently understanding the message of the myth, the viewer must have a sign they can affix to it. In the case of visual mediums this must be immediate and certain. As many of the convergent properties of cults are behavioural (acts of violence and depravity, charismatic leaders, etc.), we need a symbol that audiences can understand immediately. Uniforms achieve this with remarkable efficiency. Upon seeing a still, two-dimensional image of people wearing matching garb it can be made easily apparent that they are part of a cult. Religious uniforms are one of the first visual images one conjures upon hearing the word cult: “for most people the word ‘cult’ conjures up ‘60s images of college students wearing flowing robes, chanting rhythmically and spouting Eastern philosophy” (Salvatore cited in Petherick 577; italics in original). The impact is especially pronounced if the clothes are atypical, anachronistic, or otherwise different to the expected clothes of the context. This interpretation then becomes cemented through the actions of the characters. In Rick and Morty, season 1, episode 10, Morty is imprisoned with interdimensional versions of himself. Despite some morphological differences, each Morty is wearing his recognisable yellow top and blue pants. While our Morty’s back is turned, five hooded, robed figures in atypical garb with matching facial markings approach Morty. The audience is immediately aware that this is a cult. The comparison between the uniform of Morty and the Morty cult exemplifies the use of cult uniform in the myth of Cults. The cult is then cemented through chanting and a belief in the “One true Morty” (Harmon et al.). Semiotics, Clothes, and Uniforms The semiotics of clothes includes implicit, explicit, and subliminal signs. The reasons we choose to wear what we wear is governed by multiple factors both within our control and outside of it: for instance, our body shape, social networks and economic status, access to fashion and choice (Barthes The Fashion System; Hackett). We often choose to communicate aspects of our identity through what we wear or what we choose not to wear. Our choice of clothing communicates aspects of who we are, but also who we want to be (Hackett; Simmel; Veblen) Uniforms are an effective and efficient communicative device. Calefato’s classification of uniforms is not only as those used by military and working groups, but also including the strictly coded dress of subcultures. Unlike other clothes which can be weakly coded, uniforms differentiate themselves through their purposeful coded signalling system (Calefato). To scholars such as Jennifer Craik, uniforms intrigue us because they combine evident statements as well as implied and subliminal communications (Craik). Theories about identity predict that processes similar to the defining of an individual are also important to group life, whereby an individual group member's conceptualisation of their group is derived from the collective identity (Horowitz; Lauger). Collective identities are regularly emphasised as a key component in understanding how groups gain meaning and purpose (Polletta and Jasper). The identity is generally constructed and reinforced through routine socialisation and collective action. Uniforms are a well-known means of creating collective identities. They restrict one’s clothing choices and use boundary-setting rituals to ensure commitment to the group. In general, the more obvious the restriction, the easier it is to enforce. Demanding obvious behaviours from members, unique to the community, simultaneously generates a differentiation between the members and non-members, while enabling self-enforcement and peer-to-peer judgments of commitment. Leaders of religious movements like cults and NRMs will sometimes step back from the punitive aspects of nonconformity. Instead, it falls to the members to maintain the discipline of the collective (Kelley 109). This further leads to a sense of ownership and therefore belonging to the community. Uniforms are an easy outward-facing signal that allows for ready discrimination of error. Because they are often obvious and distinctive dress, they constrain and often stigmatise members. In other collective situations such as with American gangs, even dedicated members will deny their gang affiliation if it is advantageous to do so (Lauger Real Gangstas). While in uniform, individuals cannot hide their membership, making the sacrifice more costly. Members are forced to take one hundred percent of the ownership and participate wholly, or not at all. Through this mechanism, cults demonstrate the medicalisation of the members. Leaders may want their members to be unable to escape or deny affiliation. Similarly, their external appearances might invite persecution and therefore breed resilience, courage, and solidarity. It is, in essence, a form of manipulation (see for instance Iannaccone). Alternatively, as Melton argues, members may want to be open and proud of their organisation, as displayed through them adopting their uniforms (15). The uniform of cults in popular media is a principal component of medicalisation, deviance amplification, and convergence. The uniform, often robes, offers credence to the medicalisation aspect: members of cults are receiving ‘treatment’ — initially, negative treatment while being brainwashed, and then later helpful/saving treatment when being deprogrammed, providing they survive a mass suicide attempt and/or, criminal, sexual, or violent escapades. Through portraying cult members in a distinctive uniform, there is no doubt for the audience who is receiving or in need of treatment. Many of the cults portrayed on screen can easily communicate the joining of a cult by changing the characters' dress. Similarly, by simply re-dressing the character, it is communicated that the character has returned to normal, they have been saved, they are a survivor. In Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, while three of the four ‘Mole women’ integrate back into society, Gretchen Chalker continues to believe in their cult; as such she never takes of her cult uniform. In addition, the employment of uniforms for cult members in popular culture enables an instant visual recognition of ‘us’ and ‘them’, or ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’, and reinforces stereotypical notions of social order and marginalised, deviant (religious) groups (Neal 83). The clothing differences are obvious in The Simpsons season 9, episode 13, “Joy of Sect”: ‘Movementarian’ members, including the Simpsons, don long flowing robes. The use of cult uniform visualises their fanatical commitment to the group. It sets them apart from the rest of Springfield and society (Neal 88-89). The connection between uniforms and cults derives two seemingly paradoxical meanings. Firstly, it reduces the chances of the audience believing that the cult employed ‘deceptive recruiting’ techniques. As Melton argues, because of the association our society has with uniforms and cults, “it is very hard for someone to join most new religions, given their peculiar dress and worship practices, without knowing immediately its religious nature” (14). As such, within popular media, the presence of the uniform increases the culpability of those who join the cult. Contrarily, the character in uniform is a sign that the person has been manipulated and/or brainwashed. This reduces the culpability of the cult member. However, the two understandings are not necessarily exclusive. It is possible to view the cult member as a naïve victim, someone who approached the cult as an escape from their life but was subsequently manipulated into behaving criminally. This interpretation is particularly powerful because it indicates cults can prey on anyone, and that anyone could become a victim of a cult. This, in turn, heightens the moral panic surrounding cults and NRMs. The on-screen myth of the cult as represented by its uniform has a basis in the real-life history of NRMs. Heaven’s Gate members famously died after they imbibed fatal doses of alcohol and barbiturates to achieve their ‘final exit’. Most members were found laid out on beds covered in purple shrouds, all wearing matching black shirts, black pants, and black and white Nike shoes. The famous photos of Warren Jeffs’s polygamous Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, the subject of Netflix’s Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey, depict multiple women in matching conservative dresses with matching hairstyles gathered around a photo of Jeffs. The image and uniform are a clear influence on the design of Unbreakable’s ‘Mole women’. A prime example of the stereotype of cult uniforms is provided by the Canadian comedy program The Red Green Show when the character Red tells Harold “cults are full of followers, they have no independent thought, they go to these pointless meetings ... they all dress the same” (episode 165). The statement is made while the two main characters Red and Harold are standing in matching outfits. Blurring Nature and Myth Importantly, the success of these shows very much relies on audiences having a shared conception of NRMs and the myth of the cult. This is a curious combination of real and fictional knowledge of the well-publicised controversial events in history. Fictional cults frequently take widely held perspectives of actual religious movements and render them either more absurd or more frightening (Laycock 81). Moreover, the blurring of fictional and non-fictional groups serves to reinforce the sense that all popular culture cults and their real-world counterparts are the same; that they all follow a common script. In this, there is convergence between the fictional and the real. The myth of the cult bleeds from the screen into real life. The Simpsons’ “The Joy of Sect” was televised in the year following the suicide of the 39 members of the Heaven’s Gate group, and the storyline in part was influenced by it. Importantly, as a piercing, satirical critique of middle-class America, the “Joy of Sect” not only parodied traditional and non-traditional religion generally (as well as the ‘cult-like’ following of mass media such as Fox); scholars have shown that it also parodied the ‘cult’ stereotype itself (Feltmate). While Heaven’s Gate influenced to a greater or lesser extent each of the TV shows highlighted thus far, it was also the case that the group incorporated into its eschatology aspects of popular culture linked primarily to science fiction. For example, group members were known to have regularly watched and discussed episodes of Star Trek (Hoffmann and Burke; Sconce), adopting aspects of the show’s vernacular in “attempts to relate to the public” (Gate 163). Words such as ‘away-team’, ‘prime-directive’, ‘hologram’, ‘Captain’, ‘Admiral’, and importantly ‘Red-Alert’ were adopted; the latter, often signalling code-red situations in Star Trek episodes, appeared on the Heaven’s Gate Website in the days just prior to their demise. Importantly, allusions to science fiction and Star Trek were incorporated into the group’s self-styled ‘uniform’ worn during their tragic ritual-suicide. Stitched into the shoulders of each of their uniforms were triangular, Star Trek-inspired patches featuring various celestial bodies along with a tagline signalling the common bond uniting each member: “Heaven’s Gate Away Team” (Sconce). Ironically, with replica patches readily for sale online, and T-shirts and hoodies featuring modified though similar Heaven’s Gate symbolism, this ‘common bond’ has been commodified in such a way as to subvert its original meaning – at least as it concerned ‘cult’ membership in the religious context. The re-integration of cult symbols into popular culture typifies the way we as a society detachedly view the behaviours of cults. The behaviour of cults is anecdotally viewed through a voyeuristic lens, potentially exacerbated by the regular portrayals of cults through parody. Scholars have demonstrated how popular culture has internationally impacted on criminological aspects of society. For instance, there was a noted, international increase in unrealistic expectations of jurors wanting forensic evidence during court cases after the popularity of forensic science in crime dramas (Franzen; Wise). After the arrest of James Davis in Armidale, NSW, Australia, the Sydney Morning Herald reported that Davis was the patriarch of the “House of Cadifor” and he was part of a “cult” (both reported in inverted commas). The article also includes an assumption from Davis's lawyer that, in discussing the women of the group, “the Crown might say ‘they’ve been brainwashed’”. Similarly, the article references the use of matching collars by the women (Mitchell). Nine News reported that the “ex-soldier allegedly forced tattooed, collared sex slave into prostitution”, bringing attention to the clothing as part of the coercive techniques of Davis. While the article does not designate the House of Cadifor as a cult, they include a quote from the Assistant Commissioner Justine Gough, “Mr Davis' group has cult-like qualities”, and included the keyword ‘cults’ for the article. Regrettably, the myth of cults and real-world behaviours of NRMs do not always align, and a false convergence is drawn between the two. Furthermore, the consistent parodying and voyeuristic nature of on-screen cults means we might be at fault of euphemising the crimes and behaviours of those deemed to be part of a ‘cult’. Anecdotally, the way Armidale locals discussed Davis was through a lens of excitement and titillation, as if watching a fictional story unfold in their own backyard. The conversations and news reporting focussed on the cult-like aspects of Davis and not the abhorrence of the alleged crimes. We must remain mindful that the cinematic semiology of cults and the myth as represented by their uniform dress and behaviours is incongruent with the nature of NRMs. However, more work needs to be done to better understand the impact of on-screen cults on real-world attitudes and beliefs. Conclusion The myth of the cult has entered a shared understanding within today’s zeitgeist, and the uniform of the cult stands at its heart as a key sign of the myth. Popular culture plays a key role in shaping this shared understanding by following the cultural script, slowly layering fact with fiction, just as fact begins to incorporate the fiction. The language of the cult as communicated through their uniforms is, we would argue, universally understood and purposeful. The ubiquitous representation of cults portrays a deviant group, often medicalised, and subject to deviance amplification and convergence. When a group of characters is presented to the audience in the same cult dress, we know what is being communicated to us. Fictional cults in popular culture continue to mirror the common list of negative features attributed to many new religious movements. Such fictional framing has come to inform media-consumer attitudes in much the same way as news media, reflecting as they do the cultural stock of knowledge from which our understandings are drawn, and which has little grounding in the direct or immediate experience of the phenomena in question. In short, the nature of NRMs has become confused with the myth of the cult. More research is needed to understand the impact of the myth of the cult. However, it is important to ensure “what-goes-without-saying” is not obfuscating, euphemising, or otherwise misrepresenting nature. References Barthes, Roland. Elements of Semiology. London: Jonathon Cape, 1967. ———. The Fashion System. U of California P, 1990. ———. Mythologies. Trans. 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Johnson-Hunt, Nancy. "Dreams for Sale: Ideal Beauty in the Eyes of the Advertiser". M/C Journal 23, n.º 1 (18 de março de 2020). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1646.

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Introduction‘Dream’ has been researched across numerous fields in its multiplicity within both a physical and emotional capacity. For Pagel et al., there is no fixed definition of what ‘dream’ is or are. However, in an advertising context, ’dream’ is the idealised version of our desires, re-visualised in real life (Coombes and Batchelor 103). It could be said that for countless consumers, advertising imagery has elicited dreams of living the perfect life and procuring material pleasures (Manca et al.; Hood). Goodis asserts, “advertising doesn’t always mirror how people are acting but how they are dreaming, in a sense what we are doing is wrapping up your emotions and selling them back to you” (qtd. in Back and Quaade 65). One component of this notion of ‘dream’ in advertising is captured by wishful images of the face and body in their ‘perfect form’ presented in a field of other beauty ideals. For our purposes, ‘dream’ is a “philosophical concept” (Pagel et al. 14) by which dreams are a series of aspirations and desires that consumers internalise, while at the same time, find difficult to achieve. ‘Dream’, then, will be used to critically explore how the beauty and advertising industries collectively employ ethnic ambiguity in addition to other tactics and strategies to sell us dream-like visions of idealised beauty. Forever Dreaming: The Introduction of Ethnic AmbiguityWe can link dreams to beauty as both areas of analysis contain many cultural interpretations and can be deconstructed to reveal different meanings (Sontag). In many ways, beauty is another dream and Sontag notes that the concept of beauty is often linked to certain physical traits that an individual possesses. These physical traits are capitalised upon by product marketing by which Hood claims, aims to enhance one, or even more, of them. For example, lipstick is not marketed as simply as a mixture of wax and pigment but rather a way to “obtain beauty, find romance or gain confidence” (7). As a result, global beauty brands can find long term marketing success through meaningful product marketing. This long-term marketing success relies on influencing human behaviour and perceptions. As a result of meaningful marketing, consumers may find themselves driven to purchase implicit qualities in products advertised to reflect their dreams (Hood).Following the 1980s, this version of meaningful marketing has become a driving purpose for advertising agencies around the globe (Steel). Advertising agencies rely on deeper human insights, identifying latent desires to create a brief that must ultimately sell a dream (Steel). The ideal strategy needs to define something that will build brand loyalty and encourage consumers to have a symbiotic relationship connecting their dreams with the product being sold. As Hood argues, “advertising consists of selling not just things but also dreams”. While this concept is one that “some see as inherently damning”, it is also inherently necessary (7). We understand that people are emotional beings, investing in the artefacts they build, obtain or use with significance “beyond merely utilitarian” (7). For these reasons, beauty advertisers act as the purveyors of dreams in the form of physical perfection as an articulation of consumer’s own aspirations of beauty.These aspirations of dream beauty are a direct representation of our thoughts and feelings. As such, it should be noted that we as consumers are often encouraged to draw inspiration from imagery that is often times seen as ethnically ambiguous. “Ethnic ambiguity” is the absence of any one prominent ethnic or racial feature that is easily discernible to one specific group (Garcia 234; Harrison et al.). An example of this ethnic ambiguity can be seen in marketing campaigns by high end makeup artist and her eponymous range of cosmetics, Charlotte Tilbury. Most notably, in a 2015 launch for her “Makeup Wardrobe”, Tilbury’s makeup palettes boasted 10 aspirational ‘looks’ and personas that could be achieved simply through purchase. The images of women featured on a figurative ‘wheel of fortune’ digital display used to market products online. This digital ‘wheel of fortune’ comprised of ethnically ambiguous models against descriptive persona’s such as “The Dolce Vita” and “The Glamour Muse”. These kinds of digital marketing tools required consumers to make a decision based on what their dream ‘look’ is through an ethnically ambiguous lens and from here are guided to purchase their desired aesthetic. Like Charlotte Tilbury, the beauty industry has seen a growing body of cosmetic brands that employ ethnic ambiguity to sell dreams of homogenised beauty. We will see the ways in which modern day beauty brands, such as Kylie Jenner Cosmetics and Fenty Beauty have come to adopt ethnic ambiguity or embrace entire ethnic and racial groups in order to expand their consumer influence.Aspirational Ambiguity: Dreams of DisempowermentSince the early 2000s, beauty advertising has seen a prominent rise in the use of ethnically ambiguous models. Some see this as an effort to answer the global desire for diversity and inclusion. However, the notion that beauty standards transcend racial boundaries and is inclusive, is simply another form of appropriating and fetishising ethnicity (R. Sengupta). In many ways, these manufactured dream-like versions of beauty have evolved to reach wider markets, in the hope that consumers will be emboldened to both embrace their racial heritage, and at the same time conform to homogenised standards of beauty (Frith et al.; Harrison et al.).In this bid to diversify and extend consumer reach, there are three prominent reasons why ethnically ambiguous models are more likely to be featured over models whose African, Indigenous, and/or Asian heritage is more prominent. Firstly, ethnically ambiguous models do not seem to conform to a particular notion of what is considered beautiful. For many decades, popular culture has been saturated with images of thin, of young, of narrow noses and hips, of blonde, blue eyes, and Caucasian hair textures (Harrison et al.; Hunter; Saraswati). These Westernised beauty ideals have been historically shaped through years of colonial influence, grounded in an imbalance of power and imposed to create a culture of dominance and oppression (Saraswati). Secondly, ethnic models are featured to convey “the sense of the ‘exotic’, and their ‘otherness’ acts to normalise and entrench the dominant ideal of white beauty” (qtd. in Redmond 175). ‘Otherness’ can be defined as the opposite of the majority, in Westernised society this ‘other’ can mean “people who are other than white, male, able bodied, heterosexual” (qtd. in Graycar 74). This ‘otherness’ showcased by ethnically ambiguous models draws viewers in. Physical features that were possessed by one specific ethnic group such as African, Asian, Latinx or Indigenous peoples have now become blended and are no longer confined to one race. Additionally, ethnically ambiguous models enable white consumers to dream about an exotic local or lifestyle, while at the same time providing ethnic audiences a way to see themselves.Finally, it is undeniable that ethnically ambiguous and mixed-race models have become desirable due to a historical preference for light skin (Saraswati). The visual references of light-skinned beauty epitomise a colonial dream and this standardisation has been transferred to indigenous peoples, or ethnic minorities in Western countries. According to Harrison et al, “marketers use mixed-race representations as cultural currency by mythologising mixed-race bodies as the new beauty standard” to represent a racial bridge, “tailored to ameliorate perceived racial divides” (503). Therefore, ethnically ambiguous models have an assumed advantage over their racially dominant counterparts, because they appear to straddle various racial boundaries. They are constructed to embody whomever, from wherever and whenever, fetishising their roleplay for the industry, when it pleases. This further exoticises multi-racial beauty models and renders them a commodified fantasy for many consumers alike. The continued commodification of ethnic ambiguity is problematic as it exploits models with distinctly mixed-race heritage to continue to sell images of white-washed beauty (Solomon et al.). An argument could be made that scarcity contributes to mixed-race models’ value, and therefore the total number of advertising opportunities that are offered to mixed-race models remains limited. To date, numerous studies highlight a limited use of racially diverse models within the beauty industry and does not reflect the growing global body of diverse consumers with purchasing power (Wasylkiw et al.; Redmond; Johnson; Jung and Lee; Frith et al.). In fact, prior to globalisation, Yan and Bissell claim that “each culture had a unique standard of attractiveness, derived from traditional views about beauty as well as the physical features of the people” (197) and over time the construction of dream beauty is characterised using Western features combined with exoticised traits of indigenous ethnic groups. Akinro and Mbunyuza-Memani claim that this “trend of normalising white or 'western' feminine looks as the standard of beauty” has pervaded a number of these indigenous cultures, eventually disseminated through the media as the ultimate goal (308). It can also be argued that the “growing inclusion of mixed-race models in ads is driven less by the motivation to portray diversity and driven more by pragmatism,” and in a more practical sense has implications for the “financial future of the advertised brands and the advertising industry as a whole” (Harrison et al. 513). As a result, uses of mixed-race models “are rather understood as palatable responses within dominant white culture to racial and ethnic minority populations growing in … cultural prominence” (513) in a tokenistic bid to sell a dream of unified beauty.The Dream Girl: Normalisation of Mixed-RaceIn 2017, an article in CNN’s Style section highlighted the growing number of mixed-race models in Japan’s fashion and beauty industry as a modern-day phenomenon from Japan’s interlocking history with the United States (Chung and Ogura). These beauty and fashion influencers refer to themselves as hafu, an exclusionary term that historically represented an “othered” minority of mixed-race heritage in Japanese society signalling complex and troubled interactions with majority Japanese (Oshima). The complications once associated with the term ‘hafu’ are now being reclaimed by bi-racial beauty and fashion models and as such, these models are beginning to defy categorisation and, in some ways, national identity because of their chameleon-like qualities. However, while there is an increasing use of mixed-race Japanese models, everyday mixed-race women are regularly excluded within general society; which highlights the incongruent nature of ‘half’ identity. And yet there is an increasing preference and demand from fashion and beauty outlets to feature them in Japanese and Western popular culture (Harrison et al.; Chung and Ogura). Numéro Tokyo’s editorial director Sayumi Gunji, estimated that almost 30-40 per cent of runway models in present day Japan, identify as either bi-racial mixed-race or multi-racial (Chung and Ogura).Gunji claims:"Almost all top models in the their 20s are hafu, especially the top models of popular fashion magazines ... . [In] the Japanese media and market, a foreigner's flawless looks aren't as readily accepted -- they feel a little distant. But biracial models, who are taller, have bigger eyes, higher noses [and] Barbie-doll-like looks, are admired because they are dreamy looking but not totally different from the Japanese. That's the key to their popularity," she adds. (Qtd. in Chung and Ogura)The "dreamy look" that Gunji describes is attributed to a historical preference toward light skin and a kind of willingness and sensuality, that once, only white models could be seen to tout (Frith et al. 58). Frith et al. and O’Barr discuss that beauty in Japanese advertising mirrors “the way women are portrayed in advertising in the West” (qtd. in Frith et al. 58). The emergence of hafu in Japanese beauty advertising sees these two worlds, a mixture of doll-like and sensual beauty, converging to create a dream-like standard for Japanese consumers. The growing presence of Japanese-American models such as Kiko Mizuhara and Jun Hasegawa are both a direct example of the unattainable ‘dreamy look’ that pervades the Japanese beauty industry. Given this ongoing trend of mixed-race models in beauty advertising, a recent article on Refinery29 talks about the significance of how mixed-race models are disassembling their once marginalised status.A. Sengupta writes:In contrast to passing, in which mixedness was marginalized and hidden, visibly multiracial models now feature prominently in affirmative sites of social norms. Multiracial looks are normalized, and, by extension, mixed identity is validated. There’s no cohesive social movement behind it, but it’s a quiet sea change that’s come with broadened beauty standards and the slow dismantling of social hierarchies.Another example of the normalisation in multi-racial identity is Adwoa Aboah, a mixed-race British model and feminist activist who has been featured on the covers of numerous fashion publications and on runways worldwide. In British Vogue’s December 2017 issue, titled “Great BRITAIN”, Adwoa Aboah achieved front cover status, alongside her image featured other politically powerful names, perhaps suggesting that Aboah represents not only the changing face of a historically white publication but as an embodiment of an increasingly diverse consumer landscape. Not only is she seen as both as a voice for those disenfranchised by the industry, by which she is employed, but as a symbol of new dreams. To conclude this section, it seems the evolution of advertising’s inclusion of multi-racial models reveals a progressive step change for the beauty industry. However, relying simply on the faces of ethnically ambiguous talent has become a covert way to fulfil consumer’s desire for diversity without wholly dismantling the destructive hierarchies of white dominance. Over this time however, new beauty creations have entered the market and with it two modern day icons.Architecting Black Beauty through the American DreamAccording to Kiick, the conception of the ‘American Dream’ is born out of a desire to “seek out a more advantageous existence than the current situation” (qtd. in Manca et al. 84). As a result of diligent hard work, Americans were rewarded with an opportunity for a better life (Manca et al.). Kylie Jenner’s entry into the beauty space seemed like a natural move for the then eighteen-year-old; it was a new-age representation of the ‘American Dream’ (Robehmed 2018). In less than five years, Jenner has created Kylie Cosmetics, a beauty empire that has since amassed a global consumer base, helping her earn billionaire status. A more critical investigation into Jenner’s performance however illustrates that her eponymous range of beauty products sells dreams which have been appropriated from black culture (Phelps). The term cultural appropriation refers to the way dominant cultures “adopt and adapt certain aspects of another’s culture and make it their own” (qtd. in Han 9). In Jenner’s case, her connection to ethnic Armenian roots through her sisters Kourtney, Kim, and Khloe Kardashian have significantly influenced her expression of ‘othered’ culture and moreover ethnic beauty ideals such as curvier body shapes and textured hair. Jenner’s beauty advertisements have epitomised what it means to be black in America, cherry picking racialised features of black women (namely their lips, hips/buttocks and afro-braided hairstyles) and rearticulated them through a white lens. The omission of the ‘black experience’ in her promotion of product is problematic for three reasons. Firstly, representing groups or people without invitation enables room for systemic stereotyping (Han). Secondly, this stereotyping can lead to continued marginalisation of minority cultures (Kulchyski). And finally, the over exaggeration of physical attributes, such as Jenner’s lips, hips and buttocks, reinforces her complicity in exoticising and fetishising the “other”. As a result, consumers of social media beauty advertising may pay less attention to cultural appropriation if they are already unaware that the beauty imagery they consume is based on the exploitation of black culture.Another perspective on Jenner’s use of black culture is in large part due to her cultural appreciation of black beauty. This meaning behind Jenner’s cultural appreciation can be attributed to the inherent value placed on another person’s culture, in the recognition of the positive qualities and the celebration of all aspects of that culture (Han). This is evidenced by her recent addition of cosmetic products for darker complexions (Brown). However, Jenner’s supposed fascination with black culture may be in large part due to the environment in which she was nurtured (Phelps). As Phelps reveals, “consider the cultural significance of the Kardashian family, and the various ways in which the Kardashian women, who are tremendously wealthy and present as white, have integrated elements of black culture as seemingly “natural” in their public bodily performances” (9). Although the Kardashian-Jenner family have faced public backlash for their collective appropriation they have acquired a tremendous “capital gain in terms of celebrity staying power and hyper-visibility” (Phelps 9). Despite the negative attention, Kylie Jenner’s expression of black culture has resurfaced the very issues that had once been historically deemed insignificant. In spite of Jenner’s cultural appropriation of black beauty, her promotion through Kylie Cosmetics continues to sell dreams of idealised beauty through the white lens.In comparison, Rihanna Fenty’s cosmetic empire has been touted as a celebration of diversity and inclusion for modern-age beauty. Unlike Kylie Cosmetics, Fenty’s eponymous brand has become popular for its broader message of inclusivity across both skin tone, body shape and gender. Upon her product release, Fenty Beauty acknowledged a growing body of diverse consumers and as a direct response to feature models of diverse skin tones, cultural background and racial heritage. Perhaps more importantly, Fenty Beauty’s challenge to the ongoing debate around diversity and inclusion has been in stark contrast to Kylie Jenner’s ongoing appropriation of black culture. Images featured at the first brand and product launch of Fenty Beauty and in present day advertising, show South Sudanese model Duckie Thot and hijab-wearing model Halima Aden as central characters within the Fenty narrative, illustrating that inclusion need not remain ambiguous and diversity need not be appropriated. Fenty’s initial product line up included ninety products, but most notably, the Pro Filt’r foundation caused the most publicity. Since its introduction in 2017, the foundation collection contained range of 40 (now 50) inclusive foundation shades, 13 of these shades were designed to cater for much darker complexions, an industry first (Walters). As a result of the brand’s inclusion of diverse product shades and models, Fenty Beauty has been shown to push boundaries within the beauty industry and the social media landscape (Walters). Capitalising on all races and expanding beauty ideals, Fenty’s showcase of beauty subscribes to the notion that for women everywhere in the world, their dreams can and do come true. In conclusion, Fenty Beauty has played a critical role in re-educating global consumers about diversity in beauty (Walters) but perhaps more importantly Rihanna, by definition, has become a true embodiment of the ‘American Dream’.Conclusion: Future Dreams in BeautyIt is undeniable that beauty advertising has remained complicit in selling unattainable dreams to consumers. In the context of ‘dream’ as a philosophical concept, it is more important than ever to ensure our dreams are mirrored, not as an ambiguous body of consumers, but as diverse and unique individuals. Changemakers in the industry such as Fenty Beauty are challenging this status quo and beauty advertising in general will have to evolve their strategy in a bid to answer to an increasingly globalised market. It must be reinforced however, that while “beauty companies and advertisers work effectively to reach a growingly multicultural market, scholars have a responsibility to assess the ramifications that accompany such change,” (Harrison et al. 518). If advertising’s role is to mirror consumers’ dreams then, our roles as dreamers have never been so important. ReferencesAkinro, Ngozi, and Lindani Mbunyuza-Memani. "Black Is Not Beautiful: Persistent Messages and the Globalization of 'White' Beauty in African Women’s Magazines." 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Adams, Jillian Elaine. "Marketing Tea against a Turning Tide: Coffee and the Tea Council of Australia 1963–1974". M/C Journal 15, n.º 2 (2 de maio de 2012). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.472.

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The Coming of Coffee Before World War II, Australians followed British tradition and largely drank tea. When coffee challenged the tea drinking habit in post-war Australia, the tea industry fought back using the most up-to-date marketing techniques imported from America. The shift to coffee drinking in post-war Australia is, therefore, explored through a focus on both the challenges faced by the tea industry and how that industry tackled the trend towards coffee. By focusing on the Australian Tea Council’s marketing campaign promoting tea as a fashionable drink and preferable to coffee, this article explores Australia’s cultural shift from tea drinking to coffee drinking. This complex and multi-layered transition, often simply explained by post-war migration, provides an opportunity to investigate other causal aspects of this shift. In doing so, it draws on oral histories—including of central figures working in the tea and coffee industries—as well as reports in newspapers and popular magazines, during this period of culinary transition. Australians always drank coffee but it was expensive, difficult and inconsistent to brew, and was regarded as a drink “for the better class of person” (P. Bennett). At the start of World War II, Australia was second only to Britain in terms of its tea consumption and maintaining Australia’s supply of tea was a significant issue for the government (NAA, “Agency Notes”). To guarantee a steady supply, tea was rationed, as were many other staples. Between 1941 and 1955, the tea supply was under government control with the Commonwealth-appointed Tea Control Board responsible for its purchase and distribution nationwide (Adams, “From Instant” 16). The influence of the USA on Australia’s shift from tea-drinking has been underplayed in narratives of the origins of Australia’s coffee culture, but the presence of American servicemen, either stationed in Australia or passing through during the war in the Pacific, had a considerable impact on what Australians ate and drank. In 2007, the late John Button noted that:It is when the countries share a cause that the two peoples have got to know each other best. Between 1942 and 1945, when Australia’s population was seven million, one million US service personnel came to Australia. They were made welcome, and strange things happened. American sporting results and recipes were published in the newspapers; ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ was played at the start of theatre and concert performances. Australians were introduced to the hot dog; Americans, reluctantly, to the dim sim. 10 or 15 years after the war, there were stories of New York cab drivers who knew Australia well and spoke warmly of their wartime visits. For years, letters between Australia and the US went back and forth between pen friends […] following up friendships developed during the war. Supplying the daily ration of coffee to American servicemen was another concern for the Australian government as Australia had insufficient roasting capacity to supply this coffee—and so three roasting machines were shipped to Australia to help meet this new demand (NAA, MP5/45 a). To ensure a steady supply, coffee too came under the control of the Tea Controller and the Tea Control Board became the Tea and Coffee Control Board. At this time, civilians became more aware of coffee as newspapers raised its profile and Australian families invited American servicemen in their homes. Differences in food preferences between American servicemen and Australians were noticed, with coffee the most notable of these. The Argus reported that: “The main point of issue in these rival culinary fancies is the longstanding question of coffee” (“Yanks Differ” 8). It concluded that Australians and Americans ate the same foods, only prepared in different ways, but the most significant difference between them was the American “preference for coffee” (8). When Australian families invited hosted servicemen in their homes, housewives needed advice on how to make prepare coffee, and were told:One of the golden rules for hostesses entertaining American troops should be not to serve them coffee unless they know how to make it in the American fashion [...] To make coffee in the proper American fashion requires a special kind of percolating. Good results may be obtained by making coffee with strong freshly ground beans and the coffee should be served black with cream to be added if required (“Coffee for Americans” 5). Australian civilians also read reports of coffee, rather than tea, being served to Australian servicemen overseas, and the following report in The Argus in 1942 shows: “At Milne Bay 100 gallons of coffee were served to the men after pictures had been shown each night. Coffee was not the only comfort to be supplied. There were also chocolate, tobacco, toothpaste, and other articles appreciated by the troops” (“Untitled” 5). Due largely to tea rationing and the presence of American servicemen, Australia’s coffee consumption increased to 500 grams per person per annum between 1941 and 1944, but it also continued to rise in the immediate post-war period when the troops had departed (ABS). In May 1947, the Tea (and Coffee) Controller reported an increased consumption of 54 per cent in the two years after the war ended (NAA, MP5/45 b). Tea Loses Its Way Australian tea company and coffee roaster, Bushells, had an excellent roast and ground coffee—Bushells Pure Coffee—according to Bill Bennett who worked for the company from 1948 to 1950 (B. Bennett). It was sold freshly roasted in screw-top jars that could be re-used for storage in the kitchen or pantry. In 1945, in a series of cartoon-style advertisements, Bushells showed consumers how easy it was to make coffee using this ground beans, but the most significant challenge to tea’s dominance came not with this form of coffee, but in 1948 with the introduction of Nestlé instant coffee. Susie Khamis argues that “of all the coffee brands that vied for Australians’ attention, Nestlé was by far the most salient, by virtue of its frequency, timeliness and resonance” (218). With Nestlé instant coffee, “you use just the quantity you need for each cup and there are no grounds or sediment. Nescafé made perfect full-flavoured coffee in a matter of seconds” (Canberra Times). Figure 1. Advertisement for Nestlé Coffee. The Canberra Times 5 Aug. 1949: 2. Figure 2. Advertisement for Bushells Coffee. The Argus 22 Aug. 1945: 11. Instant coffee, as well as being relatively cheap, solved the “problem” of its brewing and was marketed as convenient, economical, and consistent. It also was introduced at a time when the price of tea was increasing and the American lifestyle had great appeal to Australians. Khamis argues that the discovery of instant coffee “spoke to changes in Australia’s lifestyle options”, noting that the “tea habit was tied to Australia’s development as a far-flung colonial outpost, a daily reminder that many still looked to London as the nation’s cultural capital; the growing appeal of instant coffee reflected a widening and more nuanced cultural palate” (218). Instant coffee, modernity, America, and glamour became thus entwined in a period when Australia’s cultural identity “was informed less by the staid conservatism of Britain than the heady flux of the new world glamour” (Khamis 219). In the 1950s, Australians were seduced by espresso coffee presented to them in imaginatively laid out coffee lounges featuring ultra modern décor and streamlined fittings. Customers were reportedly “seduced by the novelty of the impressive-looking espresso machines, all shining chrome and knobs and pressure gauges” (Australasian Confectioner and Restaurant Journal 61). At its best, espresso coffee is a sublime drink with a rich thick body and a strong flavour. It is a pleasure to look at and has about it an air of European sophistication. These early coffee lounges were the precursors of the change from American-style percolated coffee (Adams, “Barista” vi). According to the Australasian Confectioner and Restaurant Journal, in 1956 espresso coffee was changing the way people drank coffee “on the continent, in London and in other parts of the world,” which means that as well as starting a new trend in Australia, this new way of brewing coffee was making coffee even more popular elsewhere (61). The Connoisseurship of Coffee Despite the popularities of cafés, the Australian consumer needed to be educated to become a connoisseur, and this instruction was provided in magazine and newspaper articles. Rene Dalgleish, writing for Australian Home Beautiful in 1964, took “a look around the shops” to report on “a growing range of glamorous and complicated equipment designed for the once-simple job of brewing a cup of tea, or more particularly, coffee” (21). Although she included teapots, her main focus was coffee brewing equipment—what it looked like and how it worked. She also discussed how to best appreciate coffee, and described a range of home grinding and brewing coffee equipment from Turkish to percolation and vacuum coffee makers. As there was only one way of making tea, Dalgleish pays little attention to its method of brewing (21) and concludes the piece by referring only to coffee: “There are two kinds of coffee drinkers—those who drink it because it is a drink and coffee lovers. The sincere coffee lover is one who usually knows about coffee and at the drop of a hat will talk with passionate enthusiasm on the only way to make real coffee” (21). In its first issue in 1966, Australasian Gourmet Magazine reflected on the increased consumption and appreciation of coffee in a five-page feature. “More and more people are serving fine coffee in their homes,” it stated, “while coffee lounges and espresso bars are attracting the public in the city, suburbs and country towns” (Repin and Dressler 36). The article also noted that there was growing interest in the history and production of coffee as well as roasting, blending, grinding, and correct preparation methods. In the same year, The Australian Women’s Weekly acknowledged a growing interest in both brewing, and cooking with, coffee in a lift-out recipe booklet titled “Cooking with Coffee.” This, according to the Weekly, presented “directions that tell you how to make excellent coffee by seven different methods” as well as “a variety of wonderful recipes for cakes, biscuits, desserts, confectionary and drinks, all with the rich flavor of coffee” (AWW). By 1969, the topic was so well established that Keith Dunstan could write an article lampooning coffee snobbery in Australian Gourmet Magazine. He describes his brother’s attention to detail when brewing coffee and his disdain for the general public who were all drinking what he called “muck”. Coffee to the “coffee-olics” like his brother was, Dunstan suggested, like wine to the gourmand (5). In the early 1960s, trouble was brewing in the tea business. Tea imports were not keeping pace with population growth and, in 1963, the Tea Bureau conducted a national survey into the habits of Australian tea drinkers (McMullen). This found that although tea was the most popular beverage at the breakfast table for all socio-economic groups, 30 per cent of Australian housewives did not realise that tea was cheaper than coffee. 52 per cent of coffee consumed was instant and one reason given for coffee drinking between meals was that it was easier to make one cup (Broadcasting and Television “Tea Gains”). Marketing Tea against a Turning Tide Coffee enjoyed an advantage that tea was unlikely to ever have, as the margin between raw bean and landed product was much wider than tea. Tea was also traditionally subject to price-cutting by grocery chains who used it as a loss leader “to bring the housewife into the store” (Broadcasting and Television “Tea Battles”) and, with such a fine profit margin, the individual tea packer had little to allocate for marketing expenses. In response, a group of tea merchants, traders and members of tea growing countries formed The Tea Council of Australia in 1963 to pool their marketing funds to collectively market their product. With more funds, the Council hoped to achieve what individual companies could not (Adams “From Instant” 1-19). The chairman of the Tea Council, Mr. G. McMullan, noted that tea was “competing in the supermarkets with all beverages that are sold […]. All the beverages are backed by expensive marketing campaigns. And this is the market that tea must continue to hold its share” (McMullen 6). The Tea Council employed the services of Jackson Wain and Company for its marketing and public relations campaign. Australian social historian Warren Fahey worked for the company in the 1960s and described it in an interview. He recalled: Jackson Wain was quite a big advertising agency. Like a lot of these big agencies of the time it was Australian owned by Barry Wain and John Jackson. Jackson Wain employed some illustrious creative directors at that time and its clients were indeed big: they had Qantas, Rothmans, the Tea Council, White Wings—which was a massive client—and Sunbeam. And they are just some of the ones they had. Over the following eleven years, the Tea Council sought innovative ways to identify target markets and promote tea drinking. Much of this marketing was directed at women. Since women were responsible for most of the household shopping, and housewives were consuming “incidental” beverages during the day (that is, not with meals), a series of advertisements were placed in women’s magazines. Showing how tea could be enjoyed at work, play, in the home, and while shopping, these kick-started the Tea Council’s advertising campaign in 1964. Fahey remembers that: tea was seen as old-fashioned so they started to talk about different aspects of drinking tea. I remember the images of several campaigns that came through Jackson Wain of the Tea Board. The Women’s Weekly ones were a montage of images where they were trying to convince people that tea was refreshing […] invigorating […] [and] friendly. Figure 3. Tea Council Advertisement. The Australian Women’s Weekly 29 Jan. 1964, 57. Radio was the Tea Council’s “cup of tea”. Transistor and portable radio arrived in Australia in the 1950s and this much listened to medium was especially suited to the Tea Council’s advertising (Tea Council Annual Report 1964). Radio advertising was relatively low-cost and the Council believed that people thought aurally and could picture their cup of tea as soon as they heard the word “tea”. Fahey explains that although radio was losing some ground to the newly introduced television, it was still the premier media, largely because it was personality driven. Many advertisers were still wary of television, as were the agencies. Radio advertisements, read live to air by the presenter, would tell the audience that it was time for a cuppa—“Right now is the right time to taste the lively taste of tea” (Tea Council Annual Report 1964)—and a jingle created for the advertisement completed the sequence. Fahey explained that agencies “were very much tuned into the fact even in those days that women were a dominant fact in the marketing of tea. Women were listening to radio at home while they were doing their work or entertaining their friends and those reminders to have a cup of tea would have been quite useful triggers in terms of the marketing”. The radio jingle, “The taste of tea makes a lively you” (Jackson Wain, “Tea Council”) aired 21,000 times on 85 radio stations throughout Australia in 1964 (Tea Council of Australia Annual Report). In these advertisements, tea was depicted as an interesting, exciting and modern beverage, suitable for consumption at home as outside it, and equally, if not more, refreshing than other beverages. People were also encouraged to use more tea when they brewed a pot by adding “one [spoonful] for the pot” (Jackson Wain, “Tea Council”). These advertisements were designed to appeal to both housewives and working women. For the thrifty housewife, they emphasised value for money in a catchy radio jingle that contained the phrase “and when you drink tea the second cup’s free” (Jackson Wain “Tea Council”). For the fashionable, tea could be consumed with ice and lemon in the American fashion, and glamorous fashion designer Prue Acton and model Liz Holmes both gave their voices to tea in a series of radio advertisements (Tea Council of Australia, “Annual Reports”). This was supported with a number of other initiatives. With the number of coffee lounges increasing in cities, the Tea Council devised a poster “Tea is Served Here” that was issued to all cafes that served tea. This was strategically placed to remind people to order the beverage. Other print tea advertisements targeted young women in the workforce as well as women taking time out for a hot drink while shopping. Figure 4. “Tea Is Served Here.” Tea Council of Australia. Coll. of Andy Mac. Photo: Andy Mac. White Wings Bake-off The cookery competition known as the White Wings Bake-Off was a significant event for many housewives during this period, and the Tea Council capitalised on it. Run by the Australian Dairy Board and White Wings, a popular Australian flour milling company, the Bake-Off became a “national institution […] and tangible proof of the great and growing interest in good food and cooking in Australia” (Wilson). Starting in 1963, this competition sought original recipes from home cooks who used White Wings flour and dairy produce. Winners were feted with a gala event, national publicity and generous prizes presented by international food experts and celebrity chefs such as Graham Kerr. Prizes in 1968 were awarded at a banquet at the Southern Cross Hotel and the grand champion won A$4,750 and a Metters’ cooking range. Section winners received A$750 and the stove. In 1968, the average weekly wage in Australia was A$45 and the average weekly spend on food was $3.60, which makes these significant prizes (Talkfinancenet). In a 1963 television advertisement for White Wings, the camera pans across a table laden with cakes and scones. It is accompanied by the jingle, “White Wings is the Bake Off flour—silk sifted, silk sifted” (Jackson Wain, “Bake-Off”). Prominent on the table is a teapot and cup. Fahey noted the close “simpatico” relationship between White Wings and the Tea Council:especially when it came down to […] the White Wings Bake Off [...]. Tea always featured prominently because of the fact that people were still in those days baking once a week [...] having that home baking along side a cup of tea and a teapot was something that both sides were trying to capitalise on. Conclusion Despite these efforts, throughout the 1960s tea consumption continued to fall and coffee to rise. By 1969, the consumption of coffee was over a kilogram per person per annum and tea had fallen to just over two kilograms per person per year (ABS). In 1973, due to internal disputes and a continued decline in tea sales, the Tea Council disbanded. As Australians increasingly associated coffee with glamour, convenience, and gourmet connoisseurship, these trajectories continued until coffee overtook tea in 1979 (Khamis 230) and, by the 1990s, coffee consumption was double that of tea. Australia’s cultural shift from tea drinking to coffee drinking—easily, but too simplistically, explained by post-war migration—is in itself a complex and multi layered transition, but the response and marketing campaign by the Tea Council provides an opportunity to investigate other factors at play during this time of change. Fahey sums the situation up appropriately and I will conclude with his remarks: “Advertising is never going to change the world. It can certainly persuade a market place or a large percentage of a market place to do something but one has to take into account there were so many other social reasons why people switched over to coffee.” References Adams, Jillian. Barista: A Guide to Espresso Coffee. Frenchs Forest NSW: Pearson Education Australia, 2006. -----. “From Instant Coffee to Italian Espresso: How the Cuppa Lost its Way.” Masters Thesis in Oral History and Historical Memory. Melbourne: Monash University, 2009. Advertisement for Bushells Coffee. The Argus 22 Aug. (1945): 11. Australian Bureau of Statistics [ABS]. “4307.0 Apparent Consumption of Tea and Coffee, Australia 1969-1970.” Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2000. Australasian Confectioner and Restaurant Journal. “Espresso Comes to Town.” Australian Confectioner and Restaurant Journal Feb. (1956): 61. Bennett, Bill. Interview. 22 Jun. 2007. Bennett, Peter. Interview. 10 Mar. 2010. Broadcasting and Television. “Tea Gains 98% Market Acceptance.” Broadcasting and Television 6 Jun. (1963): 16. -----. “Tea Battles Big Coffee Budgets.” Broadcasting and Television News 14 Oct. (1965): 16. Button, John. “America’s Australia: Instructions for a Generation.” The Monthly Feb. (2007) 28 Mar. 2012 ‹http://www.themonthly.com.au/monthly-essays-john-button-americas-australia-instructions-generation-456›. Canberra Times, The. Advertisement for Nestle Coffee. The Canberra Times 5 Aug. (1949): 2. “Coffee for Americans.” The Argus 20 Apr. (1942): 5.Dalgleish, Rene. “Better Tea and Coffee.” Australian Home Beautiful Jun. (1964): 21–5. Dunstan, Keith. “The Making of a Coffee-olic.” The Australian Gourmet Magazine Sep./Oct. (1969): 5. Fahey, Warren. Interview. 19 Aug. 2010. Howard, Leila. ‘Cooking with Coffee.” The Australian Women’s Weekly 6 Jul. (1966): 1–15. Jackson Wain. “The Bake-off Flour!” TV Commercial, 30 secs. Australia: Fontana Films for Jackson Wain, 1963. 1 Feb. 2012 ‹www.youtube.com/watch?v=1X50sCwbUnw›. -----. “Tea Council of Australia.” TV commercials, 30 secs. National Film and Sound Archive, 1964–1966. Khamis, Susie. “ It Only Takes a Jiffy to Make.” Food Culture and Society 12.2 (2009): 218–33. McMullen, G. F. The Tea Council of Australia Annual Report. Sydney, 1969. National Archives of Australia [NAA]. Agency Notes CP629/1. “History of the Tea Control and Tea Importation Board, January 1942–December 1956.” -----. Series MP5/45 a. Minutes of the Tea Control Board. 17 Aug. 1942. -----. Series MP5/45 b. Minutes of the Tea Control Board. 29 May 1947. Repin, J. D., and H. Dressler. “The Story of Coffee.” Australian Gourmet Magazine 1.1 (1966): 36–40. Talkfinance.net. “Cost of Living: Today vs. 1960.” 1 May 2012 ‹http://www.talkfinance.net/f32/cost-living-today-vs-1960-a-3941› Tea Council of Australia. Annual Reports Tea Council of Australia 1964–1973. ----- Advertisement. The Australian Women’s Weekly 3 Jul. (1968): 22.“Untitled.” The Argus 20 Apr. (1942): 5. Wilson, Trevor. The Best of the Bake-Off. Sydney: Ure Smith, 1969.“Yanks and Aussies Differ on ‘Eats’.” The Argus 4 Jul. (1942): 8.

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Patti-Signorelli, Anna, e José Javier Romero-Díaz de la Guardia. "CHAPTER 4: The biopsychosocial model and what it means for understanding inclusion in education - Brahm Norwich Introduction This chapter focuses on two specific pieces of Paul Cooper’s writing from 19 and 15 years ago respectively, namely his ideas about the biopsychosocial model and how he developed and used this perspective in unique ways to expand our thinking about inclusion and inclusive education. I believe this will give me the opportunity to show the detail of his analyses and way he engaged in the key debates going on in the field. It will also enable me to show the continuing relevance /of the arguments he voiced to current issues and concerns. Paul’s intellectual approach has been to oppose what he sees as false oppositions or dichotomies and this is something I have learned from and shared with him. The biopsychosocial model was for him a way to combine and bring together a more complex synthesis not just as an intellectual exercise, but as critical to enhancing educational practice, especially for those with disability and difficulties. A critical discussion of education, ADHD and the biopsychosocial (BPS) perspective Paul Cooper’s paper on the biopsychosocial perspective (Cooper, 2008) focuses on ADHD to propose a BPS model or what is called here a ‘paradigm’ as a way forward to address controversies amongst educationalists. Its argument had and continues to have much wider significance for the field of special educational needs and inclusive education. The main point in the paper was to show how the polarity between biological and social explanations for learning and behaviour problems had become redundant and unhelpful. ADHD it was stated was influenced by both biology and the social environment and indeed was ‘socially constructed’. But, this notion of social construction was not like the one adopted by the social model advocates referenced in the paper and still widely used in the 2020s. Shakespeare (2018, p. 68), for example, refers to the social model of disability as ‘the idea that people are disabled by society, rather than by their bodies’. What motivated Paul was the negativity towards the ADHD concept based on what he saw as: ‘outdated thinking and a lack of understanding of the diagnosis and the biopsychosocial paradigm through which it can be usefully understood’ (p. 457). Before examining the arguments about a social or a BPS model of ADHD, it worth exploring the usage of the terms in these models in written publications generally and in relation to academic research publications in education. Using the google ngram viewer system shows that the phrase ’social model of disability’ is used 114 times more in those texts covered within the google system than the phrase ‘biopsychosocial model of disability’ published in 2019. In addition, references to the phrase ‘social model of disability; increased 2.6 times from 2000 to 2019. By contrast, the use of the phrase ‘biopsychosocial model of disability’ increased more rapidly by 9.3 times, over the same period. Though this analysis is confined to those ngram accessed books in English, it does show that the ‘social model’ was used in this corpus considerably more than the ‘BPS model’. This is so even when the ‘BPS model’ had a greater increase in usage compared to the ‘social model’ over this almost two decade period. This picture is repeated when examining research literature references in education using the Education Research Complete database (ERC). In a search for literature with the terms ‘inclusive education or inclusion or mainstreaming or integration’ and either ‘biopsychosocial model’ or ‘social model’, it was found that there were 13 times as many references for social model than BPS model. It is clear from these analyses that Paul Cooper’s position has not been widely adopted since the 2000s and into the late 2010s, despite the international interest in the WHO International Classification of Functioning (ICF), which adopts a BPS model of disability (Hollenweger, 2012). My argument here is that this does not detract from the value and importance of the arguments in his paper. I am not going into the details of the case for the usefulness and risks in the use of medical classification systems that include ADHD as the most prevalent of childhood behaviour disorders. Cooper’s 2008 paper does this, and no doubt since then the current state of knowledge about ADHD has changed. What I will focus on is the argument made by Paul Cooper about the involvement of biological processes in functioning that comes to be identified as ADHD. Here he considered evidence for there being a problem in the response inhibition system, involving neuropsychological executive functioning mechanisms implicating physiological processes in the frontal lobes of the brain. In addition, he also implicates the genetic studies that have shown a much greater incidence of ADHD among identical than non-identical twins and among children who are biologically related as opposed to adopted. What he resists is the polarising between recognising these biological processes on human behaviour and the social processes; the either – or in favour of the both – and perspective. This is a central point in the commentary I am making of Paul Cooper’s positions and one which will be made too in relation to his ideas about inclusion in education below. The BPS model he is advocating rejects a biological determinism and represents biological factors as being mediated by psychosocial processes; the biological is subjected to social construction at various social and psychological levels. See Figure 4.1 which represents this kind of BPS model. In this respect the BPS model he advocates has strong links to Bronfenbrenner’s bio-ecological model (Bronfenbrenner and Morris, 2006). It is notable that many references to Bronfenbrenner’s ecological model have tended to also split the biological from the psycho-social (Tudge et al., 2009). Figure 4.1 Factors in interaction in the bio-psycho-social model of ADHD Critical reactions to ADHD have involved the dismissal of ADHD by some as a medical construct that individualises educational failure and disruptive behaviour. Part of the aversion to ADHD has been its use to legitimise the practice of using drugs as a form of social control of defiant children. Some argued this approach represented wrong-headed pseudo-science. The argument which Paul Cooper focussed on was the assertion that this individualised these problems, distract from how schools and teachers were involved in these problems, and so absolve them of responsibility to provide relevant opportunities for these groups. He countered this argument by claiming that the BPS model recognises that schools are a major setting through which institutional control and pedagogical practices contribute to the construction of ADHD. In his argument for a more complex BPS model, he countered the arguments of authors like Slee (1995) who were critical of what they portrayed as: ‘The monism of locating the nature of [classroom] disruption in the neurological infrastructure of the child is myopic and convenient’ (Slee, 1995, p. 74). Slee has continued this critical line of argument with his more recent views about the language of special educational needs in referring to: ‘the saturation of our discourse and thinking with the quasi-medical posturing of special educational needs. The conceptual foundations and usage of terms like special educational needs passes without a second thought’ (Slee, 2018; p. 78). Paul Cooper’s thorough response to four challenges from the critical perspective continue to be very relevant to the current circumstances. Firstly, it has been claimed that the ADHD diagnosis is somehow bogus or ‘illicit’ because there is an absence of neuro-scientific evidence. In this article he illustrates how this is ‘patently untrue’ (p. 463). Secondly, ADHD is sometimes claimed to be an example of biological determinism, a claim which expresses a fear of determinism and its associated denial of human agency. Here he has sympathy with this fear but shows how this is not well founded as regards developmental opportunities, given the interaction between biological inheritance and environmental factors in the development of behavioural difficulties. Paul Cooper argued that not only were there several biological pathways implicated in the development of ADHD, but that ADHD is not biologically determined in the simplistic sense suggested by some; see the Slee quote above. He turns the argument by ADHD critics about ADHD diverting attention from school factors against their position. He suggests that portraying ADHD as an example of biological determinism, itself diverts attention from converting a biopsychosocial account of ADHD into pedagogical and other interventions. By knowing more about the biological, psychological and social factors in ADHD enables us, he argued, to avoid aggravating experienced difficulties and promoting educational engagement. The third challenge he addressed was that an ADHD ‘diagnosis’ rests on value-laden, culturally-specific judgements about behavioural or cognitive norms. Here Paul Cooper adopts a perspective, not often found in debates about behaviour difficulties and school education norms. He recognised that children who are biologically predisposed to develop ADHD can be at a disadvantage by culturally based assumptions about appropriate school and classroom behaviour. But, this, he argues, does not reflect on the clinicians who identify ADHD, but reflects on the weaknesses of, what he called, ‘Western mass education’. This issue is about whether to change the educational environment to accommodate the student or to change the student to enable him or her to engage with an unchanging environment. As Paul Cooper recognised the attempt is often made to combine environmental and individual changes. He suggested that using medication can be seen as the failure of the school to make changes that enable the student with ADHD to engage effectively. The implications for those wanting to make schools more inclusive is to learn the lesson that ADHD teaches about shaping the educational environment to improve learning opportunities. In discussing how he approached this challenge, it is also notable that some psychologists have adopted more recently a BPS model of ADHD and supplemented the social aspects with a focus on the cultural aspects that relate to the mental health needs of culturally and linguistically diverse children and young people (Pham, 2015). The fourth challenge Paul Cooper responded to was that accepting an ADHD diagnosis ‘legitimise[s] the practice of drugging defiant children into docility’ (Skidmore, 2004, p. 4). To this he points out that informed opinion does not consider medication for ADHD as an essential treatment, and that whatever is decided is to be in the context of a multi-modal treatment programme that includes psychosocial and educational interventions. In his paper he refers to the UK guidance from 2000 and this is still the current guidelines (NICE, 2018). How parents participate in intervention selection is also illustrated in Pham (2015). The linked and final challenge he dealt with was that ADHD represents the wrongful medicalisation of defiance in school children. Here Paul Cooper questioned the link between defiance and the functional issues associated with ADHD. He suggested that defiance is better considered as a cognitive distortion affecting social engagement rather than a deficit in executive functioning associated with ADHD. So, not complying with parent wishes is seen as non-volitional and not to be confused with defiance. For him what was concerning was the ‘high moral tone’ (p. 470) which concealed limited understanding about ADHD that he believed could be dangerous. A crucial difference between the social and BPS models In defending the BPS model from critical arguments, Paul Cooper did not examine the ideological or value basis for the knowledge claims in these debates. From a critical perspective, it has been suggested by Slee & Weiner (2001) that it is possible to identify two groups of researchers, which they characterise in these terms, namely those who work within, what they call the ‘positivist paradigm’, accept the way things are, attempt to make marginal reforms and who criticise ‘full inclusion’ as ideological; and those who see inclusive education as cultural politics and call for educational reconstruction. This distinction between a positivist / technical versus cultural political position can be aligned with one between an investigatory versus an emancipatory perspective to research about disability (Oliver, 1999). Oliver frames the research-as-investigation as the dominant form of social research which is unacceptable to oppressed groups, such as those with disabilities, who aim to collectively empower themselves. In this perspective the social model of disability expresses the emancipatory stance which is pursued through cultural politics. This contrasts with a technical – interventionist perspective that derives from what Slee and Weiner (2001) call a ‘positivist paradigm’ and is associated with what is called a medical or a bio-medical model. It can be seen that this dichotomy between research stances embraces the splitting which Paul Cooper argued against. Figure 4.2 below represents these distinct research stances as adopting emancipatory or investigatory values, while showing their main focus and linked assumptions. With emancipatory values the main focus is on reducing the oppression of the vulnerable with this being done through collective socio-political action and in doing so entailing a causal assumption that it is the dominant social system that oppresses. With investigatory values, the main focus is on identifying complex causal models of a phenomenon and in doing so assumes that this knowledge can be used for subsequent improvement interventions. Figure 4.2 Value bases underlying different research stances One of the main arguments in this chapter is that there are links and common elements to these two basic value positions, so raising questions about the split and opposition between them. Both connect knowledge with action for social change, on one hand, and both assume some causal processes, on the other. The difference is in the assumptions of their main focus. Identifying complex causal processes (e.g. that includes social processes as part of a BPS perspective) is the primary focus of the investigatory stance, while change depends on applying this knowledge in interventions. This stance represents an outsider-spectator-intervenor perspective. By contrast, reducing the oppression of the vulnerable is the primary focus of the emancipatory stance, with this being through collective political and social action. This stance represents an insider-participator perspective. So, while distinct, there are connections to be recognised between them which can help to understand what the social stands for in these two models. The social in the social model stands for where change is to be focussed; in the socio-political arena. The social, by contrast, in the BPS model stands for the social factors that need to be understood in their interaction with bio-psychological causal factors. Making use of the distinction between insider-outsider role perspectives enables us to see how these different value stances can be connected and not seen as opposites to select between. As Paul Cooper argued in his 2008 paper, informed opinion does not consider medication for ADHD as an essential treatment / intervention; the BPS model implies multi-modal methods including psychosocial and educational interventions (NICE, 2018). Intervention / treatment acceptability is also an important consideration when considering individual children with identified ADHD from a BPS perspective, as illustrated in Pham’s (2015) case study. This implies that parents and young people will participate in action decisions, which gives them an insider role. However, the social model goes beyond insider participation at the individual level, to involve collective participation at institutional and societal levels too. This is where the BPS model could be open to insider participation beyond the individual level, to see the value of institutional and societal participation too. And, as the BPS can be open to the collective action of the social model, so the social model can be open to the outsider perspective’s recognition of multi-level causal processes (including the bio-psychological levels) and their associated interventions. Inclusion as a buzz-word In this 2008 paper Paul Cooper suggested that the use of insights from the BPS model in developing educational provision is likely to lead to a more genuinely inclusive education system. This was written after an earlier editorial he wrote in the journal Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties in 2004 (Cooper, 2004). Here he pointed to the overuse and misuse of the word inclusion, suggesting that it will lose its meaning and that the purposes for which it was coined will become neglected. One way of challenging this misuse, he mentioned, was to be vigilant about how it is used and to call for greater clarity. In this editorial he stated that social inclusion is about active participation and engagement with other people. With inclusive education, he continued, it is not just about social inclusion, but an individual’s active engagement in formal learning processes. Here Paul Cooper goes beyond common ideas about inclusion which are defined in terms of social and academic participation (as in the Inclusion Index; Booth and Ainscow, 2011), by clarifying that it is also about academic and social engagement. From this it was clear that inclusion was more than both location / placement and social interaction with other people; it was also about personal engagement with others and with formal learning. Paul Cooper was not alone in linking engagement with inclusion, he shared this with Mary Warnock, the chair of the Warnock Committee which in 1978 set out new policies about the education of children and young people with disabilities and difficulties (Warnock, 2005). In her 2005 policy paper she rejected the idea of educational inclusion as about ‘all children under the same roof’. She preferred a learning concept of inclusion, which was about: ‘including all children in the common educational enterprise of learning, wherever they learn best’ (Warnock, 2005). Though she does not use the term ‘engagement’ as such, her notion of learning where done best connects with ‘engagement’ and prioritises this over placement, a view which was also adopted later by Paul for the area of education of children and young people with social, emotional and behaviour difficulties (Cooper and Jacobs, 2011). Paul Cooper drew on the psychological ideas of Marjorie Boxall in the Boxall Profile (Bennathan and Boxall, 2003) to connect Inclusion with engagement, as he mentioned in his 2004 editorial. For him engagement was at the heart of educational inclusion from a cognitive perspective. He adopted the five subskills of what the Boxall Profile termed ‘the organization of experience’: whether the child gives purposeful attention, participates constructively, connects up experiences, shows insightful involvement and engages cognitively with peers. Within this framework he recognised that children with social, emotional and behavioural difficulties (SEBD) can have problems with some or all of these skills. So, it can be argued that the child who experiences SEBD is socially, emotionally and cognitively excluded from what is going in class lessons; with SEBD being framed as a barrier to inclusion. This concept of a barrier is very different to that proposed from a social model perspective as in the Inclusion Index (Booth and Ainscow, 2011), in which barriers are only external to the person. But, Paul Cooper does not draw the conclusion that children with SEBD can never be ‘included’. Here he makes the distinction between inclusion-as-location and inclusion-as-engagement, with the implication that in some cases when there is not mainstream class inclusion this does not mean there cannot be some engagement inclusion. He also reminded us that inclusion is such that nobody is ever fully included in any situation all the time. In this sense his ideas resemble Qvortrup and Qvortrup’s (2018) argument that inclusion and exclusion are connected through peoples’ simultaneous involvement in different social arenas. With social interactions involving negotiations in all situations, Paul Cooper argued that any episode can result in tensions and the rejection of the people involved . This is a feature of our lives and in this respect the child experiencing SEBD is no different from others. However, he pointed out that the child or young person with a SEBD is at greater risk of rejection or exclusion, which may be attributed to individual characteristics in interaction with social circumstances (in line with a BPS model). Using this notion of engagement, he also approached the questions of teaching children and young people with SEBD in terms of the BPS model. In avoiding a focus just on problems located in the student, he adopted an interactionist perspective that combined specialist teaching knowledge about individual differences with teachers’ practical thinking about decision-making that led to adapted teaching (Cooper, 2004). He reviewed in this 2004 chapter and in his later 2008 paper discussed above, the various teaching strategies that research had shown to promote further engagement for children with ADHD. It is useful here to compare his engagement perspective to a well-known ‘Inclusive Pedagogy (IP) framework for participation in classrooms’ developed by Florian and Black-Hawkins (2011). This framework in covering access, collaboration, achievement and diversity aimed to extend what was typically available in the classroom community to all. It avoided having learning activities for most being alongside different activities for some who experience difficulties. It also proposed differentiation by pupil choice for everyone while rejecting ability grouping. This is an approach that required flexibility to be driven by need and not curriculum coverage, while seeing difficulties in learning as professional challenges rather than learner deficits. Though Paul Cooper’s perspective agreed with some elements of this inclusive pedagogy framework (e.g. flexibility and responding to learning difficulties as a challenge), his does not accept the either-or polarity at the core of the framework with the adoption of only one option: differentiation by choice v. by grouping and only opting for the former, or seeing learning difficulties as a professional challenge v. learner deficits and opting only for the challenge option). This IP framework reflects the medical v social model polarity that he argued against while favouring a BPS model. Based on his approach of seeing social and academic engagement as being at the heart of educational and social inclusion, he believed that it followed that: ‘students are best placed in educational settings where they have access to and support for maximum social and academic engagement’. (Cooper, 2004, p. 222). In his view, this meant that there was no simple way to decide about the provision setting. For some pupils this meant access to various forms of provision, but always a detailed analysis of individual capabilities and needs as well as what provision affords should determine the decisions. Conclusion This chapter has focussed on two of Paul Cooper’s papers in which he explained and justified his ideas about the biopsychosocial model and how he developed and used this perspective in unique ways to expand our thinking about inclusion and inclusive education. Through relating and contrasting these with other contemporary and current ideas I hope to have shown his distinctive and insightful contribution. I have also tried to extend his adoption of a both-and rather than an either-or approach by discussing the epistemological and value bases of different models, on one hand, and how difference and distinction does not imply irreconcilable opposition between the key models in the field. References: Bennathan, M. & Boxall, M. (2003) The Boxall Profile. East Sutton: SEBDA. Booth, T. and Ainscow, M. (2011) Index for Inclusion: developing learning and participation in schools. 3rd ed. Bristol: CSIE. Bronfenbrenner, U., and Morris, P. (2006) The bioecological model of human development. In W. Damon & R. M. Lerner (Eds.), Handbook of child psychology: Vol. 1. Theoretical models of human development (6th ed., pp. 793–828). Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Cooper, P. (2004) Is ‘inclusion’ just a buzz-word?, Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties, 9:4, 219-222, DOI: 10.1177/1363275204051391 Cooper, P. (2004) ‘AD/HD’, in A. Lewis & B. Norwich (eds) Special Teaching for Special Children? Pedagogies for Inclusion. Buckingham: Open University Press. Cooper, P. (2008) Like Alligators Bobbing for Poodles? A Critical Discussion of Education, ADHD and the Biopsychosocial Perspective. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 42, 3-4, 457-474. Cooper, P. and Jacobs, B. (2011) From Inclusion to Engagement: Helping Students Engage with Schooling Through Policy and Practice. London: Wiley. Florian, L. and Black-Hawkins, K. (2011) Exploring inclusive pedagogy, British Educational Research Journal, 37, 5, pp. 813-828. Hollenweger, J. (2012) Using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and health Children and Youth version in education systems. American Journal of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, 91, 13, pp. 97-102. NICE (2018) Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: diagnosis and management NICE guidelines. Published: 14 March 2018. Access on 23.5.23 www.nice.org.uk/guidance/ng87 Oliver, M. (1999) Final accounts and the parasite people. in Corker, M. and French, S. (eds.) Disability discourse. (eds.) Maidenhead: Open University Press. Pham, A.V. (2015) Understanding ADHD from a Biopsychosocial-Cultural Framework: A Case Study. Contemporary School Psychology, 19:54–62. Qvortrup, A. and Qvortrup, L. (2018). Inclusion: Dimensions of inclusion in education. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 22(7), 803-817. Shakespeare, T. (2018) Disability: the basics. London: Routledge. Skidmore, D. (2004) Inclusion. Buckingham,: Open University Press. Slee, R. (1995) Changing Theories and Practices of Discipline. London, Falmer. Slee, R. and Weiner, G. (2001). Education Reform and Reconstruction as a Challenge to Research Genres: Reconsidering School Effectiveness Research and Inclusive Schooling. School Effectiveness and School Improvement, 12:1, 83-98, DOI: 10.1076/sesi.12.1.83.3463 Slee, R. (2018) Inclusive Education isn’t Dead, it Just Smells Funny. London: Routledge. Tudge, J.R.H., Mokrova, I., Hatfield, B.E. and Karnik, R.B. (2009) Uses and Misuses of Bronfenbrenner’s Bioecological Theory of Human Development. Journal of Family Theory & Review, 1, 198–210. Warnock, M. (2005) Special Educational Needs: A New Look. London: Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, Impact Series No. 11." International Journal of Emotional Education 15, n.º 2 (novembro de 2023). http://dx.doi.org/10.56300/esja4186.

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The present study aimed to determine the emotional characteristics of the Trait-Meta-Mood-Scale (TMMS-24) in music-oriented secondary school students in Italy. A 24-item self-assessment protocol was applied to measure the level of perceived emotional intelligence according to 3 dimensions: attention, clarity and repair. This tool represents one of the most widely used self-assessment measures of perceived emotional intelligence. The objective of the study was to conduct construct validation to examine reliability of the Italian version of the TMMS-24 in order to identify its feasibility for the assessment of emotional intelligence. Exploratory and confirmatory factorial analyses were conducted on a sample of music-oriented secondary school students in Italy (n=402). Exploratory factor analysis outcomes revealed that the three dimensions of the original scale (attention, clarity and emotional repair) are supported in the examined context, showing adequate internal consistency and describing 52.6% of overall variance. Outcomes were confirmed via confirmatory analysis, obtaining good fit indices (CFI=0.986; TLI=0.985; RMSEA=0.038). The TMMS-24 scale is a valid and reliable instrument for measuring the emotional intelligence of secondary school students in Italy. Keywords: TMMS-24, emotional intelligence, secondary school education, exploratory factor analysis, confirmatory factor analysis.

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Brennan, Joseph. "Slash Manips: Remixing Popular Media with Gay Pornography". M/C Journal 16, n.º 4 (11 de agosto de 2013). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.677.

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A slash manip is a photo remix that montages visual signs from popular media with those from gay pornography, creating a new cultural artefact. Slash (see Russ) is a fannish practice that homoeroticises the bonds between male media characters and personalities—female pairings are categorised separately as ‘femslash’. Slash has been defined almost exclusively as a female practice. While fandom is indeed “women-centred” (Bury 2), such definitions have a tendency to exclude male contributions. Remix has been well acknowledged in discussions on slash, most notably video remix in relation to slash vids (Kreisinger). Non-written slash forms such as slash vids (see Russo) and slash fanart (see Dennis) have received increased attention in recent years. This article continues the tradition of moving beyond fiction by considering the non-written form of slash manips, yet to receive sustained scholarly attention. Speaking as a practitioner—my slash manips can be found here—I perform textual analysis from an aca–fan (academic and fan) position of two Merlin slash manips by male Tumblr artist wandsinhand. My textual analysis is influenced by Barthes’s use of image semiotics, which he applies to the advertising image. Barthes notes that “all images are polysemous”, that underlying their signifiers they imply “a ‘floating chain’ of signifieds, the reader able to choose some and ignore others” (274). That said, the advertising image, he argues, constructs an “undoubtedly intentional […] signification”, making it ideally suited for analysis (270). By supplementing my analysis with excerpts from two interviews I conducted with wandsinhand in February and April 2013 (quoted here with permission), I support my readings with respect to the artist’s stated ‘intentional reading’. I then contextualise these readings with respect to canon (Merlin) representations and gay pornography—via the chosen sexual acts/positions, bukkake and doggystyle, of the pornographic base models, as selected by the artist. This approach allows me to examine the photo remix qualities of slash manips with respect to the artist’s intentions as well as how artistic choices of inclusion function to anchor meaning in the works. I describe these choices as the ‘semiotic significance of selection’. Together the readings and interviews in this article help illustrate the value of this form and the new avenues it opens for slash scholars, such as consideration of photo remix and male production, and the importance of gay pornography to slash. My interviews also reveal, via the artist’s own assessment of the ‘value’ of his practice, a tendency to devalue or overlook the significance of this particular slash form, affirming a real need for further critical engagement with this under-examined practice. Slash Photo Remix: Famous Faces, Porny Bodies Lessig defines remix culture as based on an activity of “rip, mix and burn” (12–5); while Navas describes it as a “practice of cut/copy and paste” (159)—the latter being more applicable to photo remix. Whereas Lessig is concerned primarily with issues of copyright, Navas is interested in remix’s role in aesthetics and the political economy. Within fan studies, slash vids—a form of video remix—has been a topic of considerable academic interest in recent years. Slash manips—a form of photo or image remix—however, has not attracted the same degree of interest. Stasi’s description of slash as “a non-hierarchical, rich layering of genres” points to the usefulness of slash manips as an embodiment of the process of slash; whereby artists combine, blend and mutate graphic layers from popular media with those from gay pornography. Aesthetics and the slash manip process are central concerns of this article’s consideration of slash photo remix. Slash manips, or slash photo montage, use image manipulation software (Adobe Photoshop being the community standard, see wandsinhand’s tutorial) to layer the heads of male fictional characters from stills or promotional images with scenes—static or moving—from gay pornography. Once an artist has selected pornographic ‘base models’ anatomically suited to canon characters, these models are often then repositioned into the canon universe, which in the case of Merlin means a medieval setting. (Works not repositioned and without added details from canon are generally categorised as ‘male celebrity fakes’ rather than ‘slash manips’.) Stedman contends that while many fan studies scholars are interested in remix, “studies commonly focus on examples of remixed objects rather than the compositional strategies used by remix composers themselves” (107). He advocates moving beyond an exclusive consideration of “text-centred approaches” to also consider “practice-” and “composer-centred” approaches. Such approaches offer insight into “the detailed choices composers actually make when composing” (107). He refers to recognition of the skills required by a remix composer as “remix literacy” (108). This article’s consideration of the various choices and skills that go into the composition of slash manips—what I term the ‘semiotic significance of selection’—is explored with respect to wandsinhand’s practice, coupling my reading—informed by my experience as a practitioner—with the interpretations of the artist himself. Jenkins defines slash as “reaction against” constructions of male sexuality in both popular media and pornography (189). By their very nature, slash manips also make clear the oft-overlooked connections between slash and gay pornography, and in turn the contributions of gay male participants, who are well represented by the form. This contrasts with a tendency within scholarship to compare slash with heterosexual female forms, such as the romance genre (Salmon and Symons). Gay pornography plays a visible role in slash manips—and slash vids, which often remix scenes from popular media with gay cinema and pornography. Slash as Romance, Slash as Pornography Early scholarship on slash (see Russ; Lamb and Veith) defines it as a form of erotica or pornography, by and for women; a reductive definition that fails to take into account men’s contribution, yet one that many researchers continue to adopt today. As stated above, there has also been a tendency within scholarship to align the practice with heterosexual female forms such as the romance genre. Such a tendency is by and large due to theorisation of slash as heterosexual female fantasy—and concerned primarily with romance and intimacy rather than sex (see Woledge). Weinstein describes slash as more a “fascination with” than a “representation of” homosexual relationships (615); while MacDonald makes the point that homosexuality is not a major political motivator for slash (28–9). There is no refuting that slash—along with most fannish practice—is female dominated, ethnographic work and fandom surveys reveal that is the case. However there is great need for research into male production of slash, particularly how such practices might challenge reigning definitions and assumptions of the practice. In similar Japanese practices, for example, gay male opposition to girls’ comics (shōjo) depicting love between ‘pretty boys’ (bishōunen) has been well documented (see Hori)—Men’s Love (or bara) is a subgenre of Boys’ Love (or shōnen’ai) predominately created by gay men seeking a greater connection with the lived reality of gay life (Lunsing). Dennis finds male slash fanart producers more committed to muscular representations and depiction of graphic male/male sex when compared with female-identifying artists (14, 16). He also observes that male fanart artists have a tendency of “valuing same-sex desire without a heterosexual default and placing it within the context of realistic gay relationships” (11). I have observed similar differences between male and female-identifying slash manip artists. Female-identifying Nicci Mac, for example, will often add trousers to her donor bodies, recoding them for a more romantic context. By contrast, male-identifying mythagowood is known for digitally enlarging the penises and rectums of his base models, exaggerating his work’s connection to the pornographic and the macabre. Consider, for example, mythagowood’s rationale for digitally enlarging and importing ‘lips’ for Sam’s (Supernatural) rectum in his work Ass-milk: 2012, which marks the third anniversary of the original: Originally I wasn’t going to give Sammy’s cunt any treatment (before I determined the theme) but when assmilk became the theme I had to go find a good set of lips to slap on him and I figured, it’s been three years, his hole is going to be MUCH bigger. (personal correspondence, used with permission) While mythagowood himself cautions against gendered romance/pornography slash arguments—“I find it annoying that people attribute certain specific aspects of my work to something ‘only a man’ would make.” (ibid.)—gay pornography occupies an important place in the lives of gay men as a means for entertainment, community engagement and identity-construction (see McKee). As one of the only cultural representations available to gay men, Fejes argues that gay pornography plays a crucial role in defining gay male desire and identity. This is confirmed by an Internet survey conducted by Duggan and McCreary that finds 98% of gay participants reporting exposure to pornographic material in the 30-day period prior to the survey. Further, the underground nature of gay pornographic film (see Dyer) aligns it with slash as a subcultural practice. I now analyse two Merlin slash manips with respect to the sexual positions of the pornographic base models, illustrating how gay pornography genres and ideologies referenced through these works enforce their intended meaning, as defined by the artist. A sexual act such as bukkake, as wandsinhand astutely notes, acts as a universal sign and “automatically generates a narrative for the image without anything really needing to be detailed”. Barthes argues that such a “relation between thing signified and image signifying in analogical representation” is unlike language, which has a much more ‘arbitrary’ relationship between signifier and signified (272). Bukkake and the Assertion of Masculine Power in Merlin Merlin (2008–12) is a BBC reimagining of the Arthurian legend that focuses on the coming-of-age of Arthur and his close bond with his manservant Merlin, who keeps his magical identity secret until Arthur’s final stand in the iconic Battle of Camlann. The homosexual potential of Merlin and Arthur’s story—and of magic as a metaphor for homosexuality—is something slash fans were quick to recognise. During question time at the first Merlin cast appearance at the London MCM Expo in October 2008—just one month after the show’s pilot first aired—a fan asked Morgan and James, who portray Merlin and Arthur, is Merlin “meant to be a love story between Arthur and Merlin?” James nods in jest. Wandsinhand, who is most active in the Teen Wolf (2011–present) fandom, has produced two Merlin slash manips to date, a 2013 Merlin/Arthur and a 2012 Arthur/Percival, both untitled. The Merlin/Arthur manip (see Figure 1) depicts Merlin bound and on his knees, Arthur ejaculating across his face and on his chest. Merlin is naked while Arthur is partially clothed in chainmail and armour. They are both bruised and dirty, Arthur’s injuries suggesting battle given his overall appearance, while Merlin’s suggesting abuse, given his subordinate position. The setting appears to be the royal stables, where we know Merlin spends much of his time mucking out Arthur’s horses. I am left to wonder if perhaps Merlin did not carry out this duty to Arthur’s satisfaction, and is now being punished for it; or if Arthur has returned from battle in need of sexual gratification and the endorsement of power that comes from debasing his manservant. Figure 1: wandsinhand, Untitled (Merlin/Arthur), 2013, photo montage. Courtesy the artist. Both readings are supported by Arthur’s ‘spent’ expression of disinterest or mild curiosity, while Merlin’s face emotes pain: crying and squinting through the semen obscuring his vision. The artist confirms this reading in our interview: “Arthur is using his pet Merlin to relieve some stress; Merlin of course not being too pleased about the aftermath, but obedient all the same.” The noun ‘pet’ evokes the sexual connotations of Merlin’s role as Arthur’s personal manservant, while also demoting Merlin even further than usual. He is, in Arthur’s eyes, less than human, a sexual plaything to use and abuse at will. The artist’s statement also confirms that Arthur is acting against Merlin’s will. Violence is certainly represented here, the base models having been ‘marked up’ to depict sexualisation of an already physically and emotionally abusive relationship, their relative positioning and the importation of semen heightening the humiliation. Wandsinhand’s work engages characters in sadomasochistic play, with semen and urine frequently employed to degrade and arouse—“peen wolf”, a reference to watersports, is used within his Teen Wolf practice. The two wandsinhand works analysed in this present article come without words, thus lacking a “linguistic message” (Barthes 273–6). However even so, the artist’s statement and Arthur’s stance over “his pet Merlin” mean we are still able to “skim off” (270) the meanings the image contains. The base models, for example, invite comparison with the ‘gay bukkake’ genre of gay pornography—admittedly with a single dominant male rather than a group. Gay bukkake has become a popular niche in North American gay pornography—it originated in Japan as a male–female act in the 1980s. It describes a ritualistic sexual act where a group of dominant men—often identifying as heterosexual—fuck and debase a homosexual, submissive male, commonly bareback (Durkin et al. 600). The aggression on display in this act—much like the homosocial insistency of men who partake in a ‘circle jerk’ (Mosher 318)—enables the participating men to affirm their masculinity and dominance by degrading the gay male, who is there to service (often on his knees) and receive—in any orifice of the group’s choosing—the men’s semen, and often urine as well. The equivalencies I have made here are based on the ‘performance’ of the bukkake fantasy in gay niche hazing and gay-for-pay pornography genres. These genres are fuelled by antigay sentiment, aggression and debasement of effeminate males (see Kendall). I wish here to resist the temptation of labelling the acts described above as deviant. As is a common problem with anti-pornography arguments, to attempt to fix a practice such as bukkake as deviant and abject—by, for example, equating it to rape (Franklin 24)—is to negate a much more complex consideration of distinctions and ambiguities between force and consent; lived and fantasy; where pleasure is, where it is performed and where it is taken. I extend this desire not to label the manip in question, which by exploiting the masculine posturing of Arthur effectively sexualises canon debasement. This began with the pilot when Arthur says: “Tell me Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?” Of the imported imagery—semen, bruising, perspiration—the key signifier is Arthur’s armour which, while torn in places, still ensures the encoding of particular signifieds: masculinity, strength and power. Doggystyle and the Subversion of Arthur’s ‘Armoured Self’ Since the romanticism and chivalric tradition of the knight in shining armour (see Huizinga) men as armoured selves have become a stoic symbol of masculine power and the benchmark for aspirational masculinity. For the medieval knight, armour reflects in its shiny surface the mettle of the man enclosed, imparting a state of ‘bodilessness’ by containing any softness beneath its shielded exterior (Burns 140). Wandsinhand’s Arthur/Percival manip (see Figure 2) subverts Arthur and the symbolism of armour with the help of arguably the only man who can: Arthur’s largest knight Percival. While a minor character among the knights, Percival’s physical presence in the series looms large, and has endeared him to slash manip artists, particularly those with only a casual interest in the series, such as wandsinhand: Why Arthur and Percival were specifically chosen had really little to do with the show’s plot, and in point of fact, I don’t really follow Merlin that closely nor am I an avid fan. […] Choosing Arthur/Percival really was just a matter of taste rather than being contextually based on their characterisations in the television show. Figure 2: wandsinhand, Untitled (Arthur/Percival), 2012, photo montage. Courtesy the artist. Concerning motivation, the artist explains: “Sometimes one’s penis decides to pick the tv show Merlin, and specifically Arthur and Percival.” The popularity of Percival among manip artists illustrates the power of physicality as a visual sign, and the valorisation of size and muscle within the gay community (see Sánchez et al.). Having his armour modified to display his muscles, the implication is that Percival does not need armour, for his body is already hard, impenetrable. He is already suited up, simultaneously man and armoured. Wandsinhand uses the physicality of this character to strip Arthur of his symbolic, masculine power. The work depicts Arthur with a dishevelled expression, his armoured chest pressed against the ground, his chainmail hitched up at the back to expose his arse, Percival threading his unsheathed cock inside him, staring expressionless at the ‘viewer’. The artist explains he “was trying to show a shift of power”: I was also hinting at some sign of struggle, which is somewhat evident on Arthur’s face too. […] I think the expressions work in concert to suggest […] a power reversal that leaves Arthur on the bottom, a position he’s not entirely comfortable accepting. There is pleasure to be had in seeing the “cocky” Arthur forcefully penetrated, “cut down to size by a bigger man” (wandsinhand). The two assume the ‘doggystyle’ position, an impersonal sexual position, without eye contact and where the penetrator sets the rhythm and intensity of each thrust. Scholars have argued that the position is degrading to the passive party, who is dehumanised by the act, a ‘dog’ (Dworkin 27); and rapper Snoop ‘Doggy’ Dogg exploits the misogynistic connotations of the position on his record Doggystyle (see Armstrong). Wandsinhand is clear in his intent to depict forceful domination of Arthur. Struggle is signified through the addition of perspiration, a trademark device used by this artist to symbolise struggle. Domination in a sexual act involves the erasure of the wishes of the dominated partner (see Cowan and Dunn). To attune oneself to the pleasures of a sexual partner is to regard them as a subject. To ignore such pleasures is to degrade the other person. The artist’s choice of pairing embraces the physicality of the male/male bond and illustrates a tendency among manip producers to privilege conventional masculine identifiers—such as size and muscle—above symbolic, nonphysical identifiers, such as status and rank. It is worth noting that muscle is more readily available in the pornographic source material used in slash manips—muscularity being a recurrent component of gay pornography (see Duggan and McCreary). In my interview with manip artist simontheduck, he describes the difficulty he had sourcing a base image “that complimented the physicality of the [Merlin] characters. […] The actor that plays Merlin is fairly thin while Arthur is pretty built, it was difficult to find one. I even had to edit Merlin’s body down further in the end.” (personal correspondence, used with permission) As wandsinhand explains, “you’re basically limited by what’s available on the internet, and even then, only what you’re prepared to sift through or screencap yourself”. Wandsinhand’s Arthur/Percival pairing selection works in tandem with other artistic decisions and inclusions—sexual position, setting, expressions, effects (perspiration, lighting)—to ensure the intended reading of the work. Antithetical size and rank positions play out in the penetration/submission act of wandsinhand’s work, in which only the stronger of the two may come out ‘on top’. Percival subverts the symbolic power structures of prince/knight, asserting his physical, sexual dominance over the physically inferior Arthur. That such a construction of Percival is incongruent with the polite, impeded-by-my-size-and-muscle-density Percival of the series speaks to the circumstances of manip production, much of which is on a taste basis, as previously noted. There are of course exceptions to this, the Teen Wolf ‘Sterek’ (Stiles/Derek) pairing being wandsinhand’s, but even in this case, size tends to couple with penetration. Slash manips often privilege physicality of the characters in question—as well as the base models selected—above any particular canon-supported slash reading. (Of course, the ‘queering’ nature of slash practice means at times there is also a desire to see such identifiers subverted, however in this example, raw masculine power prevails.) This final point is in no way representative—my practice, for example, combines manips with ficlets to offer a clearer connection with canon, while LJ’s zdae69 integrates manips, fiction and comics. However, common across slash manip artists driven by taste—and requests—rather than connection with canon—the best known being LJ’s tw-31988, demon48180 and Tumblr’s lwoodsmalestarsfakes, all of whom work across many fandoms—is interest in the ‘aesthetics of canon’, the blue hues of Teen Wolf or the fluorescent greens of Arrow (2012–present), displayed in glossy magazine format using services such as ISSUU. In short, ‘the look’ of the work often takes precedent over canonical implications of any artistic decisions. “Nothing Too Serious”: Slash Manips as Objects Worth Studying It had long been believed that the popular was the transient, that of entertainment rather than enlightenment; that which is manufactured, “an appendage of the machinery”, consumed by the duped masses and a product not of culture but of a ‘culture industry’ (Adorno and Rabinbach 12). Scholars such as Radway, Ang pioneered a shift in scholarly practice, advancing the cultural studies project by challenging elitism and finding meaning in traditionally devalued cultural texts and practices. The most surprising outcome of my interviews with wandsinhand was hearing how he conceived of his practice, and the study of slash: If I knew I could get a PhD by writing a dissertation on Slash, I would probably drop out of my physics papers! […] I don’t really think too highly of faking/manip-making. I mean, it’s not like it’s high art, is it? … or is it? I guess if Duchamp’s toilet can be a masterpiece, then so can anything. But I mainly just do it to pass the time, materialise fantasies, and disperse my fantasies unto others. Nothing too serious. Wandsinhand erects various binaries—academic/fan, important/trivial, science/arts, high art/low art, profession/hobby, reality/fantasy, serious/frivolous—as justification to devalue his own artistic practice. Yet embracing the amateur, personal nature of his practice frees him to “materialise fantasies” that would perhaps not be possible without self-imposed, underground production. This is certainly supported by his body of work, which plays with taboos of the unseen, of bodily fluids and sadomasochism. My intention with this article is not to contravene views such as wandsinhand’s. Rather, it is to promote slash manips as a form of remix culture that encourages new perspectives on how slash has been defined, its connection with male producers and its symbiotic relationship with gay pornography. I have examined the ‘semiotic significance of selection’ that creates meaning in two contrary slash manips; how these works actualise and resist canon dominance, as it relates to the physical and the symbolic. This examination also offers insight into this form’s connection to and negotiation with certain ideologies of gay pornography, such as the valorisation of size and muscle. 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Kay, Louise, Silke Brandsen, Carmen Jacques, Francesca Stocco e Lorenzo Giuseppe Zaffaroni. "Children’s Digital and Non-Digital Play Practices with Cozmo, the Toy Robot". M/C Journal 26, n.º 2 (27 de maio de 2023). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2943.

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Introduction This article reports on the emerging findings from a study undertaken as part of an international research collaboration (Australia, Belgium, Italy, UK; DP180103922) exploring the benefits and risks of the Internet of Toys (IoToys). IoToys builds upon technological innovations such as smartphone apps that remotely control home-based objects, and wearable technologies that measure sleep patterns and exercise regimes (Holloway and Green). Mascheroni and Holloway summarise the features of IoToys as entities that users can program, with human-toy interactivity, and which have network connectivity. In this discussion we focus on children’s play with a small programmable robot named Cozmo (fig. 1). The robot also has an ‘explorer mode’ in which children can view the world through the eyes of Cozmo, and a camera which can film the robot’s view, accessed through the mobile app. Children are encouraged to personify Cozmo, including feeding the robot and keeping it tuned up. Cozmo also has numerous functions including tricks, a coding lab, and games that utilise three provided ‘Power Cubes’ that encourage child-robot interaction: Keep Away – the player slides the cube closer to Cozmo then pulls away quickly when Cozmo ‘pounces’ – the aim of the game is to ensure Cozmo misses the cube. Quick Tap – a colour matching game which involves hitting the cubes (before Cozmo) when the colours match. Memory Match – Cozmo shows a pattern of colours, and the player then taps the cubes in the right colour order – each round the pattern gets longer. Fig. 1: Cozmo Whilst the toy uses Wi-Fi rather than connecting directly to the Internet, Cozmo was chosen as a focus for the study because many of its characteristics are typical of IoToys, including connectivity, programmability, and the human-toy connection (Mascheroni and Holloway). Children’s play lives have been changed through the development of digital technologies including smartphones, tablets, laptops, and games consoles (Marsh et al.) and inevitably, children’s play experiences now cross a range of boundaries including the “virtual/physical world, online/offline and digital/nondigital” (Marsh 5). As IoToys become more prevalent in the toy market, there is an increasing need to understand how these connected toys transcend digital-material boundaries between toy and media technology. Whilst toys such as Cozmo share similar traits with traditional toys, they also increasingly share characteristics with computing devices (i.e., video games, mobile apps) and domestic media (i.e., Amazon Alexa; Berriman and Mascheroni). The combination of the traditional and digital adds a layer of complexity to children’s play experiences as the interaction between the child and the robot is ‘reconfigured as a bidirectional, multidimensional, multisensory experience’ (Mascheroni and Holloway 5). By asking ‘what types of play does an Internet-enabled toy engender?’, this article examines the capabilities and limitations of Cozmo for children’s play experiences. Currently, there is little reliable information about children’s IoToy use despite the media attention the subject attracts. Many assumptions are made regarding how technological devices offer restricted opportunities for play (see Healey et al.), and therefore it is vital to investigate the benefits and limitations of these new-generation technologies for parents and children. This article contributes to ongoing debates focussing on children’s playful engagement with digital technology and the importance of engaging parents in discussions on different types of play and children’s development. Methodology This international study involved thirteen families across four countries (Australia, Belgium, Italy, UK; Appendix 1). Ethical clearance was obtained prior to the commencement of the study. Consent was gained from both the children and the parents, and the children were specifically asked if they could be audio-recorded and photographed by the researchers. Pseudonyms have been used in this article. Families were visited twice by a researcher, with each visit lasting around an hour. Firstly, the children were interviewed about their favourite toys, and the parent was interviewed about their thoughts on their children’s (digital) play practices. This provided background information about the child’s play ecologies, such as the extent to which they were familiar with IoToys. Cozmo was also introduced to the children during the first visit and researchers ensured they were confident using the toy before leaving. Cozmo was left with the children to use for a period of between one and three months before the researcher returned for the second visit. Families were reinterviewed, with a focus on what they thought about Cozmo, and how the children had engaged with the toy in their play. Data were deductively analysed using a revised version of Hughes’s taxonomy of play that takes account of the digital aspect of children’s play contexts. Hughes’s original framework, identifying the types of play children engage in, was developed before the rise of digital media. The revised taxonomy was developed by Marsh et al. (see Appendix 2) in a study that examined how apps can promote children’s play and creativity. Data emerging from this study illuminated how Hughes’s taxonomy can be applied in digital contexts, demonstrating that “what changes in digital contexts is not so much the types of play possible, but the nature of that play” (Marsh et al. 250). The adapted framework was applied to the data as a way of analysing play with Cozmo across digital and non-digital spaces, and selections from the transcripts were chosen to illustrate the categories, discussed in the next section. Framing Children’s Digital and Non-Digital Play Practices The findings from the data highlight numerous digital play types (Marsh et al.) that occurred during the children’s interactions with the robot, primarily: Imaginative play in a digital context in which children pretend that things are otherwise. Exploratory play in a digital context in which children explore objects and spaces through the senses to find out information or explore possibilities. Mastery play in digital contexts in which children attempt to gain control of environments. Communication play using words, songs, rhymes, poetry in a digital context. Other types of play that were observed include: Virtual Locomotor play involving movement in a digital context e.g., child may play hide and seek with others in a virtual world. Object play in which children explore virtual objects through vision and touch. Social play in a digital context during which rules for social interaction are constructed and employed. Imaginative Play “Imaginative play” was prevalent in all the case study families, in particular anthropomorphic/zoomorphic play. Anthropomorphic/zoomorphic play can be categorised as imaginative play when children are aware that the object is not real; they display a willing suspension of disbelief. The morphology of social robots is often classified into anthropomorphic (i.e., human-like) and zoomorphic (i.e., animal-like) and different morphologies can elicit differences in how users perceive and interact with robots (Barco et al.). This was the case for the children in this research, who all referred to the fact that the toy was a robot but often described Cozmo as having human/animal attributes. Across the sample, the children talked about Cozmo as if it was a fellow human being or pet. Eleanor (aged 8) stated that “I feel like he’s one of my family”, while Emma (aged 8) said “we sometimes call him ‘brother’ because he is a little bit like family”. Martina (aged 8) observed that Cozmo sometimes has “hiccups'' that prevent him from responding to her queries, reasoning that “it happens by itself because it eats too much”. Louis (aged 9) did not refer to Cozmo as being human, although he did attribute emotions to the toy, mentioning that Cozmo runs in circles whenever he is happy. Sofia’s mother stated that “one thing that made me laugh is that for Sofia it is a puppy. So, she would pet it, give it kisses”. The mother of Aryana (aged 9) commented that “they tried to like treat it like a living thing, not like toy, like a pet . ... They treat it not like something dead or something frozen, something live”. Epley et al. suggest that anthropomorphisation occurs because knowledge that individuals have about humans is developed earlier than knowledge about non-human entities. Therefore, the knowledge children have of being human is drawn upon when encountering objects such as robots. It may be of little surprise that children react like this because, as Marsh (Uncanny Valley 58) argues, “younger children are likely to possess less knowledge about both human and non-human entities than older children and adults, and, therefore, are more likely to anthropomorphise”. Severson and Woodard (2) argue that even in cases where children know the object is not real, the children ascribe feelings, thoughts, and desires to objects in such a serious manner that anthropomorphism is a “pervasive phenomenon that goes beyond mere pretense”. Robot toys such as Cozmo are specifically designed to stimulate anthropomorphism/zoomorphism. Beck et al. have shown that head movements help children identify emotions in robots. Cozmo is programmed to recognise faces and learn names, which inevitably contributes to children feeling an emotional connection. For example, Eleanor (aged 8) remarked that “he was always looking at me and it looked like he was listening to me when I was talking”. The desire for a connection with the robot was so strong for Oscar (aged 7) that he deliberately programmed the robot to respond to him, saying “I can make him do happy stuff which makes me feel like he likes me”. Emma’s mother stated that whenever Emma (aged 8) did something that seemed to make Cozmo happy, she would do those things repeatedly. Emma also referred to Cozmo as having agency, for example, when Cozmo built towers or turned himself into a bulldozer. Even though she made those commands herself via the app, Emma attributed the idea and action to Cozmo. Overall, the children implemented imaginative play practices through the pretence of Cozmo’s ‘human-like’ attributes such as knowing their name, “looking at” and “listening to” them, and displaying different emotions such as love, anger, and happiness. Exploratory Play “Exploratory play” usually occurred when the children first received the toy and most of the children immediately wanted to get to know Cozmo’s features and possibilities. Arthur’s father stated that the first thing Arthur (aged 8) did was grab the remote and start clicking buttons to find out what would happen. Oscar’s mother was amazed that her child had played initially for five hours using Cozmo when he did not spend this long with other toys. She explained that he had been exploring what the toy could do: “he was getting it to choose blocks, pick up blocks, do tricks, make faces, and do dances … . He really enjoyed that”. Controlling Cozmo to travel between rooms was an example of “Virtual Locomotor play”, although the robot could also lead to locomotor play in the physical world as children chased after Cozmo or danced with it. Further examples of virtual locomotor play occurred when the robot followed and chased children if they moved from the play area. Oscar (aged 7) enjoyed using this mode to set the robot on a course which led to it ‘spying’ on his younger sister. His mother noted that: because their bedrooms are opposite sides of the hallway, he kept sending Cozmo to go and watch what she was doing and waiting and seeing how long it took her to realise he was there. Jacob (aged 10) also swiftly realised Cozmo’s surveillance potential as he referred to the robot as a “spying machine”. Louis (aged 9) stated that after he had explored all the options Cozmo offers, playing with it became dull. To him, all the fun was in the exploratory play. Other children across the sample also reported that they stopped playing with Cozmo after a while when they felt like there was nothing new to explore. Mastery Play “Exploratory play” was also connected to “Mastery play” through programmatic sequencing which enabled the robot to move and follow different directions as requested by the children. For example, Eleanor (aged 8) commented, “I liked to play games with him ... . I liked doing the acting thing”. This involved programming the toy to undertake a series of actions that were sequenced in a performance. For Ebrahim (aged 7), the explorer mode also led to mastery play, as he set up an obstacle course for Cozmo using his toy soldiers, explaining that “I took a couple of my soldiers in here and made them out in a specific order and then I tried to get past them in explorer mode”. Arthur (aged 8) would continuously try to find ways to make Cozmo go through obstacle courses faster. He especially liked the coding and programming aspect of the toy, and his father would challenge him to think his decisions through to get better results. Children also utilised other objects in their exploratory and mastery play. Louis (aged 9) would put up barricades so that Cozmo could not escape, and Matteo (aged 9) constructed “high towers” and operated “stability tests” by using Cozmo’s explorer mode and constructing pathways through furniture and other objects. The blurring of physical/virtual and material/digital play, which is prevalent in contemporary play landscapes (Marsh et al., Children, Technology and Play), is highlighted during these episodes in which the children incorporated their own interests linked to their personal environments into their play with Cozmo. Mastery play inevitably involved “Object play”, as children played around with icons on the app to investigate their properties. Cozmo offers a variety of games which stimulate various abilities and can be played via the app or remote. Available games allow both child-robot interaction by means of the ‘Power Cubes’ provided with the robot, and programming games with different difficulty levels. Physical contact between the child and Cozmo, and the robot’s responses, encouraged anthropomorphism, as Jacob (aged 10) switched from referencing Cozmo as ‘it’ to ‘him’ as the discussion progressed: Interviewer: (to Jacob) We got a robot interfacing this time. (To Cozmo) Hello, are you still looking at me? That’s great. (To Jacob) So, do you want to show us your fist bumps that you coded? Jacob: Oh, I didn’t code it. Well, I did code it. Go to tricks. Do you want to fist bump him? Interviewer: Yeah, can I fist bump him? Jacob: Just put your fist near him like close, close, like that. In addition to the fist bump game, Dylan (aged 9) unlocked the Fist Bump app icon on his tablet enabling him to receive rewards by alternating physical fist bumps with himself and virtual fist bumps between Cozmo and the iPad. These object and exploratory play types were positioned as stimulating the robot’s feelings and emotions through musical sounds (like a robot “purring”) that seem to be designed to foster a stronger connection between the child and Cozmo. All the children in the research played Cozmo’s games; the tapping game and the building games with blocks were popular. A clear connection between mastery and object play is shown in those situations where children explore objects to gain control of their environment. While children pointed out that winning the games against Cozmo was almost impossible, some tried to change the game in their favour. Arthur (aged 8), for example, would move the blocks during games to slow down Cozmo. Whenever Emma (aged 8) became impatient with the games, she would move the blocks closer to Cozmo to finish certain games faster. Mastery play was valued by parents because of its interactivity and educational potential. Arthur’s father praised Cozmo’s programming and coding possibilities and valued the technical insight and problem-solving skills it teaches children. Oscar’s mother also valued the educational potential of the toy, but did not appear to recognise that the exploratory play he engaged in involved learning: I liked the fact that it had all these sorts of educational aspects to it. It would have been nice if we’d have got to use them. I like the idea that it could code, and it would teach coding ... but it wasn’t to be. There was some disappointment with the lack of engagement with the coding capabilities of Cozmo. Parents lamented that their children did not engage with coding activities but accepted that this was due to the level of difficulty or technical issues (i.e., Cozmo shutting down frequently), as well as their children’s inability to navigate coding activities (i.e., due to their age). Communication Play “Communication play” was observed as the English-speaking children learnt how to write things into Cozmo that the robot would then say. Ebrahim (aged 7) explained “you can type whatever you want him to say, like, I typed this, ‘I play with Monica’”. Emma (aged 8) made up entire stories for Cozmo to tell, and Arthur (aged 8) made up plays for Cozmo to perform. Oscar (aged 7) felt that the app had helped him learn to read: when asked how it helped him to read, he said “by me typing it in and him saying the words back to me so then I can hear what it says”. This highlights how IoToys can facilitate a playful approach to literacy and supports the work of Heljakka and Ihamäki (96), who assert a need to “widen understandings of toy literacy into multiple directions”. As such, the potential to support aspects of children’s literacy and digital learning in a way that is engaging and playful illuminates the benefits that these types of toys can provide. In contrast, Italian and Belgian children faced more difficulties in communicating with Cozmo as they did not speak English. However, this did not limit the possibility to interact and communicate with Cozmo, for example, through parental mediation or by referring to recognisable symbols (sounds, icons, and images in the app). Other Types of Play The data indicated that four play types (imaginative, exploratory, mastery, and communication play) were the most prevalent among the participating families, although there was also evidence of “Locomotor play” (during exploratory play), and “Object play” (during mastery play). “Social play” was also reported, for instance, when children played with the robot with siblings or friends. All the children wanted to show Cozmo to friends and family. Arthur (aged 8) even arranged with his teacher that he could bring Cozmo to school and show his classmates what Cozmo could do during a class presentation. “Creative play” (play that enables children to explore, develop ideas, and make things in a digital context) was limited in the data. Whilst there was some evidence of this type of play – for example, Oscar (aged 7) and Matteo (aged 9) built ramps and obstacle courses for Cozmo –, in general, there was limited evidence of children playing in creative ways to produce new artefacts with the robot. This is despite the toy having a creative mode, in which children can use the app to code games and actions for Cozmo. For Eleanor, it seemed that the toy did not foster open-ended play. Her mother noted that Eleanor normally enjoyed creative play, but she appeared to lose interest in the toy after displaying initial enthusiasm: “I don’t think it was creative enough, I think it’s not open-ended enough and that’s why she didn’t play with it, would be my guess”. Oscar (aged 7) also lost interest in the toy after the first few weeks of use, which his mother put down to technical issues: I think if it worked flawlessly every time he’d gone to pick it up then he would have been quite happy ... but after a couple of negative experiences where it wouldn’t load up and it’s very frustrating, maybe it just put him off. Other families also talked about how the battery was quick to drain and slow to charge, which impacted on the nature of the play. Emma’s mother stated that the WiFi settings needed to be changed to play with Cozmo which Emma (aged 8) could not do by herself. Therefore, she was only able to play with Cozmo when her mother was around to help her. According to the parents of Arthur and Emma (both aged 8), Cozmo often showed technical errors and did not perform certain games, which caused some frustration with the children. The mother of Aryana (aged 9) also reported a loss of interest in Cozmo, but not particularly related to technical reasons: “she lost interest all the time, so she didn’t follow the steps to the end, she just play a little bit and she'd say, ‘Oh I'm bored, I want to do something’ … mostly YouTube”. Such hesitant engagement may be due to technical issues but might also be due to the limitations regarding creative play identified in this study. Conclusion This study indicates that the Cozmo robot led to a variety of types of play, and that the adaptation of Hughes’s framework by Marsh et al. offered a useful index for identifying changing practices in children's play. As highlighted, children’s play with Cozmo often transcended the virtual and physical, online and offline, and digital and material, as well as providing a vehicle for learning. This analysis thus challenges the proposition that electronic objects limit children’s imagination and play. Prevalent in the findings was the willingness of children to suspend disbelief and engage in anthropomorphic/zoomorphic play with Cozmo by applying human-like attributes to the toy. Children related to the emotional connection with the robot much more than the technical aspects (i.e., coding), and whilst the children understood the limitations of the robot’s agency, there are studies to suggest that caution should be applied by robot developers to ensure that, as technology advances, children are able to maintain the understanding that robots are different from human beings (van den Berghe et al.). This is of particular importance when existing literature highlights that younger children have a less nuanced understanding of the ‘alive’ status of a robot than older children (Nijssen et al.). Children often incorporated more traditional toys and resources into their play with Cozmo: for instance, the use of toy soldiers and building blocks to create obstacle courses demonstrates the digital-material affordances of children’s play. All the children enjoyed the pre-programmed games that utilised the ‘Power Cubes’, and there was an element of competitiveness for the children who demonstrated an eagerness to ‘beat’ the toy. Importantly, parents reported that the app supported children’s literacy development in a playful way, although this was more beneficial for the children whose first language was English. The potential for children’s literacy development through playful child-robot interaction presents opportunities for further study. One significant limitation of the toy that emerged from the findings was the capacity to encourage children’s creative play. Kahn Jr. et al.'s earlier research showed that children endowed less animation to robot toys than to stuffed animals, as if children believe that toy robots have some agency and do not need assistance. Therefore, it is possible that children are less inclined to play in creative ways because they expect Cozmo to control his own behaviour. The research has implications for work with parents. The parents in this study emphasised the value of mastery play for education, but at times overlooked the worth of other types of play for learning. Engaging parents in discussion of the significance that different types of play have for children’s development could be beneficial not just for their own understanding, but also for the types of play they may then encourage and support. The study also has implications for the future development of IoToys. The producers of Cozmo promote types of play through the activities they support in the app, but a broader range of activities could lead to a wider variety of types of play to include, for example, fantasy or dramatic play. There are also opportunities to promote more creative play by, for example, enabling children to construct new artefacts for the robot toy itself, or providing drawing/painting tools that Cozmo could be programmed to use via the app. Broadening play types by design could be encouraged across the toy industry as a whole but, in relation to the IoToys, the opportunities for these kinds of approaches are exciting, reflecting rapid advances in technology that open up possible new worlds of play. This is the challenge for the next few years of toy development, when the first possibilities of the IoToys have been explored. Acknowledgement This research was funded by ARC Discovery Project award DP180103922 – The Internet of Toys: Benefits and Risks of Connected Toys for Children. The article originated as an initiative of the International Partners: Dr Louise Kay and Professor Jackie Marsh (University of Sheffield, UK), Associate Professor Giovanna Mascheroni (Università Cattolica, Italy), and Professor Bieke Zaman (KU Leuven, Belgium). The Australian Chief Investigators on this grant were Dr Donell Holloway and Professor Lelia Green, Edith Cowan University. Much of this article was written by Research Officers who supported the grant’s Investigators, and all parties gratefully acknowledge the funding provided by the Australian Research Council for this project. References Barco, Alex, et al. “Robot Morphology and Children's Perception of Social Robots: An Exploratory Study.” International Conference on Human-Robot Interaction, 23-26 Mar. 2020, Cambridge. Beck, Aryel, et al. “Interpretation of Emotional Body Language Displayed by a Humanoid Robot: A Case Study with Children.” International Journal of Social Robotics 5.3 (2013). 27 Jan. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1007/s12369-013-0193-z>. Berriman, Liam, and Giovanna Mascheroni. “Exploring the Affordances of Smart Toys and Connected Play in Practice.” New Media & Society 21.4 (2019). 27 Jan. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1177/1461444818807119>. Brito, Rita, et al. “Young Children, Digital Media and Smart Toys: How Perceptions Shape Adoption and Domestication.” British Journal of Educational Technology 49.5 (2018). 27 Jan. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1111/bjet.12655>. Epley, Nicholas, et al. "On Seeing Human: A Three-Factor Theory of Anthropomorphism". Psychological Review 114.4 (2007): 864-886. Healey, Aleeya, et al. “Selecting Appropriate Toys for Young Children in the Digital Era.” Pediatrics 143.1 (2019). 27 Jan. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.2018-3348>. Holloway, Donell, and Lelia Green. "The Internet of Toys." Communication Research and Practice 2.4 (2016): 506-519. Hughes, Bob. A Playworker’s Taxonomy of Play Types. 2nd ed. Playlink, 2002. Heljakka, Katriina, and Pirita Ihamäki. “Preschoolers Learning with the Internet of Toys: From Toy-Based Edutainment to Transmedia Literacy.” Seminar.Net 14.1 (2018): 85–102. Kahn Jr., Peter, et al. "Robotic Pets in the Lives of Preschool Children." Interaction Studies 7.3 (2007): 405-436. Marsh, Jackie. “The Internet of Toys: A Posthuman and Multimodal Analysis of Connected Play.” Teachers College Record (2017): 30. ———. "The Uncanny Valley Revisited: Play with the Internet of Toys." Internet of Toys : Practices, Affordances and the Political Economy of Children's Smart Play. Eds. Giovanni Mascheroni and Donell Holloway. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019. 47-66. Marsh, Jackie, et al. “Digital Play: A New Classification.” Early Years 36.3 (2016): 242. Marsh, Jackie, et al. Children, Technology and Play: Key Findings of a Large-Scale Research Report. The LEGO Foundation, 2020. Mascheroni, Giovanni, and Donell Holloway, eds. Internet of Toys : Practices, Affordances and the Political Economy of Children’s Smart Play. Palgrave Macmillan, 2019. Nijssen, Sari, et al. "You, Robot? The Role of Anthropomorphic Emotion Attributions in Children’s Sharing with a Robot." International Journal of Child-Computer Interaction 30 (2021). 15 Apr. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ijcci.2021.100319>. Severson, Rachel L., and Shailee R. Woodard. “Imagining Others? Minds: The Positive Relation between Children's Role Play and Anthropomorphism.” Frontiers in Psychology 9 (2018). 27 Jan. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2018.02140>. Van den Berghe, Rianne, et al. "A Toy or a friend? Children's Anthropomorphic Beliefs about Robots and How These Relate to Second-Language Word Learning." Journal of Computer Assisted Learning 37.2 (2021): 396– 410. 15 Apr. 2023 <https://doi.org/10.1111/jcal.12497>. Appendix 1: Participants Country Name (Pseudonym) Sex Age Siblings 1 UK Eleanor F 8 2 younger brothers 2 UK Ebrahim M 7 2 older sisters 3 UK Oscar M 7 1 younger sister 4 UK Aryana F 9 2 younger brothers 5 AU Jacob M 10 1 younger brother 6 AU Dylan M 9 2 older brothers 7 Italy Martina F 8 2 younger sisters 8 Italy Anna F 8 1 younger sister 9 Italy Luca M 8 1 older brother 10 Italy Matteo M 9 1 younger sister 11 Belgium Louis M 9 2 younger sisters 12 Belgium Emma F 8 1 younger sister 13 Belgium Arthur M 8 1 younger sister Appendix 2: Play Types Play Type Play Types (Hughes) Digital Play Types (adapted by Marsh et al., "Digital Play") Symbolic play Occurs when an object stands for another object, e.g. a stick becomes a horse Occurs when a virtual object stands for another object, e.g. an avatar’s shoe becomes a wand Rough and tumble play Children are in physical contact during play, but there is no violence Occurs when avatars that represent users in a digital environment touch each other playfully, e.g. bumping each other Socio-dramatic play Enactment of real-life scenarios that are based on personal experiences, e.g. playing house Enactment of real-life scenarios in a digital environment that are based on personal experiences Social play Play during which rules for social interaction are constructed and employed Play in a digital context during which rules for social interaction are constructed and employed Creative play Play that enables children to explore, develop ideas, and make things Play that enables children to explore, develop ideas, and make things in a digital context Communication play Play using words, songs, rhymes, poetry, etc. Play using words, songs, rhymes, poetry, etc., in a digital context, e.g. text messages, multimodal communication Dramatic play Play that dramatises events in which children have not directly participated, e.g. TV shows Play in a digital context that dramatises events in which children have not directly participated, e.g. TV shows. Locomotor play Play which involves movement, e.g. chase, hide and seek Virtual locomotor play involves movement in a digital context, e.g. child may play hide and seek with others in a virtual world Deep play Play in which children encounter risky experiences, or feel as though they have to fight for survival Play in digital contexts in which children encounter risky experiences, or feel as though they have to fight for survival Exploratory play Play in which children explore objects, spaces, etc. through the senses in order to find out information, or explore possibilities Play in a digital context in which children explore objects, spaces, etc., through the senses in order to find out information, or explore possibilities Fantasy play Play in which children can take on roles that would not occur in real life, e.g. be a superhero Play in a digital context in which children can take on roles that would not occur in real life, e.g. be a superhero Imaginative play Play in which children pretend that things are otherwise Play in a digital context in which children pretend that things are otherwise Mastery play Play in which children attempt to gain control of environments, e.g. building dens Play in digital contexts in which children attempt to gain control of environments, e.g. creating a virtual world Object play Play in which children explore objects through touch and vision Play in which children explore virtual objects through vision and touch through the screen or mouse Role play Play in which children might take on a role beyond the personal or domestic roles associated with socio-dramatic play Play in a digital context in which children might take on a role beyond the personal or domestic roles associated with socio-dramatic play Recapitulative play Play in which children might explore history, rituals, and myths, and play in ways that resonate with the activities of our human ancestors (lighting fires, building shelters, and so on) Play in a digital context in which children might explore history, rituals, and myths, and play in ways that resonate with the activities of our human ancestors (lighting fires, building shelters, and so on) Transgressive play Play in which children contest, resist, and/or transgress expected norms, rules, and perceived restrictions in both digital and non-digital contexts.

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41

Hoffman, David, Ashley Stewart, Jennifer Breznay, Kara Simpson e Johanna Crane. "Vaccine Hesitancy Narratives". Voices in Bioethics 7 (18 de outubro de 2021). http://dx.doi.org/10.52214/vib.v7i.8789.

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Photo by Hush Naidoo Jade Photography on Unsplash INTRODUCTION In this collection of narratives, the authors describe their own experiences with and reflections on healthcare worker vaccine hesitancy. The narratives explore each author’s engagement with different communities experiencing vaccine hesitancy, touching on reasons for hesitancy, proposed solutions, and legal aspects. Author’s names appear above their narratives. l. Johanna T. Crane Vaccine hesitancy, defined as “a delay of acceptance or refusal of vaccination despite the availability of vaccination services,”[1] is a worldwide but locally shaped phenomenon that pre-dates the COVID-19 pandemic.[2] Contrary to some portrayals, vaccine hesitancy is not the same as the more absolute antivaccination stance, or what some call “anti-vax.” Many people who are hesitant are not ideologically opposed to vaccines. Hesitancy is also sometimes framed as anti-science, yet reluctance to vaccinate is often about managing risk, trustworthiness, and doubt in the context of uncertainty; it represents an effort to “talk back to science” about unaddressed needs and concerns.[3] In the US, the newness of the vaccines, the unprecedented speed at which they were developed, and their remaining under emergency use authorization at first complicated public confidence. Political polarization and racial and social inequality shape vaccine acceptance and public distrust as well. While vaccine acceptance has increased in the months since the vaccines first became available, many eligible individuals have not yet been vaccinated, including a significant number of healthcare workers.[4] Vaccine hesitancy among healthcare workers may seem surprising, especially given their frontline experience – I confess that it surprised me at first. But when I began interviewing health care workers for a study on COVID vaccine roll-out at community health centers, I learned to take a more complex view. Although the study was focused on patient vaccine access,[5] many of the frontline health care workers we spoke with also described hesitancy among some of their colleagues (and, in a few cases, themselves). From these conversations, I learned that these “healthcare heroes” are also regular people and members of communities. Their concerns about COVID vaccination often reflect the prevailing concerns advanced in their communities, such as worries about vaccine side effects and safety. Like other workers, some fear missing work and losing income, as not all healthcare employers offer paid time off for vaccination or recovery. (Importantly, reluctance to vaccinate is highest among healthcare workers in lower-paid positions with little job security, such as clerks, housekeepers, patient care assistants, and home health aides.)[6] For some healthcare workers of color, the protection offered by the vaccine sits in tension with both current and historical experiences of medical abuse and neglect. Some interviewees, fully vaccinated themselves, rejected the framework of “hesitancy” entirely, arguing that Black and Brown reluctance to be vaccinated first should be understood through the lens of “self-protection”. Due to the nature of their work, healthcare workers have faced great social pressure to vaccinate and vaccinate first. This is understandable, given that vaccination against COVID-19 protects not only workers themselves but aligns with the ethical duty to prevent harm to patients by reducing the risk of transmission in healthcare settings. When the FDA approved COVID-19 vaccines under emergency use authorization in December 2020, many healthcare workers were extremely grateful to be designated “1a” – the first group prioritized to receive the shots.[7] For many bioethicists, prioritization of healthcare workers represented a recognition of the extreme risks that many front-line workers had endured since the onset of the pandemic, including critical shortages in PPE. But it is important to remember that for some workers, going first may have felt like serving as guinea pigs for new vaccines that had yet to be granted full FDA approval. For these individuals, the expectation that they would vaccinate first may have felt like an additional risk rather than a reward. Healthcare workers who are hesitant to vaccinate may feel ashamed or be subject to shaming by others;[8] this may make it difficult to discuss their concerns in the workplace. Throughout the pandemic, healthcare workers have been lauded as “heroes”, and some healthcare employers have promoted vaccination among their workforce as a “heroic” action. This messaging implies that waiting to vaccinate is shameful or cowardly and is echoed in opinion pieces and op-eds describing unvaccinated people as “selfish” or “free riders.”[9] By fostering the proper dialogue, we can respond respectfully to hesitancy among healthcare workers while still working towards the goal of increased vaccination. We in the bioethics and medical community should be willing to listen to our colleagues’ concerns with respect. Top-down approaches aimed at “correcting” hesitancy cannot address the more fundamental issues of trust that are often at stake. Instead, there must be dialogue over time. Conversations with a trusted healthcare provider have a crucial role.[10] Blaming and shaming rhetoric, whether explicit or implicit, gets us nowhere – in fact, it likely moves us backward by likely exacerbating any existing distrust or resentment that workers may hold toward their employers.[11] Lastly, the onus of trust must be with institutions, not individuals. There is a lot of talk about getting communities of color, and Black people, particularly, to "trust" healthcare institutions and the COVID vaccines. This racializes trust and puts the burden on harmed communities rather than on institutions acting in trustworthy ways.[12] Dialogue, respect, and trustworthiness must guide us even in the new era of workplace mandates. Mandates make these strategies even more important as we look toward an uncertain future. As Heidi Larson, founder of the Vaccine Confidence Project, recently said, “We should not forget that we are making people's future history now. Are people going to remember that they were treated respectfully and engaged?”[13] ll. Kara Simpson Since the release of the vaccine for COVID-19 in late 2020, there have been robust discussions within the medical community, the media, and political arenas about vaccine hesitancy among healthcare workers. The public became aware that healthcare workers, the first group to become eligible for the vaccine, were not rushing to “take the shot.” Many people’s opinions were aligned by race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and political affiliation. People of color were one of the first groups to be labeled vaccine hesitant as our experiences of distrust of the medical community and the politicization of the vaccine explained the low turnout.[14] It was not uncommon to hear, “this vaccine just came out; let’s wait and see if there are side effects.” Interestingly, many people in the healthcare community and in the public did not understand why healthcare workers of color remained hesitant. Trust is a vital component of any viable relationship, especially in the clinical realm. To have successful health outcomes, it is essential for clinicians to build trusting relationships with their patients and peers. Many people of color are distrustful towards the medical institution due to the years of systemic racism and abuses that they have experienced, witnessed, or learned about. Healthcare workers of color are not excluded from the experiences of their communities outside of work. In fact, I assert that healthcare of color may have an additional burden of hesitation because of their lived experiences of distrust in receiving care and inequality within their professional environment. These dual traumas can work in tandem to strengthen hesitancy. I assert that building trusting clinical relationships will address hesitancy over time. Currently, many healthcare workers are worried about vaccine mandates. For a group of people that have experienced intergenerational enslavement and marginalization, mandates feel coercive and serve as a reminder of how “lesser” bodies are considered unworthy of voice, fundamental human rights, independent decision making. To call the vaccine mandate paternalistic would be an understatement. An unintended result of vaccine mandates will be the reinforcement of hesitancy and distrust of the medical institution as trust and coercion cannot coexist. This mandate will give more power to the conspiracy theories and harm those who already do not seek or receive adequate health care because of systemic inequalities. Furthermore, mandates can also dissuade people of color from becoming healthcare workers, and others may leave the field. In essence, vaccine hesitancy is a symptom of a much larger problem: the distrust of the medical establishment. As bioethicists, our mission should be to support interventions that foster “trustworthiness” of the institutions rather than those that cause trauma. Several organizations have proposed mask mandates and weekly testing as a measure to protect the population at large and still respect the autonomy of the unvaccinated.[15] lll. Jennifer Breznay I work in a very large community teaching hospital in Brooklyn, and we were extremely hard hit by COVID in March 2020. I worked on inpatient medical units and witnessed a lot of suffering. And after nine months of fear and despair about COVID’s toll, I felt tremendous frustration in December when I heard that many healthcare workers would reject the vaccine. As the co-chair of the Bioethics Committee, I drafted a statement recommending vaccination for all employees. When the draft was revised and approved by the Bioethics Committee, I began to discuss it with employees, and I appreciated different perspectives I had not heard before. In the end, rather than releasing the statement, we directed our efforts at creating a dialogue. I also volunteer at a not-for-profit which operates seven early childhood education centers in Northern Brooklyn. The Executive Director invited me to collaborate on strategies to encourage staff vaccination, and we decided to offer a Zoom conference to 20 members of the staff. I was extremely nervous about how the audience would perceive me, a white doctor whom they did not know. I felt awkward about coming to them with an agenda. And there was also the question of whether I was an appropriate messenger compared to a person of color. Yet, I felt like I shouldn't back away from this. So, I chose to simply disclose my discomfort at the beginning of the Zoom. I said, “Thanks for having me. You know, as a white physician, I understand you might have concerns about trusting what I say. Four hundred years of inequity and abuse by the healthcare system can create a lot of mistrust, but I’m here to try to answer your questions.” Ultimately the Executive Director reported that the Zoom was successful in stimulating a lot of conversation among the staff about the vaccine. I think the critical piece is the intimate but open conversation, where you can elicit values. lV. Ashley L. Stewart In the rural areas of our state, healthcare institutions are inextricably tied to their communities. Rural hospitals hire from, serve, and function in the community where they are located. Successful implementation of a vaccine roll-out in such rural areas requires explicit recognition of the role and influence of the community. After identifying issues common to the area, rural institutions can address them. Even when rural institutions find that healthcare worker concerns seem to be unique or personal, they are often related to the larger concerns of the community.[16] Community-based increased vaccine hesitancy may coincide with an underlying issue, such as lack of information rather than principled or experience-based resistance.[17] When the vaccines became available, rural vaccination coordinators encountered a wealth of misinformation that left many people initially undecided. Compounding this lack of information, workers expressed a sense of fear about the professional consequences of voicing concerns, especially in tight-knit communities. Many workers expressed concern about being judged merely for sharing their questions or decisions.[18] They also felt that saying or doing something to promote the value of vaccination might change their relationship with members of the community where they live and work.[19] As there was a fear of engaging in productive conversations, it was difficult for them to find valuable information, and the lack of information discouraged them from being vaccinated. Vaccine coordinators wanted to get information to the entire community based on the most current research and release unbiased, consistent, and timely information from sources all people in the community could trust, including from multiple sources at once. Communication must focus on answering many types of questions, which must often be done in private or anonymously. Where poorly supported or incorrect information is widely available, sharing objective information is crucial to turning the tide of distrust. If the healthcare community dismisses concerns or assumes that answering questions based on misinformation is a waste of time, the community-based institutions will further the distrust. Some may feel that vaccine coordinators should not address misinformation directly, yet avoidance has been widely unsuccessful.[20] Being respectful and non-judgmental in answering questions posed by people who do not know what is true can be hard, but in rural communities, answering completely and honestly without judgment is a critical component of any effort to inform people. Telling people to get vaccinated “for the greater good” can sound the same as being told not to get a vaccine because it is “bad” if both sources of information fail to back up their claims. Ultimately rural institutions are respected because they are a resource to their communities, a priority we must preserve. It is also critical to treat everyone respectfully regardless of vaccine status.[21] People may perceive mandates, divisive policies, or disrespectful treatment of people based on vaccination status as discriminatory or coercive, weakening the appeal of vaccination. Such practices may make people less trusting and more anchored to their position as they come to see vaccination proponents as untrustworthy or authoritarian. We must work to maintain respect for human autonomy. Using unethical means to achieve even a just end will not lead to a “greater good” but rather to the perception that people in positions of authority would achieve a result “by any means necessary.” V. David N. Hoffman The central moral quandary that arises whenever vaccine hesitancy among healthcare workers is discussed is whether workers who refuse to get vaccinated should or could be fired. We should clarify that we are applying a definition of mandate in the employment context for private employers, the violation of which results in loss of employment. Government-controlled provider organizations are just now weighing in on this topic and are generally pursuing strategies that impose periodic, usually weekly, testing requirements for those workers who decline to get vaccinated. In the private sector, employers can require their employees to do a great many things as a condition of employment, and one of them is to get vaccinated against COVID -19. In the most prominent case to date, just such a mandate gave rise to a lawsuit in Texas involving Houston Methodist Hospital. In that case, 170 employees asserted that an employer should not be allowed to force them to get vaccinated. The judge held that, while no employer can force an employee to get vaccinated, no employer is obligated to continue the employment of any employee who declines to follow rules established by that employer, including the obligation to get vaccinated.[22] In Texas, what the judge said is you are not being forced to get vaccinated, but your employer is allowed to set limits and conditions on employment, including vaccination. Employees do not have an obligation to get vaccinated, but they also have no right to their jobs. That is because of a widely misunderstood legal concept: “employment at will.” Employment at will sounds like a rule that employees can do what they want at work, but in fact, employment at will means only that you can quit your job whenever you want (we do not permit indentured servitude). At the same time, your employer can fire you at any time, for any reason or no reason, unless the reason is a pretext and involves one of the protected statuses (race, color, religion, sex, or national origin, and in some jurisdictions gender orientation, gender identity). Generally, any employers, including hospitals, can decide that if someone is not willing to get a vaccination, or if they are not willing to complete sexual harassment training or participate in the hospital’s infection control program, that is the employee’s right, but it will mean that an employer can similarly decline to continue providing employment. The evolution of this hesitancy discussion will be influenced by the narrower debate playing out in the court of public opinion, and the courts of law, over the enforceability of New York’s recently enacted vaccine mandate. Regardless of whether that mandate survives, with or without medical and religious exemptions, healthcare employers will be left with a profound ethical dilemma. At the end of all the litigation, if there is a religious exemption, employers will always be burdened with the responsibility to determine whether an individual employee has asserted a genuine and sincere religious objection to vaccination and whether the employer is able to provide an accommodation that is safe and effective in protecting the interests of co-workers and patients. The anticipated federal mandate, which reportedly will have a test/mask alternative, will only make this ethical task more challenging. This leads to the final point in this analysis, which is that while private employers, including hospitals, can deprive an individual of their employment if those individuals refuse to get vaccinated, just because an employer can do so does not mean it should do so.[23] - [1] MacDonald NE. Vaccine hesitancy: Definition, scope and determinants. Vaccine. 2015;33(34):4161-4164. doi:10.1016/j.vaccine.2015.04.036 [2] Larson HJ, de Figueiredo A, Xiahong Z, et al. The State of Vaccine Confidence 2016: Global Insights Through a 67-Country Survey. EBioMedicine. 2016;12:295-301. doi:10.1016/j.ebiom.2016.08.042 [3] Larson H. Stuck: How Vaccine Rumors Start - and Why They Don’t Go Away. Oxford University Press; 2020; Benjamin R. Informed Refusal: Toward a Justice-based Bioethics. Sci Technol Hum Values. 2016;41(6):967-990. doi:10.1177/0162243916656059 [4] Deepa Shivaram, In The Fight Against COVID, Health Workers Aren't Immune To Vaccine Misinformation September 18, 2021. NPR Special Series: The Coronavirus. https://www.npr.org/2021/09/18/1037975289/unvaccinated-covid-19-vaccine-refuse-nurses-heath-care-workers [5] Crane JT, Pacia D, Fabi R, Neuhaus C, and Berlinger N. Advancing Covid vaccination equity at Federally Qualified Health Centers: A rapid qualitative review. Accepted and awaiting publication at JGIM. [6] Ashley Kirzinger. “KFF/The Washington Post Frontline Health Care Workers Survey - Vaccine Intentions.” KFF, 22 Apr. 2021, https://www.kff.org/report-section/kff-washington-post-frontline-health-care-workers-survey-vaccine-intentions/. [7] Johanna Crane, Samuel Reis-Dennis and Megan Applewhite. “Prioritizing the ‘1a’: Ethically Allocating Scarce Covid Vaccines to Health Care Workers.” The Hastings Center, 21 Dec. 2020, https://www.thehastingscenter.org/prioritizing-the-1a-ethically-allocating-covid-vaccines-to-health-care-workers/. [8] “'I'm Not an Anti-Vaxxer, but...' US Health Workers' Vaccine Hesitancy Raises Alarm.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 10 Jan. 2021, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/jan/10/coronavirus-covid-19-vaccine-hesitancy-us-health-workers. [9] Gerson M. If you are healthy and refuse to take the vaccine, you are a free-rider. Washington Post. April 15, 2021. [10] Crane JT, Pacia D, Fabi R, Neuhaus C, and Berlinger N. Advancing Covid vaccination equity at Federally Qualified Health Centers: A rapid qualitative review. Accepted and awaiting publication at JGIM. [11] Larson H. Stuck : How Vaccine Rumors Start - and Why They Don’t Go Away. Oxford University Press; 2020. [12] Benjamin R. Race for Cures: Rethinking the Racial Logics of ‘Trust’ in Biomedicine. Sociology Compass. 2014;8(6):755-769. doi:10.1111/soc4.12167; Warren RC, Forrow L, David Augustin Hodge S, Truog RD. Trustworthiness before Trust — Covid-19 Vaccine Trials and the Black Community. N Engl J Med. Published online October 16, 2020. doi:10.1056/NEJMp2030033 [13] Offri D. Heidi Larson, Vaccine Anthropologist. New Yorker. Published online June 12, 2021. Accessed August 11, 2021. https://www.newyorker.com/science/annals-of-medicine/heidi-larson-vaccine-anthropologist [14] Razai M S, Osama T, McKechnie D G J, Majeed A. Covid-19 Vaccine Hesitancy Among Ethnic Minority Groups. BMJ 2021; 372 :n513 doi:10.1136/bmj.n513 [15] Dasgupta, Sharoda, et al. “Differences in Rapid Increases in County-Level COVID-19 Incidence by Implementation of Statewide Closures and Mask Mandates — United States, June 1–September 30, 2020.” Annals of Epidemiology, vol. 57, Sept. 2021, pp. 46–53., https://doi.org/10.1016/j.annepidem.2021.02.006. [16] Do, Tuong Vi C et al. “COVID-19 Vaccine Acceptance Among Rural Appalachian Healthcare Workers (Eastern Kentucky/West Virginia): A Cross-Sectional Study.” Cureus vol. 13,8 e16842. 2 Aug. 2021, doi:10.7759/cureus.16842; Danabal, K.G.M., Magesh, S.S., Saravanan, S. et al. Attitude towards COVID 19 vaccines and vaccine hesitancy in urban and rural communities in Tamil Nadu, India – a community-based survey. BMC Health Serv Res 21, 994 (2021). https://doi.org/10.1186/s12913-021-07037-4 [17] Scott C. Ratzan MD, MPA, MA, Lawrence O. Gostin JD, Najmedin Meshkati PhD, CPE, Kenneth Rabin PhD & Ruth M. Parker MD (2020) COVID-19: An Urgent Call for Coordinated, Trusted Sources to Tell Everyone What They Need to Know and Do, Journal of Health Communication, 25:10, 747-749, DOI: 10.1080/10810730.2020.1894015 [18] Huang, Pien. “Some Health Care Workers Are Wary of Getting COVID-19 Vaccines.” NPR, NPR, 1 Dec. 2020, https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2020/12/01/940158684/some-health-care-workers-are-wary-of-getting-covid-19-vaccines. Portnoy, Jenna. “Several Hundred Virginia Health-Care Workers Have Been Suspended or Fired over Coronavirus Vaccine Mandates.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 4 Oct. 2021, https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/covid-vaccine-mandate-hospitals-virginia/2021/10/01/b7976d16-21ff-11ec-8200-5e3fd4c49f5e_story.html. [19] Jennifer A. Lueck & Alaina Spiers (2020) Which Beliefs Predict Intention to Get Vaccinated against COVID-19? A Mixed-Methods Reasoned Action Approach Applied to Health Communication, Journal of Health Communication, 25:10, 790-798, DOI: 10.1080/10810730.2020.1865488 [20] Lockyer, Bridget, et al. “Understanding Covid-19 Misinformation and Vaccine Hesitancy in Context: Findings from a Qualitative Study Involving Citizens in Bradford, UK.” Health Expectations, vol. 24, no. 4, 4 May 2021, pp. 1158–1167., https://doi.org/10.1101/2020.12.22.20248259. Scott C. Ratzan & Ruth M. Parker (2020) Vaccine Literacy—Helping Everyone Decide to Accept Vaccination, Journal of Health Communication, 25:10, 750-752, DOI: 10.1080/10810730.2021.1875083. [21] Zimmerman, Anne. Columbia Academic Commons, 2020, Toward a Civilized Vaccination Discussion: Abandoning the False Assumption That Scientific Goals Are Shared by All, https://academiccommons.columbia.edu/doi/10.7916/d8-rzh0-1f73. [22] Bridges, et al v. Houston Methodist Hospital et al, https://docs.justia.com/cases/federal/districtcourts/texas/txsdce/4:2021cv01774/1830373/18 [23] David N. Hoffman, “Vaccine Mandates for Health Care Workers Raise Several Ethical Dilemmas,” Hasting Center Bioethics Forum. August 2021. https://www.thehastingscenter.org/vaccine-mandates-for-health-care-workers-raise-several-ethical-dilemmas/

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