Статті в журналах з теми "Australia Census, 1981"

Abstract Although he was not the first scholar to investigate it, there is little question that the Ph.D. research of Alan Gray, completed in 1983, represented a landmark in the study of Indigenous fertility in Australia. Convinced that ‘Aboriginal’ fertility had fallen rapidly through the 1970s, Gray set out to document and explain the decline. Weaving through a maze of sub-optimal census data he produced a series of age-specific and total fertility rates, refined by three broad geographic location categories, for 5-year periods from 1956–1961 to 1976–1981. These he subsequently updated to also include 1981–1986 and the 10-year period 1986–1996 as new census children-ever-borne data became available. He would doubtless have extended his series further had he lived to do so. For years his fertility estimates were graphed in the annual ABS publication Births Australia as the Bureau began publishing registration-based Indigenous fertility estimates from the late 1990s, but Indigenous birth registration data and fertility estimates based thereon remain to this day problematic in several respects. This paper summarises Alan Gray’s work, extends his Indigenous fertility estimates to the 2011–2016 intercensal period, and examines the results against registration-based estimates that have been subjected to (a) regular retrospective revision (in light of data processing flaws and substantial errors of closure in intercensal Indigenous population increments), and (b) the vagaries of significant late registration, and periodic registry efforts to clear backlogs of unregistered Indigenous births.

Abstract Australia is a major immigration country and immigrants currently represent around 28% of the total population. The aim of this research is to understand the long-term consequences of this immigration and, particularly, how migrants respond to opportunities within the country after arriving through the process of subsequent (internal) migration. The focus is on major immigrant groups in Australia, including persons born in the United Kingdom, New Zealand, China and India, and how their patterns differ from persons born in Australia. To conduct this analysis, we have gathered data for a 35-year period based on quinquennial census data. We also obtained birthplace-specific mortality data for constructing multiregional life tables for the immigrant populations. Subsequent migration is important for understanding population redistribution, and the relative attractiveness of destinations within host countries. Our results highlight the importance of subsequent migration and the diversity of migration behaviours amongst different immigrant groups in the context of overall declines in internal migration since 1981.

Asians have been the fastest growing overseas-born population inAustralia, more than doubling from 1981 to 1991. Based on the 1991 Census, this article broadly examines economic and social characteristics of the Asian-born population in Australia. Economic factors such as labor force participation, unemployment, occupation, income and housing reveal a great diversity in the settlement experience of the Asian-born, attributable to the diversity of backgrounds. The speed and success of adjustment by refugees and migrants from business, skill and family migrant streams are assisted by such social factors as English language proficiency.

Analysis of data from the 1981 Australian Census indicates that there are considerable differences between the occupational distributions of the native and foreign born. Immigrants from non-English speaking countries are at a far greater disadvantage than their counterparts from English-speaking countries. Estimates of probability models of occupational attainment suggest that the inferior labor market position of immigrants from non-English speaking countries results from the relatively poor minor occupational gains they derive from additional years of education.

This volume is a highly detailed and thoughtful analysis of the language use of Spanish, Arabic, and Chinese speakers in one of the major cities of Australia, Melbourne. Bringing together census findings and other empirical data, this study addresses the issues of pluricentricity and language maintenance and language shift in an immigrant context. Australia, as one of the world's more successful countries in its national bilingual policy, has been a catalyst for local research in community languages. The present volume complements the earlier works of both authors, for instance, Clyne 1991 and Kipp 1981.

ABSTRACTOne of the world's great Victorian-era suburban metropolises, Melbourne, Australia, was transformed by mass immigration and the redevelopment of some of its older suburbs with low-rise flats and apartments in the post-war years. Drawing on a range of sources, including census material, municipal rate and valuation books, immigration and company records, as well as building industry publications, this article charts demographic and morphological change across the Melbourne metropolitan area and in two particular suburbs in the mid- to late twentieth century. In doing so, it both responds to McManus and Ethington's recent call for more histories of suburbs in transition, and seeks to embed the role of immigration and immigrants into Melbourne's urban historiography.

Abstract For decades, many Australian coastal communities have been changing, in varying degrees, from traditional “fishing towns” to “mining”, “tourism”, or “retirement” towns. However, environmental changes, such as climate change, have increased the vulnerability of these communities and their capacity to continue to successfully adapt is unknown. A framework for the assessment of socio-ecological vulnerability is used to provide information on the response to change in Geraldton, Western Australia. Geraldton has traditionally been a port and fishing town and has recently become a hub for the expanding mining industry. An innovative historical assessment of adaptive capacity using sustainable livelihoods analysis with indicators of social, economic, human, financial, physical, and natural capital is used to calculate socio-ecological vulnerability over time. The framework integrates adaptive capacity with environmental change, resource dependence, and the socio-economic importance of the fished species during four census years: 1921, 1954, 1981, and 2011. The earlier years are characterized by high adaptive capacity and low socio-ecological vulnerability in keeping with strong economic growth and low unemployment rates following the First and Second World Wars. The years 1981 and 2011 showed markedly higher socio-ecological vulnerability and lower adaptive capacities. This result was due to progressively greater exposure to climate change and the high socio-economic importance of fished species, as well as relatively poor physical, social, and natural capital. With continuing environmental and economic change, the fishing industry and the broader Geraldton population is likely to become increasingly vulnerable. Proactive rather than passive adaptation may speed the recovery and reduce a decline in the fishing industry and local economies. The paper briefly discusses potential adaptation in Geraldton which may be useful as a guideline for other coastal communities.

The status of Yellow-footed Rock-wallabies (Petrogale xanthopus) and Black-footed Rock-wallabies (P. lateralis) in South Australia was assessed by comparing recent survey and census data with previously collated information about the distribution and relative abundance of each taxon. Petrogale xanthopus has maintained most of its known geographic range within the state; however, its relative abundance has declined significantly and 35 (or 15%) of a total of 229 recorded colonies have become extinct since European settlement. Eight of these colony extinctions have occurred over the past 25 years; three of them since 1981. As this species is continuing to decline it should be regarded as threatened within the state. Petrogale lateralis has at least two sub-species which occur in South Australia. Petrogale lateralis pearsoni is endemic to the state and occurs on offshore islands. Since 1960 its natural occurrence of about 3-500 individuals on North Pearson Island has been expanded to four other islands through translocations and the total population is now about 700-1100 animals. This subspecies, while not occurring in large numbers, is nonetheless relatively secure due to the additional populations established and the fact that these are on islands isolated from most mainland threats. The mainland subspecies, Petrogale lateralis MacDonnell Ranges race, by comparison has suffered a drastic reduction in both geographic range and abundance to the point where it is South Australia’s most critically endangered vertebrate taxon. It has declined from being a very common species in the state’s far north- west to only two known, widely separated, colonies which total less than 100 animals between them. Management and research recommendations are provided.

In this article, we use the five-yearly census of occupations to develop an historical perspective on Australian journalist employment from 1961. We do so for two reasons. First, we gauge the impact on journalist employment of online media from 1996 and media platforms since 2006 comparing these to previous media transformations. Second, we explore journalism and its occupational profile noting its close connection with authors and public relations professions. To allow for a period when the Australian Bureau of Statistics placed journalists and authors together as in a single occupational grouping (from 1961 to 1981), we track their combined employment from 1961 to 2016. From 1986, we consider journalists and authors separately. In each case, we consider numbers employed, their respective proportion of the workforce and their compound annual growth rates establishing the extent to which employment grew above – or fell below – that of the workforce as a whole. We show the gradual recalibration of journalists and their writer–author counterparts with respect to each other. From 1996, we outline the performance of different kinds of journalist over the 20 years to 2016 covering both online’s first open Internet decade and its second closed media platform from 2006 to 2016.

Chinese-run stores were a vital part of the regional communities that developed throughout Australia in the nineteenth century. Functioning variously as supply stores, post offices, banks, cook-shops, hotels and hiring depots, they helped to maintain links between regional areas and metropolitan centres, connecting local businesses to overseas markets. Chinese immigrants were a dominant part of this retail trade across the country. By 1901, there were 800 people of Chinese descent working in Queensland shops, while the South Australian census listed 400 Chinese shopkeepers for the same year.

Background The Indigenous population of Australia has grown very rapidly since the first tabulation of census statistics about Indigenous people in the 1971 ABS Census of Population and Housing (Census). Understanding the size and location of the Indigenous Australians is important to the State for service delivery and policy, and for Indigenous peoples themselves. Aims This paper summarises changes to population geography of Indigenous Australians between 2011 and 2016. It describes the growth in the estimated population, and its changing geographic distribution. The paper derives a measure of ‘unexpected population change’: the spatial mismatch between demographic projections from the 2011 and 2016 Census counts. Data and methods Census data and population projections are tabulated and mapped. Results Indigenous people now comprise 3.3 per cent of the total Australian population, or 798,381 persons. This population grew by 3.5 per cent each year between 2011 and 2016, a rate of growth 34 per cent faster than that explained by natural increase alone. Both aspects of growth were concentrated in more urban parts of the country, especially coastal New South Wales and southeast Queensland. For the first time, fewer than 20 per cent of Indigenous people were recorded as living in remote areas. Conclusions Indigenous population growth continues to be remarkably rapid. Future research is required to understand the correlates and causes of population growth beyond that explained by natural increase.

Growth, recruitment and mortality rates of a population of giant clams (Tridacna gigas and T. derasa) were monitored between 1978 and 1985 in a 2.7 ha study area on Michaelmas Reef, Great Barrier Reef. The initial 1978 census revealed the presence of 1166 T. gigas and 44 T. derasa. For T. gigas, the Fabens method provided growth-parameter estimates of L∞ = 85.7 cm, K = 0.07 and to = 0.732 year. The generated von Bertalanffy growth curve was a relatively poor fit to an empirical growth curve. A better description of growth was obtained for younger clams by using a forced value of L∞, = 80 cm, yielding K = 0.105 and to = 0.145 year. There was marked variability in the growth rate of individual clams, which has implications for the aquaculture industry. Average annual mortality rates in two census intervals (1978 to 1980-81 and 1980-81 to 1985) were 3.4 and 10.7% respectively. A comparison of the calculated size structure (assuming constant recruitment) with the observed size structure clearly suggested that recruitment was not constant and had declined drastically from a peak in the 1950s. For the much smaller population of T. derasa, the Fabens routine yielded estimates of L∞ = 46.91 cm, K= 0.108 and to = -0.188 year. The average annual mortality rate was 4.4%. Trends in recruitment could not be determined because of the small sample size. This study has highlighted the need for follow-up studies of this and other populations of giant clams if we are to understand more fully the processes of growth, recruitment and mortality in wild stocks and the implications for stock management and aquaculture.

Emigration from the German states was a mass phenomenon in the “long” nineteenth century. Much of this migration was of course labour migration, and German workers were very much on the move during the nineteenth century: in addition to the traditional Wanderschaft (travels) of journeymen, the century saw increasing internal migration within and between German-speaking lands, migration from rural areas to cities, and the participation of working people in emigration to destinations outside Europe. Over five million Germans left the German states from 1820 to 1914, with a large majority choosing the United States as their destination, especially in the earliest waves of migration. By comparison with the mass migration to North America, the flow of German migrants to the British colonies in Australia (which federated to form a single Commonwealth in 1901) was a relative trickle, but the numbers were still significant in the Australian context, with Germans counted as the second-largest national group among European settlers after the “British-born” (which included the Irish) in the nineteenth century, albeit a long way behind the British. After the influx of Old Lutheran religious dissidents from Prussia to South Australia in the late 1830s, there was a wave of German emigrants in the 1840s and 1850s, driven by the “push” factor of agrarian and economic crisis in the German states in the 1840s followed by the attraction of the Australian gold rushes and other opportunities, such as land-ownership incentives. While the majority of German settlers were economic migrants, this latter period also saw the arrival in the Australian colonies of a few “Forty-Eighters,” radicals and liberals who had been active in the political upheavals of 1848–9, some of whom became active in politics and the press in Australia. The 1891 census counted over 45,000 German-born residents in the Australian colonies.

Studies in Australia show that an increasing proportion of the population have ancestors from more than one country. Evidence regarding differences in the marriage patterns of first and second generation migrants has been restricted in scope as published marriage registration data includes only birthplace of partners. Marriage registration records include information about the birthplace of parents of partners, but it is available only through specially produced tabulations. Changes in the census for 1986 and 1991 make it possible to identify the second generation in households, and this article examines the use of census data as an alternative to marriage registration records in tracing changes in intermarriage patterns and differences between urban and rural areas.

SummaryThis paper considers whether sex composition of existing children in Australian families is an important factor in parity progression. Using census data from 1981, 1986, 1991, 1996 and 2001, women are linked with their co-resident children, allowing investigation of family sex composition and its changing impact over time on the propensity to have another child. The study finds that parents are much more likely to have a third and fourth birth if existing children are all of the same sex, indicating a strong preference for children of both sexes. This increased propensity has added around three per cent to the fertility of recent cohorts. The paper concludes with a discussion of the potential impact of sex-selection technologies on fertility. The authors argue that future widespread use of reliable sex-selection technologies might act to increase fertility in the short term, but would lead to a long-term reduction in fertility.

This paper offers an analysis of the 1991 Census language data in relation to language maintenance and shift. It draws attention to the increased diversity, the rising importance of certain languages of international and regional significance in our population and the variations in maintenance patterns. It demonstrates the variation in language shift across a number of languages and attempts to identify factors responsible for this variation. Interstate differences are also explored. Language shift is compared between the first and second generation, between communities from different countries speaking the same language, and between the 1986 and 1991 Censuses.

Community participation in endurance events, including long-distance swimming races, has grown. To assess the extent to which participants in endurance swims represent all socioeconomic levels of the community, data were collected from the 748 entrants in two major Australian swimming events. The suburbs in which the entrants lived (as listed on the entry forms) were categorised into five groupings by average incomes as reported in the 1986 Australian Census. Analysis showed that, similar to previous findings with runners, competitors from the upper socioeconomic strata were overly represented in the swimming events. Least representation came from the lowest socioeconomic grouping.

An analysis was carried out on Medicare data to find out if there are inequalities in the geographical distribution of private psychiatric services in Australia. The number of psychiatric services and persons becoming patients per 100,000 population was calculated for each federal electorate for the year 1985/86 and related to social indicators derived from the 1986 census. As a comparison, services provided by consultant physicians were analyzed as well. The data were based on the electorate of the patient rather than the electorate of the practitioner. Consultant psychiatrist services were found to be received more often in high socio-economic status electorates and those with older populations, and less often in rural areas. A similar pattern was found for consultant physician services, although the relationship with socio-economic status was not as strong. Frequent psychiatric consultations of longer duration, which are an indicator of insight psychotherapy, were more common in higher socioeconomic status electorates. A limitation of the Medicare data is that they cover only private services. To overcome this limitation, a supplementary analysis was carried out on the distribution of consultations for mental disorders using data from the National Health Survey. These data confirmed that individuals of high socio-economic status with a mental disorder are more likely to receive specialist treatment.

The authors show how data from the 2% Sample of Anonymised Records (SAR) can be combined with data from the Small Area Statistics (SAS) database to investigate the causes of the ecological fallacy in an Enumeration District (ED) level analysis. A range of census variables are examined in three ‘SAR districts’ (local authority districts with populations of 120 000 or more, or combinations of contiguous districts with smaller populations) in England. Results of comparable analyses from the 1986 Australian census are also given. The ecological fallacy arises when results from an analysis based on area-level aggregate statistics are incorrectly assumed to apply at the individual level. In general the results are different because individuals in the same area tend to have similar characteristics: a phenomenon known as within-area homogeneity. A statistical model is presented which allows for within-area homogeneity. This model may be used to explain the effects of aggregation on variances, covariances, and correlations. A methodology is introduced which allows aggregate-level statistics to be adjusted by using individual-level information on those variables that explain much of the within-area homogeneity. This methodology appears to be effective in adjusting census data analyses, and the results suggest that the SAR is a valuable source of adjustment information for aggregate data analyses from census and other sources.

It is only since 1986 that relocatable dwellings in caravan parks have been recognised as a category of permanent residence for census purposes. This fact highlights the apparent invisibility of a small but significant proportion of the Australian population. Recent literature has implicated high differentiation of the population, urban sprawl, and high rates of internal (particularly intra-urban) migration in the transmission of disadvantage. In this article, staff of the National Dissemination Program of the Hunter Caravan Project apply that analysis to their own experience of caravan park residency issues. Some very practical suggestions are made for addressing some of those issues as they apply to children.

SummaryThis ecological study examines trends in socioeconomic differentials in mortality in New South Wales, Australia, over a 20-year period (1970–89). The proportion unskilled was used as the indicator of socioeconomic status and its selection justified. Using census data aggregated by Local Government Area, the relationship between mortality and socioeconomic status was examined using quintiles based on the proportion unskilled in the population. Local Government Areas were also sorted into quintiles using mortality rates (0–74 years) to describe change in mortality differentials over time. Socioeconomic differentials were more evident in the relatively homogeneous Local Government Areas within the Sydney Statistical Division than in the remaining NSW Statistical Divisions which are more heterogeneous and predominantly rural. Although there has been an overall decline in mortality for males and females, and for high and low status groups, over this period the relative socioeconomic differentials have not declined. For the most recent period (1985–89) there appears to be some widening of differentials for males. The NSW state trends are generally similar to those reported for Britain and for other industrialised countries, suggesting that this is a common trend and that policies to reduce inequalities have not been effective.

SummaryCodfish Island is the southernmost breeding location for Cook's Petrel (Pterodroma cookii), endemic to the New Zealand archipelago. To provide a population estimate and indication of population growth following introduced predator eradications we conducted an island-wide survey of Codfish Island within two a priori defined strata. Plot surveys revealed only five burrows within forest habitats from 175 plots surveyed and the locations of these and other burrows observed incidentally were used to identify three key areas of Cook's Petrel breeding activity that were subsequently surveyed using line transects. Within these areas, 42 burrows were counted with burrow densities ranging from 0.0003 to 0.002 burrows m−2. Burrow densities in conjunction with the three-dimensional surface areas of the surveyed locations suggested a minimum of 6,194 ± 956 burrows present and equated to approximately 5,000 (95% CI 3,000–6,000) breeding pairs, using a burrow occupancy estimate of 80%. The Cook's Petrel population on Codfish Island appears to have increased markedly since Weka (Gallirallis australis ) and Pacific Rat (Rattus exulans) were eradicated in 1980 and 1998 and is consistent with a recent upwards revision of the species' world population size of approximately 1,300,000 (900,000–1,800,000) individuals. Revised population data, and ongoing protection of Cook's Petrel's major breeding sites may now qualify the species for a revised conservation status moving from Endangered to Vulnerable under IUCN criteria.

Fur seal populations in the Southern Hemisphere were plundered in the late 1700s and early 1800s to provide fur for a clothing industry. Millions of seals were killed resulting in potentially major ecosystem changes across the Southern Hemisphere, the consequences of which are unknown today. Following more than a century of population suppression, partly through on-going harvesting, many of the fur seal populations started to recover in the late 1900s. Australian fur seals (Arctocephalus pusillus doriferus), one of the most geographically constrained fur seal species, followed this trend. From the 1940s to 1986, pup production remained at approximately 10,000 per year, then significant growth commenced. By 2007, live pup abundance had recovered to approximately 21,400 per year and recovery was expected to continue However, a species-wide survey in 2013 recorded a 20% decline, to approximately 16,500 live pups. It was not known if this decline was due to 2013 being a poor breeding year or a true population reduction. Here we report the results of a population-wide survey conducted in 2017 and annual monitoring at the most productive colony, Seal Rocks, Victoria that recorded a large decline in live pup abundance (-28%). Sustained lower pup numbers at Seal Rocks from annual counts between 2012–2017 (mean = 2908 ± 372 SD), as well as the population-wide estimate of 16,903 live pups in 2017, suggest that the pup numbers for the total population have remained at the lower level observed in 2013 and that the 5-yearly census results are not anomalies or representative of poor breeding seasons. Potential reasons for the decline, which did not occur range-wide but predominantly in the most populated and long-standing breeding sites, are discussed. To enhance adaptive management of this species, methods for future monitoring of the population are also presented. Australian fur seals occupy several distinct regions influenced by different currents and upwellings: range-wide pup abundance monitoring enables comparisons of ecosystem status across these regions. Forces driving change in Australian fur seal pup numbers are likely to play across other marine ecosystems, particularly in the Southern Hemisphere where most fur seals live.

Background: Down syndrome (DS) is the commonest of the congenital genetic defects whose incidence has been rising in recent years for unknown reasons. This study aims to assess the impact of substance and cannabinoid use on the DS Rate (DSR) and assess their possible causal involvement. Methods: An observational population-based epidemiological study 1986-2016 was performed utilizing geotemporospatial and causal inferential analysis. Participants included all patients diagnosed with DS and reported to state based registries with data obtained from National Birth Defects Prevention Network of Centers for Disease Control. Drug exposure data was from the National Survey of Drug Use and Health (NSDUH) a nationally representative sample interviewing 67,000 participants annually. Drug exposures assessed were: cigarette consumption, alcohol abuse, analgesic/opioid abuse, cocaine use and last month cannabis use. Covariates included ethnicity and median household income from US Census Bureau; maternal age of childbearing from CDC births registries; and cannabinoid concentrations from Drug Enforcement Agency. Results: NSDUH reports 74.1% response rate. Other data was population-wide. DSR was noted to rise over time and with cannabis use and cannabis-use quintile. In the optimal geospatial model lagged to four years terms including Δ9-tetrahydrocannabinol and cannabigerol were significant (from β-est. = 4189.96 (95%C.I. 1924.74, 6455.17), p = 2.9 × 10−4). Ethnicity, income, and maternal age covariates were not significant. DSR in states where cannabis was not illegal was higher than elsewhere (β-est. = 2.160 (1.5, 2.82), R.R. = 1.81 (1.51, 2.16), p = 4.7 × 10−10). In inverse probability-weighted mixed models terms including cannabinoids were significant (from β-estimate = 18.82 (16.82, 20.82), p < 0.0001). 62 E-value estimates ranged to infinity with median values of 303.98 (IQR 2.50, 2.75 × 107) and 95% lower bounds ranged to 1.1 × 1071 with median values of 10.92 (IQR 1.82, 7990). Conclusions. Data show that the association between DSR and substance- and cannabinoid- exposure is robust to multivariable geotemporospatial adjustment, implicate particularly cannabigerol and Δ9-tetrahydrocannabinol, and fulfil quantitative epidemiological criteria for causality. Nevertheless, detailed experimental studies would be required to formally demonstrate causality. Cannabis legalization was associated with elevated DSR’s at both bivariate and multivariable analysis. Findings are consistent with those from Hawaii, Colorado, Canada, Australia and Europe and concordant with several cellular mechanisms. Given that the cannabis industry is presently in a rapid growth-commercialization phase the present findings linking cannabis use with megabase scale genotoxicity suggest unrecognized DS risk factors, are of public health importance and suggest that re-focussing the cannabis debate on multigenerational health concerns is prudent.

The highest reed (Phragmites altissimus) is a species with Eurasian-North African range, recently expanding its area of distribution in northern direction (Kapitonova, 2016; Golovanov et al., 2019; Tzvelev, Probatova, 2019). It is known that in the forest zone of both the European and Asian parts of Russia, the highest reed is found only as an invasive plant (Tzvelev, 2011). Communities dominated by P. altissimus are known both within its natural range and in the area of invasion. However, in syntaxonomic reviews, cenoses with this species dominanation are traditionally included by the authors in the ass. Phragmitetum australis Savich 1926 (Golub et al., 1991, 2015; Golub, Chorbadze, 1995; Kipriyanova, 2008; Vegetaсе…, 2011; Golovanov, Abramova, 2012; Chepinoga, 2015). The aim of this work is to establish the syntaxonomic status of communities formed by P. altissimus. The work used 65 geobotanical relevés made within the primary range of the P. altissimus (Astrakhan region and the south of the Tyumen region within the forest-steppe zone) and in the area of its secondary range (the Udmurtian Republic and the taiga zone of the Tyumen region). The relevés were introduced into database developed on the basis of the TURBOVEG program (Hennekens, 1996) and processed using the JUICE program (Tichý, 2002). To assess the abundance of species on the sample plots described, the J. Braun-Blanquet abundance scale was used with the following abundance-coverage scores: r — the species is extremely rare with insignificant coverage, + — the species is rare, the degree of coverage is small, 1 — the number of individuals is large, the degree of coverage is small or the individuals are sparse, but the coverage is large, 2 — the number of individuals is large, the projective cover is from 5 to 25 %, 3 — the number of individuals is any, the projective cover is from 25 to 50 %, 4 — the number of individuals is any, the projective cover is from 50 to 75 %, the number of individuals is any, the cover is more than 75 % (Mirkin et al., 1989). Syntaxonomic analysis was performed using the approach suggested by J. Braun-Blanquet (1964). The names of syntaxa are given according to the “International Code of Phytosociological Nomenclature” (Theurillat et al., 2021). The system of higher syntaxa is given in accordance with “Hierarchical floristic classification…” (Mucina et al., 2016). To identify the main factors determining the differentiation and distribution of the studied communities, the NMDS method was used. For each syntaxon, using the IBIS program (Zverev, 2007), the average indicator values were calculated according to the ecological scales of D. N. Tsyganov (Tsyganov, 1983): soil moisture (Hd), soil nitrogen richness (Nt), and illumination-shading (Lc). Processing was carried out in the PC-ORD v. 6.0 (McCune et Mefford, 2011). The studied communities were assigned to the new ass. Phragmitetum altissimi, 4 subassociations, and 7 variants. The nomenclature type of association is relevé N 20 in Table 3. It is shown that in the communities of the ass. Phragmitetum altissimi, the number of species ranges from 1 to 15 (in average 4). The total projective cover varies from 20 to 100 %. The height of the herbage is 2–5 m; four to five substages are distinguished in it. In the first substage, in addition to P. altissimus, the presence of large cattails (Typha austro-orientalis, T. linnaei, T. latifolia, T. tichomirovii), as well as tall grasses (Calamagrostis pseudophragmites, Phalaroides arundinacea) and Scirpus hippolyti was recorded. The second substage is formed by grasses of medium height (up to 0.8–1 m): Carex riparia, Sparganium erectum, Oenanthe aquatica, Stachys palustris, Lythrum salicaria, Althaea officinalis, Persicaria maculata, P. minor, Cirsium setosum, much less often — Impatiens glandulifera, Urtica dioica, etc. The third substage is not always developed, as a rule, it is very sparse, formed by surface hygrophilic grasses usually no more than 10–20 (25) cm in height (Rorippa amphibia, Galium palustre, Potentilla reptans, Tussilago farfara). The fourth substage is usually sparse; it is formed by rooting (Nymphaea alba) or non-rooting (Salvinia natans, Lemna minor, L. turionifera, Spirodela polyrhiza, Hydrocharis morsus-ranae) hydrophytes floating on the water surface. The fifth substage is formed by non-rooting hydrophytes completely submerged in water (Lemna trisulca, Ceratophyllum demersum), as well as Drepanocladus aduncus and Cladophora sp. Often are out-of-tier vinegrasses (Calystegia sepium, Cynanchum acutum); sprouts of willows (Salix cinerea, S. alba) are also quite common. Communities dominated by P. altissimus are formed in coastal shallow waters, including swampy, stagnant or weakly flowing water bodies with stable or slightly fluctuating water level, with tight bottom or small, sometimes quite thick layer of silty-detrital deposits. Communities also are formed on damp or swampy shores, including disturbed, permanent or temporarily drying water bodies. In anthropogenic habitats, they are developed in watered and damp depressions (ditches), in shallow waters and damp banks of ponds, reservoirs, man-made water bodies, excavations, and watered quarries. Cenoses of the subass. P. a. typicum (Fig. 2) are formed on coastal shallow waters and damp shores of permanent or temporarily drying water bodies, including disturbed ones. Communities of the subass. P. a. caricetosum ripariae are characteristic of swampy coastal areas and swampy shores of water bodies with stable or slightly fluctuating water level; they are distinguished by sparse and relatively low upper substage of the herbage composed of P. altissimus. Communities of the subass. P. a. phalaroidetosum arundinaceae, which occcur in coastal shallow waters (up to 5–10 cm deep) and damp shores of water bodies, are characterized by rather dense upper substage of herbage and temporary drying of the substrate during the growing season. Communities of the subass. P. a. lemnetosum trisulcae are formed in water bodies, the water level in which is subject to fluctuations during the growing season; they are characterized by dense substage of grasses submerged in water and significant thickness of silty bottom sediments.. Communities of the ass. Phragmitetum altissimi are distributed within the primary range of P. altissimus — in the south of the European part of Russia (Astrakhan region) and in the forest-steppe zone of Western Siberia (Tyumen region). They are also found in the area of invasion of the highest reed — in the east of the Russian Plain (Udmurtian Republic), in the taiga zone of Western Siberia (Tyumen region) (Fig. 1). In the secondary range of the highest reed, only cenoses attributed to the subass. P. a. typicum are recorded. Communities belonging to all four subassociations are widespread within the primary range of P. altissimus on the territory of the European part of Russia.

The present study aimed to estimate the trend in road traffic injury mortality in older adults (60 years of age or older) and comparison with those <60 years of age in Ecuador (1990-2018). Official death records and population projections were used to calculate mortality rates per 100,000 population, rate ratios, years of potential life lost (YPLL), and trends. Those under 60 years of age had mortality rates of 16.7 (per 100,000) compared to 36.2 (per 100,000) for older adults, with an increasing trend in YPLL. Older adults recorded fewer deaths than the younger population. However, it is necessary to develop road safety strategies oriented to the progressive aging of the Ecuadorian population. Keywords: older adults, traffic accidents, mortality, trends, Ecuador. References [1]World Health Organization (2018, May 17). Global Status Report on Road Safety 2018 [Online]. Available: https://www.who.int/violence_injury_prevention/road_safety_status/2018/en/ [2]A. F. Algora-Buenafé, M. Russo-Puga, P. R. Suasnavas-Bermúdez, P. Merino-Salazar and A. R. Gómez-García,"Tendencias de los accidentes de tránsito en Ecuador: 2000-2015", Gerencia y Políticas de Salud, vol. 16, n.º 33, pp. 52–58, noviembre de 2017. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.11144/javeriana.rgps16-33.tate. [Last Access: September 2nd, 2021 ]. [3]Pan American Health Organization (2019, June 22). Status of Road Safety in the Region of the Americas [Online]. Available: http://iris.paho.org/xmlui/handle/123456789/51088. [4]S. J. Eun, "Trends in mortality from road traffic injuries in South Korea, 1983–2017: Joinpoint regression and age-period-cohort analyses", Accident Analysis &Prevention, vol. 134, p. 105325, January 2020. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.aap.2019.105325. [Last Access: September 2nd, 2021 ]. [5]S. Azami-Aghdash, M. H. Aghaei, and H. 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Weigelt, "A single urban center experience with adult pedestrians struck by motor vehicles", WMJ:official publication of the State Medical Society of Wisconsin, vol. 112(3), pp. 117-122, 2013. [13]K. Bhalla, M. Naghavi, S. Shahraz, D. Bartels and C. J. L. Murray, "Building national estimates of the burden of road traffic injuries in developing countries from all available data sources: Iran", Injury Prevention, vol. 15, n.º 3, pp. 150–156, June 2009. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1136/ip.2008.020826. [Last Access: October 1st, 2021]. [14]D. Bartels, K. Bhalla, S. Shahraz, J. Abraham, R. Lozano and C. J. L. Murray, "Incidence of road injuries in Mexico: country report", International Journal of Injury Control and Safety Promotion, vol. 17, n.º 3, pp. 169–176, September 2010. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1080/17457300903564553. [Last Access: November 16th, 2021]. [15]W. R. Boot, C. Stothart and N. Charness, "Improving the Safety of Aging Road Users: A Mini-Review", Gerontology, vol. 60, n.º 1, pp. 90–96, 2014. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1159/000354212. [Last Access: November 6th, 2021] [16]Y. L. Michael, E. P. Whitlock, J. S. Lin, R. Fu, E. A. O'Connor and R. Gold, "Primary Care–Relevant Interventions to Prevent Falling in Older Adults: A Systematic Evidence Review for the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force", Annals of Internal Medicine, vol. 153, n.º 12, p. 815, December 2010. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.7326/0003-4819-153-12-201012210-00008.[Last Access: November 29th, 2021] [17]H. Etehad, S. Yousefzadeh-Chabok, A. Davoudi-Kiakalaye, D. A. Moghadam, H. Hemati and Z. Mohtasham-Amiri, "Impact of road traffic accidents on the elderly", Archives of Gerontology and Geriatrics, vol. 61, n.º 3, pp. 489–493, November de 2015. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.archger.2015.08.008. [Last Access: November 3th, 2021]. [18]B. H. Ang, W. S. Chen and S. W. H. Lee, "Global burden of road traffic accidents in older adults: A systematic review and meta-regression analysis", Archives of Gerontology and Geriatrics, vol. 72, pp. 32–38, September 2017. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.archger.2017.05.004. [Last Access: December 19th, 2021] [19]J. P. Thompson, M. R. J. Baldock and J. K. Dutschke, "Trends in the crash involvement of older drivers in Australia", Accident Analysis & Prevention, vol. 117, pp. 262–269, August 2018. [Online]. Available: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.aap.2018.04.027. [Last Access: December 16th, 2021].

IntroductionThe population of Australia at the very highest ages is growing rapidly, like that of many countries. But official population estimates at these ages are of lower quality than those at younger ages, a problem shared by many countries which base their population estimates on census counts. This has implications for many uses of the data, especially rates for which the estimates provide denominators. ObjectiveThe aims of this paper are to (1) present new population estimates of Australia’s centenarian population (those aged 100 years and above) for 1981 to 2016 which are better quality than official statistics, and (2) illustrate the utility of such estimates as rate denominators by calculating centenarian death rates. MethodsPopulation estimates at the highest ages were prepared using a combination of the Extinct Cohort method and a modified Survivor Ratio method. The key modifications of the latter involve projecting and smoothing Survivor Ratios within an iterative set of calculations. Death rates were calculated as standard occurrence/exposure rates. Input data of deaths and official Estimated Resident Populations were obtained from the Australian Bureau of Statistics. ResultsWe show that Australia’s centenarian population grew from about 500 in 1981 to just over 3,900 by 2016, equivalent to an annual average growth rate of 5.9%. Centenarian death rates for the 1981-2016 period remained roughly steady, averaging 0.44 for females and 0.51 for males. ConclusionsOur modified approach adds a degree of stability to the Survivor Ratio method and yields high-quality population estimates and death rates at advanced ages. It could easily be implemented by national statistical offices.

This article addresses Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health problems and critically investigates current government policies which are attempting to raise the health standards of these Indigenous people. Particular emphasis will be placed on the Queensland Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population, which, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics census in 1986, stood at just over 61,000 or 2.4 per cent of the State's population.

IntroductionThe enrolment data for Medicare, the Australian universal health insurance provider, covers almost the entire population. Medicare data are commonly used for data linkage, usually to access national medical and pharmaceutical data. However, the enrolment data also enable the identification of geographical cohorts for studies analysing exposure to environmental hazards. Objectives and ApproachOne example of this was the ACT Asbestos Health Study examining the health risks associated with living in houses insulated with loose-fill asbestos in the Australian Capital Territory. The Medicare Enrolment File contains the personal details and addresses of all people enrolled since 1984, including all updates to these details. We linked these data to a register of ~1100 affected properties, with subsequent linkage to the national death index and the Australian Cancer Database. We estimated Standardized Incidence Ratios (SIR) for selected cancers in people living in these houses to obtain a measure of exposure to environmental risk within the population. ResultsAfter intensive cleaning and standardisation, nearly all (99.8%) of the affected addresses were linked. There were over one million people who had at least one ACT address between 1983 and 2013, and 2% of these had lived at an affected address and classified as exposed. The adjusted incidence of mesothelioma in exposed males was 2·5 times that of unexposed males (SIR 2·54, 95% CI 1·02–5·24), and there were some statistically significant results. The study population, number of deaths and cancers of interest were validated against the ACT census and registry figures. There were some limitations in coverage due to the period of available data, the frequency of address updates, and records with postal rather than residential addresses, but these were tested by sensitivity analyses. Conclusion/ImplicationsThe study demonstrates the power of data linkage to (a) obtain a measure of exposure to an environmental risk within a population, and (b) obtain outcomes for the resulting case and control cohorts. This method could be applied in other risk studies where exposure is based on geography.

AbstractAt world level, the current official number of large camelids cannot be determined exactly (it is estimated to be more than 35 million heads), and the role of camels in the livestock economy is highly variable. The only reliable statistics are provided by FAO since 1961. According to these data, five different patterns of demographic changes have been observed. In countries marked by a regular or drastic decline of their camelid population, a tendency to re-increase has been in force since the beginning of the century, except in India. Generally, countries marked by a sharp recent increase in their large camelid population have implemented a census and readjusted their data. Many inconsistencies occur in available data, most notably cases arising from changes occurring in state status (for example secession of Eritrea, Soviet Union collapse). Moreover, large camelid stocks in Australia, in countries of new camel establishment (Western countries) and those related to the expansion of camel farming, notably in Africa, are not recorded in the international database. In addition, there is no distinction between dromedary and Bactrian data. The present large camelid population in the world is probably more than 40 million and could reach 60 million after 25 years from now if the current demographic trend is maintained.

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. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London and New York: Routledge, 2006. Cesari, Jocelyne. “Muslim Minorities in Europe: The Silent Revolution.” In John L. Esposito and Burgat, eds., Modernising Islam: Religion in the Public Sphere in Europe and the Middle East. London: Hurst, 2003. 251-269. Chulov, Martin. “Treatment Has Sheik Wary of Returning Home.” Weekend Australian 6-7 Jan. 2007: 2. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. Seattle: University of Washington, 1997. Doogue, Geraldine, and Peter Kirkwood. Tomorrow’s Islam: Uniting Old-Age Beliefs and a Modern World. Sydney: ABC Books, 2005. Esposito, John. The Islamic Threat: Myth or Reality? 3rd ed. New York, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. Farrar, Max. “When the Bombs Go Off: Rethinking and Managing Diversity Strategies in Leeds, UK.” International Journal of Diversity in Organisations, Communities and Nations 6.5 (2007): 63-68. Grillo, Ralph. “Islam and Transnationalism.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30.5 (Sep. 2004): 861-878. Hall, Stuart. Polity Reader in Cultural Theory. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994. Huntington, Samuel, P. The Clash of Civilisation and the Remaking of World Order. London: Touchstone, 1998. Husain, Ed. The Islamist: Why I Joined Radical Islam in Britain, What I Saw inside and Why I Left. London: Penguin, 2007. Kabir, Nahid. Muslims in Australia: Immigration, Race Relations and Cultural History. London: Kegan Paul, 2005. ———. “What Does It Mean to Be Un-Australian: Views of Australian Muslim Students in 2006.” People and Place 15.1 (2007): 62-79. Khan, Shahnaz. Aversion and Desire: Negotiating Muslim Female Identity in the Diaspora. Toronto: Women’s Press, 2002. Manji, Irshad. The Trouble with Islam Today. Canada:Vintage, 2005. Maslow, Abraham. Motivation and Personality. New York: Harper, 1954. O’Sullivan, J. “The Real British Disease.” Quadrant (Jan.-Feb. 2006): 14-20. Poynting, Scott, and Victoria Mason. “The Resistible Rise of Islamophobia: Anti-Muslim Racism in the UK and Australia before 11 September 2001.” Journal of Sociology 43.1 (2007): 61-86. Saeed, Abdallah. Islam in Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2003. Smith, Anthony D. National Identity. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1991. Spencer, Philip, and Howard Wollman. Nationalism: A Critical Introduction. London: Sage, 2002. Vertovec, Stevens. The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns. London: Routledge. 2000. Werbner, Pnina, “Theorising Complex Diasporas: Purity and Hybridity in the South Asian Public Sphere in Britain.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30.5 (2004): 895-911. Wood, Dennis. “The Diaspora, Community and the Vagrant Space.” In Cynthia Vanden Driesen and Ralph Crane, eds., Diaspora: The Australasian Experience. New Delhi: Prestige, 2005. 59-64. Zubaida, Sami. “Islam in Europe: Unity or Diversity.” Critical Quarterly 45.1-2 (2003): 88-98. 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>.

IntroductionMusicians and critics regard Australian jazz as vibrant and creative (Shand; Chessher; Rechniewski). From its tentative beginnings in the early twentieth century (Whiteoak), jazz has become a major aspect of Australia’s music and performance. Due to the large distances separating cities and towns, its development has been influenced by geographical isolation (Nikolsky; Chessher; Clare; Johnson; Stevens; McGuiness). While major cities have been the central hubs, it is increasingly acknowledged that regional centres also provide avenues for jazz performance (Curtis).This article discusses findings relating to transient musical populations shaped by geographical conditions, venue issues that are peculiar to the Northern region, and finally the challenges of cultural and parochial mindsets that North Queensland jazz musicians encounter in performance.Cairns and MackayCairns and Mackay are regional centres on the coast of Queensland, Australia. Cairns – population 156,901 in 2016 (ABS) – is a world famous tourist destination situated on the doorstep of the Great Barrier Reef (Thorp). Mackay – population 114,969 in 2016 (ABS) – is a lesser-known community with an economy largely underpinned by the sugar cane and coal mining industries (Rolfe et al. 138). Both communities lie North of the capital city Brisbane – Mackay in the heart of Central Queensland, and Cairns as the unofficial capital of Far North Queensland. Mackay and Cairns were selected for this study, not on representational grounds, but because they provide an opportunity to learn through case studies. Stake notes that “potential for learning is a different and sometimes superior criterion to representativeness,” adding, “that may mean taking the one most accessible or the one we can spend the most time with (451).”Musically, both regional centres have a number of venues that promote live music, however, only Cairns has a dedicated jazz club, the Cairns Jazz Club (CJC). Each has a community convention centre that brings high-calibre touring musicians to the region, including jazz musicians.Mackay is home to the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music (CQCM) a part of the Central Queensland University that has offered conservatoire-style degree programs in jazz, contemporary music and theatre for over twenty-five years. Cairns does not have any providers of tertiary jazz qualifications.MethodologySemi-structured in-depth interviews were conducted with twenty-two significant individuals associated with the jazz communities in Mackay and Cairns over a twelve-month period from 2015 to 2016. Twelve of the interviewees were living in Cairns at the time, and ten were living in Mackay. The selection of interviewees was influenced by personal knowledge of key individuals, historical records located at the CQCM, and from a study by (Mitchell), who identified important figures in the Cairns jazz scene. The study participants included members of professional jazz ensembles, dedicated jazz audience members and jazz educators. None of the participants who were interviewed relied solely on the performance of jazz as their main occupation. All of the musicians combined teaching duties with music-making in several genres including rock, jazz, Latin and funk, as well as work in the recording and producing of recorded music. Combining the performance of jazz and commercial musical styles is a common and often crucial part of being a musician in a regional centre due to the low demand for any one specific genre (Luckman et al. 630). The interview data that was gathered during the study’s data collection phase was analysed for themes using the grounded theory research method (Charmaz). The following sections will discuss three areas of findings relating to some of the unique North Queensland influences that have impacted the development and sustainability of the two regional jazz communities.Transient Musical PopulationsThe prospect of living in North Queensland is an alluring proposition for many people. According to the participants in this study, the combination of work and a tropical lifestyle attracts people from all over the country to Cairns and Mackay, but this influx is matched by a high population turnover. Many musicians who move into the region soon move away again. High population turnover is a characteristic of several Northern regional centres such as the city of Darwin (Luckman, Gibson and Lea 12). The high growth and high population turnover in Cairns, in particular, was one of the highest in the country between 2006 and 2011 (ABS). The study participants in both regions believed that the transient nature of the local population is detrimental to the development and sustainability of the jazz communities. One participant described the situation in Cairns this way: “The tropics sort of lure them up there, tease them with all of the beauty and nature, and then spit them out when they realise it’s not what they imagined (interviewee 1, 24 Aug. 2016).” Looking more broadly to other coastal regional areas of Australia, there is evidence of the counter-urban flow of professionals and artists seeking out a region’s “natural and cultural environment” (Gibson 339). On the far North coast of New South Wales, Gibson examined how the climate, natural surroundings and cultural charms attracted city dwellers to that region (337). Similarly, most of the participants in this study mentioned lifestyle choices such as raising a family and living in the tropics as reasons to move to Cairns or Mackay. The prospect of working in the tourism and hospitality industry was found to be another common reason for musicians to move to Cairns in particular. In contrast to some studies (Salazar; Conradson and Latham) where it was found that the middle- to upper-classes formed the majority of lifestyle migrants, the migrating musicians identified by this study were mostly low-income earners seeking a combination of music work and other types of employment outside the music industry. There have been studies that have explored and critically reviewed the theoretical frameworks behind lifestyle migration (Benson and Osbaldiston) including the examination of issues and the motivation to ‘lifestyle migrate’. What is interesting in this current study is the focus of discussion on the post-migration effects. Study participants believe that most of the musicians who move into their region leave soon afterwards because of their disillusionment with the local music industry. Despite the lure of musical jobs through the tourism and hospitality industry, local musicians in Cairns tend to believe there is less work than imagined. Pub rock duos and DJs have taken most of the performance opportunities, which makes it hard for new musicians to compete.The study also reveals that Cairns jazz musicians consider it more difficult to find and collaborate with quality newcomers. This may be attributed to the smaller jazz communities’ demand for players of specific instruments. One participant explained, “There’s another bass player that just moved here, but he only plays by ear, so when people want to play charts and new songs, he can’t do it so it's hard finding the right guys up here at times (interviewee 2, 23 Aug. 2016).” Cairns and Mackay participants agreed that the difficulty of finding and retaining quality musicians in the region impacted on the ability of certain groups to be sustainable. One participant added, “It’s such a small pool of musicians, at the moment, I've got a new project ready to go and I've got two percussionists, but I need a bass player, but there is no bass player that I'm willing to work with (interviewee 3, 24 Aug. 2016).” The same participant has been fortunate over the years, performing with a different local group whose members have permanently stayed in the Cairns region, however, forging new musical pathways and new groups seemed challenging due to the lack of musical skills in some of the potential musicians.In Mackay, the study revealed a smaller influx of new musicians to the region, and study participants experienced the same difficulties forming groups and retaining members as their Cairns counterparts. One participant, who found it difficult to run a Big Band as well as a smaller jazz ensemble because of the transient population, claimed that many local musicians were lured to metropolitan centres for university or work.Study participants in both Northern centres appeared to have developed a tolerance and adaptability for their regional challenges. While this article does not aim to suggest a solution to the issues they described, one interesting finding that emerged in both Cairns and Mackay was the musicians’ ability to minimise some of the effects of the transient population. Some musicians found that it was more manageable to sustain a band by forming smaller groups such as duos, trios and quartets. An example was observed in Mackay, where one participant’s Big Band was a standard seventeen-piece group. The loss of players was a constant source of anxiety for the performers. Changing to a smaller ensemble produced a sense of sustainability that satisfied the group. In Cairns, one participant found that if the core musicians in the group (bass, drums and vocals) were permanent local residents, they could manage to use musicians passing through the region, which had minimal impact on the running of the group. For example, the Latin band will have different horn players sit in from time to time. When those performers leave, the impact on the group is minimal because the rhythm section is comprised of long-term Cairns residents.Venue Conditions Heat UpAt the Cape York Hotel in Cairns, musicians and audience members claimed that it was uncomfortable to perform or attend Sunday afternoon jazz gigs during the Cairns summer due to the high temperatures and non air-conditioned venues. This impact of the physical environment on the service process in a venue was first modelled and coined the ‘Servicescape’ by Bitner (57). The framework, which includes physical dimensions like temperature, noise, space/function and signage, has also been further investigated in other literature (Minor et al.; Kubacki; Turley and Fugate). This model is relevant to this study because it clearly affects the musician’s ability to perform music in the Northern climate and attract audiences. One of the regular musicians at the Cape York Hotel commented: So you’re thinking, ‘Well, I’m starting to create something here, people are starting to show up’, but then you see it just dwindling away and then you get two or three weeks of hideously hot weather, and then like last Sunday, by the time I went on in the first set, my shirt was sticking to me like tissue paper… I set up a gig, a three-hour gig with my trio, and if it’s air conditioned you’re likely to get people but if it’s like the Cape York, which is not air conditioned, and you’re out in the beer garden with a tin roof over the top with big fans, it’s hideous‘. (Interviewee 4, 24 Aug. 2016)The availability of venues that offer live jazz is limited in both regions. The issue was twofold: firstly, the limited availability of a larger venue to cater for the ensembles was deemed problematic; and secondly, the venue manager needed to pay for the services of the club, which contributed to its running costs. In Cairns, the Cape York Hotel has provided the local CJC with an outdoor beer garden as a venue for their regular Sunday performances since 2015. The president of the CJC commented on the struggle for the club to find a suitable venue for their musicians and patrons. The club has had residencies in multiple venues over the last thirty years with varying success. It appears that the club has had to endure these conditions in order to provide their musicians and audiences an outlet for jazz performance. This dedication to their art form and sense of resilience appears to be a regular theme for these Northern jazz musicians.Minor et al. (7) recommended that live music organisers needed to consider offering different physical environments for different events (7). For example, a venue that caters for a swing band might include a dance floor for potential dancers or if a venue catered for a sit down jazz show, the venue might like to choose the best acoustic environment to best support the sound of the ensemble. The research showed that customers have different reasons for attending events, and in relation to the Cape York Hotel, the majority of the customers were the CJC members who simply wanted to enjoy their jazz club performances in an air conditioned environment with optimal acoustics as the priority. Although not ideal, the majority of the CJC members still attended during the summer months and endured the high temperatures due to a lack of venue suitability.Parochial MindsetsOne of the challenging issues faced by many of the participants in both regions was the perceived cultural divide between jazz aficionados and general patrons at many venues. While larger centres in Australia have enjoyed an international reputation as creative hubs for jazz such as Melbourne and Sydney (Shand), the majority of participants in this study believed that a significant portion of the general public is quite parochial in their views on various musical styles including jazz. Coined the ‘bogan factor’, one participant explained, “I call it the bogan factor. Do you think that's an academic term? It is now” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). They also commented on dominant cultural choices of residents in these regions: “It's North Queensland, it's a sport orientated, 4WD dominated place. Culturally they are the main things that people are attracted to” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). These cultural preferences appear to affect the performance opportunities for the participants in Cairns and Mackay.Waitt and Gibson explored how the Wollongong region was chosen as an area for investigation to see if city size mattered for creativity and creativity-led regeneration (1224). With the ‘Creative Class’ framework in mind (Florida), the researchers found that Wollongong’s primarily blue-collar industrial identity was a complex mixture of cultural pursuits including the arts, sport and working class ideals (Waitt and Gibson 1241). This finding is consistent with the comments of study participants from Cairns and Mackay who believed that the identities of their regions were strongly influenced by sport and industries like mining and farming. One Mackay participant added, “I think our culture, in itself, would need to change to turn more people to jazz. I can’t see that happening. That’s Australia. You’re fighting against 200 years of sport” (interviewee 6, 12 Feb. 2016). Performing in Mackay or Cairns in venues that attract various demographics can make it difficult for musicians playing jazz. A Cairns participant added, “As Ingrid James once told me, ‘It's North Queensland, you’ve got an audience of tradesman, they don't get it’. It's silly to think it's going to ever change” (interviewee 7, 26 Aug. 2016). One Mackay participant believed that the lack of appreciation for jazz in regional areas was largely due to a lack of exposure to the art form. Most people grow up listening to other styles of music in their households.Another participant made the point that regardless of the region’s cultural and leisure-time preferences, if a jazz band is playing in a football club, you must expect it to be unpopular. Many of the research participants emphasised that playing in a suitable venue is paramount for developing a consistent and attentive audience. Choosing a venue that values and promotes the style of jazz music that the musicians are performing could help to attract more jazz fans and therefore build a sustainable jazz community.Refreshingly, this study revealed that musicians in both regions showed considerable resilience in dealing with the issue of parochial mindsets, and they have implemented methods to help educate their audiences. The audience plays a significant part in the development and future of a jazz community (Becker; Martin). For the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music in Mackay, part of the ethos of the institution is to provide music performance and educational opportunities to the region. One of the lecturers who made a significant contribution to the design of the ensemble program had a clear vision to combine jazz and popular music styles in order to connect with a regional audience. He explained, “The popular music strand of the jazz program and what we called the commercial ensembles was very much birthed out of that concept of creating a connection with the community and making us more accessible in the shortest amount of time, which then enabled us to expose people to jazz” (interviewee 8, 20 Mar. 2016).In a similar vein, several Cairns musicians commented on how they engaged with their audiences through education. Some musicians attempted to converse with the patrons on the comparative elements of jazz and non-jazz styles, which helped to instil some appreciation in patrons with little jazz knowledge. One participant cited that although not all patrons were interested in an education at a pub, some became regular attendees and showed greater appreciation for the different jazz styles. These findings align with other studies (Radbourne and Arthurs; Kubacki; Kubacki et al.), who found that audiences tend to return to arts organizations or events more regularly if they feel connected to the experience (Kubacki et al. 409).ConclusionThe Cairns and Mackay jazz musicians who were interviewed in this study revealed some innovative approaches for sustaining their art form in North Queensland. The participants discussed creative solutions for minimising the influence of a transient musician population as well as overcoming some of the parochial mindsets in the community through education. The North Queensland summer months proved to be a struggle for musicians and audience members alike in Cairns in particular, but resilience and commitment to the music and the social network of jazz performers seemed to override this obstacle. Although this article presents just a subset of the findings from a study of the development and sustainability of the jazz communities in Mackay and Cairns, it opens the way for further investigation into the unique issues faced. Deeper understanding of these issues could contribute to the ongoing development and sustainability of jazz communities in regional Australia.ReferencesAustralian Bureau of Statistics. "Mackay (Statistical Area 2), Cairns (R) (Statistical Local Area), Census 2016." Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics.———. "Perspectives on Regional Australia: Population Growth and Turnover in Local Government Areas (Lgas), 2006-2011." Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics.Becker, H. Art Worlds. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1982.Benson, Michaela, and Nick Osbaldiston. "Toward a Critical Sociology of Lifestyle Migration: Reconceptualizing Migration and the Search for a Better Way of Life." The Sociological Review 64.3 (2016): 407-23.Bitner, Mary Jo. 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The World Health Organisation has noted the ageing of the world’s population and has emphasised the growing need for older people’s needs to be considered in a range of contexts (WHO 1999, 2001). In Australia, people over the age of 65 currently constitute approximately 13% of the population (Australian Bureau of Statistics [ABS] 2002), but this number is expected to increase to 24% by 2051 (ABS 1999). As our population ages it will become increasingly necessary to cater to the particular needs of older audiences. This will involve a change in attitudes as the needs of this group have been largely neglected in western cultures and older people continue to be largely invisible in the media (Grossman 1998; Napoli 2002; Thomas and Wolfe 1995). The ubiquity of the written word and our reliance on this medium in almost every aspect of our lives signifies its importance in modern life. Reliance can become problematic when individuals experience difficulties in comprehending text-based communications (Akutsu, Legge, Ross, and Schuebel 1991). This article explains the problems older people can experience when attempting to read text and provides recommendations to enable communicators to enhance text comprehension among older audiences. Older audiences Older people tend to feel generally neglected by the media (Chafetz et al 1998). Previous studies have found that older people are not represented in line with their numbers (Szmigin and Carrigan 2001), and that negative stereotyping of older people is common in the media (de Luce 2001; Nielson and Curry 1997). This cultural bias is reflected in inadequate knowledge and accommodation of the special needs of older audiences when it comes to comprehending text. This has implications not just for the access of older people to sources of news and entertainment, but also for their ability to obtain information important to their health and well-being. Written materials such as brochures are frequently used to disseminate health-related information to older people (Clark et al 1999), and as such there is a need to ensure that we understand how to use text effectively for older audiences. Biological changes Quality of eyesight is closely correlated with age (Wahl and Heyl 2003). Deterioration in eyesight usually becomes noticeable in our 40s and 50s (Stuen and Faye 2003). Stuen and Faye (2003) have described the process by which the structure of the eye changes with age. They note that the lens of the eye thickens, hardens, and becomes yellowish in colour. Reduced elasticity in the lens and a tendency for the cornea to scatter light makes it more difficult for older people to focus their eyes, making reading problematic. The pupil shrinks with age, allowing smaller amounts of light to filter into the eye to assist with vision. This results in the need for brighter reading conditions, but not too bright as glare can also interfere with light entering the deteriorating cornea. As well as physical alterations to the eye, changes in cognitive capacity are also closely associated with ageing (Spotts and Schewe 1989). Wahl and Heyl (2003) postulate that the ageing of the central nervous system results in the deterioration of the neural pathways to the brain resulting in slower cognitive processing, including the processing of visual stimuli. Attentional capacity reduces with age, which means cognitive processing becomes more demanding (Moschis 1992). The outcome of these changes is that the older person experiences increasing difficulty in absorbing new information and evaluating unfamiliar stimuli (Moschis 1994). In particular, it appears more difficult for older audiences to remember new information that contradicts previously learned information (Rice and Okun 1994). Despite these changes in cognitive capacity, older people are reported as being able to assimilate information effectively if given ample time to do so (Moschis 1992; Tongren 1988). In addition, ensuring that new information relates to existing knowledge is likely to enhance comprehension and retention (Clark et al. 1999; Rice and Okun 1994). Implications for text style and presentation Age-related changes in visual acuity and cognitive processing result in the need for modifications in styles and presentation of text to maximise comprehension by older audiences. In terms of text style, font size may need to be slightly larger (Braus 1995), but not too large as people of all ages can experience reading difficulties when text is too large or too small (Akutsu et al. 1991). There are warnings against the use of all upper-case text as this impacts negatively on readability (Braus 1995). Colour may need to be manipulated to maximise contrasts to facilitate text discernment (Fairley et al 1997; Spotts and Schewe 1989). Black on white provides a high level of contrast, while shades of the same colour (for example, dark brown on light brown) provide much lower levels of contrast. Colours in the blue-green range can be particularly difficult for older eyes to discern (Braus 1995; Spotts and Schewe 1989). The use of bright colours such as red, orange, and yellow are recommended as they are relatively easy to distinguish (Clark et al. 1999). Text should be printed on matte rather than glossy paper and presented in non-glare environments to enhance readability (Braus 1995; Spotts and Schewe 1989). In terms of text presentation, the emphasis is on selecting an appropriate message and locating it carefully. There is general consensus that information should be confined to a small number of important points that are communicated simply and explicitly (Clark et al. 1999; Rice and Okun 1994; Spotts and Schewe 1989; Tooth, Clark, and McKenna 2000). This means using concrete terms whenever possible and using abstract terms only when necessary (Clark et al. 1999). It is important to ensure that extraneous information is excluded and the most pertinent information provided first to reduce processing workload (Spotts and Schewe 1989; Tooth et al. 2000). Repetition appears particularly critical in ensuring information is retained by older audiences (Clark et al. 1999). As older readers have greater trouble differentiating between previously learned information and new information (Clark et al. 1999), it is important to ensure that messages contain information that is related to existing knowledge in a way that will enhance assimilation (Rice and Okun 1994). It helps to locate information in uncluttered contexts and to use short lines and paragraphs (Fairley et al. 1997; Spotts and Schewe 1989). Using pictures to reinforce the message in the text can be effective (Moschis 1992), although the pictures should also be concrete rather than abstract (Clark et al. 1999). It is particularly important to test written materials designed for older audiences prior to dissemination to ensure the right messages are being received (Clark et al. 1999; Tooth et al. 2000). To conclude, there co-exists an awareness of population ageing and a cultural bias against older people that has resulted in relatively little knowledge of the optimal design of text for older people. This article has argued that the physical changes associated with aging have significant implications for the design and presentation of text. Steps should thus be taken to ensure that written communications are modified to better meet the needs of older audiences. Works Cited Akutsu, H., G. E. Legge, J. A. Ross, and K. J. Schuebel. "Psychophysics of Reading - X. Effects of Age-Related Changes in Vision". Journal of Gerontology 46.6 (1991): 325-331. Australian Bureau of Statistics. Older People, Australia: A Social Report, Canberra, 1999. Australian Bureau of Statistics. 2001 Census Basic Community Profile and Snapshot, Australia, Canberra, (2002. Braus, P. "Vision in an Aging America". American Demographics 17.6 (1995): 34-38 Chafetz, P. K., H. Holmes, K. Lande, E. Childress, and H. R. Glazer. "Older Adults and the News Media: Utilization, Opinions, and Preferred Reference Terms". Gerontologist 38.4 (1998): 481-489. Clark, K. L., R. AbuSabha, A. von Eye, and C. Achterberg. "Text and Graphics: Manipulating Nutrition Brochures to Maximize Recall". Health Education Research 14.4 (1999): 555-564. de Luce, J. "Silence at the Newsstands". Generations 25.3 (2001): 39-43. Fairley, S., G. P. Moschis, H. M. Meyers, and A. Thiesfeldt. "The Experts Sound Off". Brandweek 38.30 (1997): 24-25. Grossman, L. K. "Aging Viewers: The Best is Yet to Be". Columbia Journalism Review 36.5 (1998): 68. Moschis, G. P. Marketing to Older Consumers. Westport, Connecticut: Quorum, 1992. Moschis, G. P. Marketing Strategies for the Mature Market. Westport, Connecticut, Quorom, 1994. Napoli, P. N. "Audience Valuation and Minority Media: An Analysis of the Determinants of the Value of Radio Audiences". Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media 46.2 (2002): 169-184. Nielson, J. and K. Curry. "Creative Strategies for Connecting with Mature Individuals". Journal of Consumer Marketing 14.4 (1997): 310-322. Rice, G. E. and M. A. Okun. "Older Readers' Processing of Medical Information that Contradicts their Beliefs". Journal of Geronotology 49.3 (1994): 119-128. Szmigin, I. and M. Carrigan. "Learning to Love the Older Consumer". Journal of Consumer Behaviour 1.1 (2001): 22-34. Spotts, H. E. and C. D. Schewe. "Communicating with the Elderly Consumer: The Growing Health-Care Challenge". Journal of Health Care Marketing 9.3 (1989): 36-44. Stuen, C. and E. E. Faye. "Vision Loss: Normal and Not Normal Changes among Older Adults". Generations 27.1 (2003): 8-14. Thomas, V. and D. B. Wolfe. "Why Won't Television Grow Up?" American Demographics 17.5 (1995): 24 Tongren, H. N. "Determinant Behavior Characteristics of Older Consumers". Journal of Consumer Affairs 22.1 (1988): 136-157. Tooth, L., M. Clark, and K. McKenna. "Poor Functional Health Literacy: The Silent Disability for Older People". Australasian Journal on Ageing 19.1 (2000): 14-22. Wahl, H. and V. Heyl. "Connections Between Vision, Hearing, and Cognitive Function in Old Age". Generations 27.1 (2003): 39-45. World Health Organization. Action Towards Active Ageing. Geneva, (1999). Available: http://www.who.int/archives/whday/en/pages1999/whd99_8.html. Accessed 13/11/2001. World Health Organization. Health and Ageing: A Discussion Paper. Geneva, 2001. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Pettigrew, Simone. "Creating Text for Older Audiences" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/010-pettigrew.php>. APA Style Pettigrew, S. (2004, Jan 12). Creating Text for Older Audiences. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 7, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/010-pettigrew.php>

The popular view of the geography of urban employment is that the great bulk of jobs – and certainly virtually all "good" jobs[1] – is located in the CBD. This is an understandable view given the spatial distribution of employment density in Melbourne shown in Figure 1. Figure 1: Density of employment in one km wide circular bands by distance from CBD, 2006 (jobs/km2) It shows the density of jobs in the Central Business District (CBD) of Melbourne – the first one km radius ring around the town hall[2] – is an order of magnitude higher than anywhere else in the metropolitan area. It closely aligns with the cluster of high rise office buildings that define the CBD in the popular imagination. This purpose of this paper is to ask if this is an adequate representation of the geography of employment in Australia’s larger cities. Using Melbourne as a case study, the paper examines how jobs are distributed spatially and what implications that has for policy. Figure 2 highlights that density is not the same as the number of jobs. It shows how employment is really distributed within Melbourne. The CBD is easily the largest single concentration of employment, but it nevertheless has only 15% of all metropolitan jobs. In fact only 28% of metropolitan jobs are located in the inner city – i.e. lie within a 5 km radius of the town hall – and 50% are located within 13 km radius. Figure 2: Share of metropolitan employment in one km wide circular bands by distance from CBD, 2006 (%)This dispersed pattern is not recent. Melbourne was compact and dense up until the end of the nineteenth century when the appearance of mechanised transport – primarily trams and trains – enabled middle class residents to escape the crowding and congestion of the centre for the space and amenity of the suburbs[3]. This trend was boosted dramatically after WW2 when increasingly widespread car ownership democratised access to affordable land on the urban fringe. Firms followed a similar pattern. Initially, manufacturing and distribution firms moved to the outer suburbs so they could escape congestion in the inner city, exploit space-intensive horizontal production methods, and be closer to the suburbanising workforce. The suburban population generated increasing numbers of jobs to service its consumption needs, amplified by the increasing level of outsourcing from the home. More recently, some higher order activities have moved from the CBD to near-CBD and inner city locations and some back office functions have moved to the suburbs. By 1981, only 35% of Melbourne’s jobs were located within 5 km of the centre. Figure 3 shows the "average job"[4] was 12.4 km from the centre and the "centre of mass"[5] of employment was 5.9 km away. The trend to the suburbs was very strong over the succeeding 25 years. By 2006 just 28% of jobs were within 5 km radius and the ‘average job’ was now 15.6 km from the centre. The centre of mass had moved 2 km further outwards to the vicinity of Tooronga, 7.9 km from the CBD. Figure 3: Distance of employment from CBD, 1981 and 2006 (km) Figure 4 shows that this pattern of dispersal held for all industry sectors with one significant exception. While over 80% of Retail and Manufacturing jobs were located more than 5 km from the centre, Commercial Services jobs were split roughly 50/50 between the inner city and the suburbs. This sector consists mainly of finance, insurance, business services and property services jobs. Those located in the CBD and inner city include major financial institutions and-high level producer services jobs servicing corporate clients. Those in the suburbs however tend to service the resident population, for example, real estate agents and personal financial advisers[6]. Figure 4: Proportion of jobs in each industry sector located in suburbs vs inner city, 2006 (%)The net result, as Figure 5 illustrates, is that the industry composition of the suburbs and the inner city are quite different. While they have much the same proportions of Community Services jobs, the suburbs have a significantly higher proportion of Manufacturing & Transport and Retail jobs. The inner city, on the other hand, is dominated by the Commercial Services sector – it accounts for nearly half of all jobs.Figure 5: Sectoral composition of jobs in inner city vs suburbs, 2006 (%)It may surprise, but Figure 6 shows that most high human capital jobs – that is jobs filled by a worker with a Bachelor’s Degree or higher – are located in the suburbs. The inner city has a higher density of graduate jobs, but the sheer size of the suburban job market means that in absolute terms it has more jobs filled by graduates. These high human capital jobs are located in suburban hospitals, universities, schools, local government administration and increasingly, in manufacturing and warehousing. Commercial Services is the exception – two thirds of the high skilled workers in this sector work in the inner city. Figure 6: Proportion of jobs in inner city vs suburbs occupied by a graduate or higher, 2006 (%) With 28% of all metropolitan employment in 2006, the inner city was an important job market for residents living in the central municipalities of Melbourne, Yarra and Port Phillip. However the inner city accounted for less than 10% of the metropolitan population, with the other 90% living in the suburbs. Figure 7 shows only around 25% of workers who lived in the middle suburbs commuted to the inner city. It also shows that less than 10% of outer suburban workers commuted to the inner city. Clearly, the great bulk of workers in Melbourne work in the suburbs. Figure 7: Share of commuters by metropolitan sub region who work in the inner city, 2006 (%)After a period of long decline, job numbers started to grow vigorously in absolute terms in the CBD and inner city from around the middle of the 1990s. Averaged over the period 1996 to 2006, inner city jobs grew at much the same pace as suburban jobs, meaning that the relative share of metropolitan jobs claimed by the inner city and suburbs did not change. While the great bulk of Melbourne’s jobs are in the suburbs, most of them are dispersed rather than located within major centres. Figure 8 shows there were 31 major activity centres[7] in Melbourne’s suburbs in 2006, which collectively accounted for only 20% of all suburban jobs. Some of these centres cover a substantial geographical area – they are spread out "blobs" of moderate density rather than sharp "points" with a small footprint and high density. Figure 8: Major suburban centres defined by number of jobs and density of jobs, 2006 None of the centres approach the CBD in either size or density. It can be seen from Figure 9 that apart from the top four – which together account for more than half of all jobs in suburban centres – most are in fact relatively small. The smallest centre has around 2,500 jobs. Figure 9: Suburban activity centres by size (proportion of all jobs in suburban centres), 2006 (%) Of the 31 major activity centres, 30 are specialised in at least one industry sector and many have multiple specialisations. Commercial Services is the only sector in which no suburban centre specialises – that is the domain of the inner city and especially the CBD. Specialisation suggests that firms seek to avoid the burden of size and/or density associated with diverse centres, instead preferring lower cost centres with the sorts of firms with which they do business. This brief review of the geography of employment in Melbourne provides insights that are relevant to policy. It is clear that most jobs are in the suburbs and so are most industry sectors. Moreover most of Melbourne’s high human capital jobs are also now located in the suburbs. Most suburban jobs aren’t located in major activity centres, rather they’re at low densities in smaller centres or in stand-alone developments. Suburban centres are themselves relatively low density areas when compared to the CBD. Finally, centres tend to specialise in a limited number of industries because most suburban firms incur higher costs but no benefit from locating with unrelated firms. Thus the suburbs are the major job arena in Melbourne. This is also true of other Australian cities like Sydney although there are local variations between cities (e.g. Parolin and Kamara). Density is not a strong locational driver of most suburban firms. This is partly because motorised transport enables firms in a suburban setting to enjoy the benefits of agglomeration without high density. It is also partly because many suburban firms serve consumers directly (rather than other firms as is more likely the case in the CBD) and thus prefer relatively small centres which are easily accessible to their customers. The key challenge for policy suggested by this analysis is how to provide efficient and sustainable mobility for workers and businesses in a low density environment. The suburban geography favours private transport over public transport. Priority in transport policy therefore needs to be given to making private vehicles more efficient and sustainable. This suggests policies like pricing road space and pricing carbon.ReferencesB.P. Parolin and S. Kamara. “Spatial Patterns and Functions of Employment Centres in Metropolitan Sydney, 1981-1996.” Presented at the State of Australian Cities National Conference, 2003. [1] The data on employment in this paper is drawn from the 1981 and 2006 Census [2] The location of jobs in 1981 and 2006 is captured in 1,000 traffic zones [3] The suburbs are defined as that part of Melbourne lying more than 5 km radius from the CBD. The inner city is that area lying within 5 km radius [4] The ‘average job’ is estimated by weighting the straight line distance of each of 1,000 traffic zones by the number of jobs in each zone [5] The ‘centre of mass’ is estimated by weighting the coordinates of each of 1,000 traffic zones by the number of jobs in each zone [6] Legend for tables is: CML – Commercial Services; HOS – Hospitality; CMY – Community Services; RET – Retail, WHL – Wholesale; MAN – Manufacturing & Transport; OTH – Other. [7] Centres are defined by their absolute level of employment and job density, based on 1,950 traffic zones. The thresholds for each zone are Z Scores of zero for both employment and density. Contiguous zones are aggregated to form a single centre

Medical and health researchers have shown that fatalities during heat waves are most commonly due to respiratory and cardiovascular diseases, primarily from heat's negative effect on the cardiovascular system. In an attempt to control one's internal temperature, the body’s natural instinct is to circulate large quantities of blood to the skin. However, to perform this protective measure against overheating actually harms the body by inducing extra strain on the heart. This excess strain has the potential to trigger a cardiac event in those with chronic health problems, such as the elderly, Cui et al. Frumkin showed that the relationship of mortality and temperature creates a J-shaped function, showing a steeper slope at higher temperatures. Records show that more casualties have resulted from heat waves than hurricanes, floods, and tornadoes together. This statistic’s significance is that extreme heat events (EHEs) are becoming more frequent, as shown by Stone et al. Their analysis shows a growth trend of EHEs by 0.20 days/year in U.S. cities between 1956 and 2005, with a 95% confidence interval and uncertainty of ±0.6. This means that there were 10 more days of extreme heat conditions in 2005 than in 1956. Studies held from 1989 to 2000 in 50 U.S. cities recorded a rise of 5.7% in mortality during heat waves. The research of Schifano et al. revealed that Rome’s elderly population endures a higher mortality rate during heat waves, at 8% excess for the 65–74 age group and 15% for above 74. Even more staggering is findings of Dousset et al. on French cities during the 2003 heat wave. Small towns saw an average excess mortality rate of 40%, while Paris witnessed an increase of 141%. During this period, a 0.5 °C increase above the average minimum nighttime temperature doubled the risk of death in the elderly. Heat-related illnesses and mortality rates have slightly decreased since 1980, regardless of the increase in temperatures. Statistics from the U.S. Census state that the U.S. population without air conditioning saw a drop of 32% from 1978 to 2005, resting at 15%. Despite the increase in air conditioning use, a study done by Kalkstein through 2007 proved that the shielding effects of air conditioning reached their terminal effect in the mid-1990s. Kan et al. hypothesize in their study of Shanghai that the significant difference in fatalities from the 1998 and 2003 heat waves was due to the increase in use of air conditioning. Protective factors have mitigated the danger of heat on those vulnerable to it, however projecting forward the heat increment related to sprawl may exceed physiologic adaptation thresholds. It has been studied and reported that urban heat islands (UHI) exist in the following world cities and their countries and/or states: Tel-Aviv, Israel, Newark, NJ, Madrid, Spain, London, UK, Athens, Greece, Taipei, Taiwan, San Juan, Puerto Rico, Osaka, Japan, Hong Kong, China, Beijing, China, Pyongyang, North Korea, Bangkok, Thailand, Manila, Philippines, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, Seoul, South Korea, Muscat, Oman, Singapore, Houston, USA, Shanghai, China, Wroclaw, Poland, Mexico City, Mexico, Arkansas, Atlanta, USA, Buenos Aires, Argentina, Kenya, Brisbane, Australia, Moscow, Russia, Los Angeles, USA, Washington, DC, USA, San Diego, USA, New York, USA, Chicago, USA, Budapest, Hungary, Miami, USA, Istanbul, Turkey, Mumbai, India, Shenzen, China, Thessaloniki, Greece, Rotterdam, Netherlands, Akure, Nigeria, Bucharest, Romania, Birmingham, UK, Bangladesh, and Delhi, India. The strongest being Shanghai, Bangkok, Beijing, Tel-Aviv, and Tokyo with UHI intensities (UHII) of 3.5–7.0, 3.0–8.0, 5.5–10, 10, and 12 °C, respectively. Of the above world cities, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Delhi, Bangladesh, London, Kyoto, Osaka, and Berlin have been linked to increased mortality rates due to the heightened temperatures of nonheat wave periods. Chan et al. studied excess mortalities in cities such as Hong Kong, Bangkok, and Delhi, which currently observe mortality increases ranging from 4.1% to 5.8% per 1 °C over a temperature threshold of approximately 29 °C. Goggins et al. found similar data for the urban area of Bangladesh, which showed an increase of 7.5% in mortality for every 1 °C the mean temperature was above a similar threshold. In the same study, while observing microregions of Montreal portraying heat island characteristics, mortality was found to be 28% higher in heat island zones on days with a mean temperature of 26 °C opposed to 20 °C compared to a 13% increase in colder areas.

Introduction The public sphere includes a range of credible discourses asserting that a proportion of teenagers (“teens”) has an unhealthy dependence upon continuous connection with media devices, and especially smartphones. A review of media discourse (Jaunzems et al.) in Australia, and a critical review of public discourse in Australia and Belgium (Zaman et al.), reveal both positive and negative commentary around screentime. Despite the “emotionally laden, opposing views” expressed in the media, there appears to be a groundswell of concern around young people’s dependence upon digital devices (Zaman et al. 120). Concerns about ‘addiction’ to and dependency on digital media first emerged with the Internet and have been continually represented as technology evolves. One recent example is the 2020 multi-part Massey Lecture series which hooked audiences with the provocative title: “we need to reclaim our lives from our phones” (Deibert). In Sydney, a psychology-based “outpatient addiction treatment centre” offers specialised recovery programs for “Internet addiction”, noting that addicts include school-aged teens, as well as adults (Cabin). Such discourse reflects well-established social anxieties around the disruptive impacts of new technologies upon society (Marvin), while focussing such concern disproportionately upon the lives, priorities, and activities of young people (Tsaliki and Chronaki). While a growing peer-reviewed evidence base suggests some young people have problematic relationships with digital media (e.g. Odgers and Robb; Donald et al.; Gaspard; Tóth-Király et al.; Boer et al.), there are also opposing views (e.g. Vuorre et al.) Ben Light, for instance, highlights the notion of disconnection as a set of practices that include using some platforms and not others, unfriending, and selective anonymity (Light). We argue that this version of disconnection and what we refer to as ‘detox’ are two different practices. Detox, as we use it, is the regular removal of elements of lived experience (such as food consumption) that may be enjoyable but which potentially have negative consequences over time, before (potentially) reintroducing the element or pratice. The aims of a detox include ensuring greater control over the enjoyable experience while, at the same time, reducing exposure to possible harm. There is a lack of specific research that unequivocally asserts young people’s unhealthy dependence upon smartphones. Nonetheless, there appears to be a growing public belief in the efficacy of “the detox” (Beyond Blue) or “unplugging” (Shlain). We argue that a teen’s commitment to regular smartphone abstinence is non-fungible with ‘as and when’ smartphone use. In other words, there is a significant, ineluctable and non-trivial difference between the practice of regularly disconnecting from a smartphone at a certain point of the day, or for a specified period in the week, compared with the same amount of time ‘off’ the device which is a haphazard, as and when, doing something else, type of practice. We posit that recurrent periods of smartphone abstinence, equating to a regular detox, might support more balanced, healthy and empowered smartphone use. Repeated abstinence in this case differs from the notion of the disconnected holiday, where a person might engage in irregular smartphone withdrawal during an annual holiday, for example (Traveltalk; Hoving; Stäheli and Stoltenberg). Such abstinence does have widespread historical and cultural resonance, however, as in the fasting practices of Islam (the month of Ramadan), the Christian season of Lent, and the holy Hindu month of Śravaṇa. Where prolonged periods of fasting are supplemented by weekly or holy-day fasts, they may be reprised with a regularity that brings the practice closer to the scheduled pattern of abstinence that we see as non-fungible with an unstructured as-and-when approach. An extreme example of the long fast and intermittent fast days is offered by the traditional practices of the Greek Orthodox church, whose teachings recommend fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays as well as on religious holy days. With the inclusion of Lent, Greek Orthodox fasting practices can comprise 180 fast days per year: that’s about half of available days. As yet, there is no coherent evidence base supporting the benefits of regular intermittent disconnection. The Australian mental health Website Beyond Blue, which asserts the value of digital detox, cannot find a stronger authority to underpin a practice of withdrawal than “Research from Deloitte’s annual Mobile Consumer Survey report” which indicates that “44 per cent of people in Australia think their phone use is a problem and are trying to reduce how much time they spend on it” (Beyond Blue). Academic literature that addresses these areas by drawing on more than personal experience and anecdote is scarce to non-existent. Insofar as such studies exist over the past decade, from Maushart to Leonowicz-Bukała et al., they are irregular experiments which do not commit to repeated periods of disconnection. This article is a call to investigate the possibly non-fungible benefits of teens’ regularly practicing smartphone disconnection. It argues that there is actual evidence which is yet to be collected. New knowledge in this area may provide a compelling dataset that suggests verifiable benefits for the non-fungible practice of regular smartphone disconnection. We believe that there are teenagers, parents and communities willing to trial appropriate interventions over a significant period of time to establish ‘before’ and ‘after’ case studies. The evidence for these opinions is laid out in the sections that follow. Teens’ Experiences of Media, Smartphone, and Other Cultural Dis/connection In 2018, the Pew Research Center in the US surveyed teens about their experiences of social media, updating elements of an earlier study from 2014-15. They found that almost all (95%) the 743 teens in the study, aged between 13 and 17 when they were surveyed in March-April 2018, had or had access to a smartphone (Anderson and Jiang). A more recent report from 2021 notes that 88% of US teenagers, aged 13-18, have their own smartphone (Common Sense Media 22). What is more, this media use survey indicates that American teens have increased their screen entertainment time from 7 hours, 22 minutes per day in 2019 to 8 hours, 39 minutes per day in 2021 (Common Sense Media 3). Lee argues that, on average, mobile phone users in Australia touch their phones 2,617 times a day. In Sweden, a 2019 study of youth aged 15-24 noted a pervasive concern regarding the logical assumption “that offline time is influenced and adapted when people spend an increasing amount of time online” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 41). These authors critique the overarching theory of young people comprising a homogenous group of ‘digital natives’ by identifying different categories of light, medium, and heavy users of ICT. They say that the “variation in use is large, indicating that responses to ubiquitous ICT access are highly diverse rather than homogenously determined” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 48). The practice or otherwise of regular periods of smartphone disconnection is a further potential differentiator of teens’ digital experiences. Any investigation into these areas of difference should help indicate ways in which teens may or may not achieve comparatively more or less control over their smartphone use. Lee argues that in Australia “teens who spend five or more hours per day on their devices have a 71% higher risk factor for suicide”. Twenge and Campbell (311) used “three large surveys of adolescents in two countries (n = 221,096)” to explore differences between ‘light users’ of digital media (<1 hour per day) and ‘heavy users’ (5+ hours per day). They use their data to argue that “heavy users (vs. light) of digital media were 48% to 171% more likely to be unhappy, to be low in well-being, or to have suicide risk factors such as depression, suicidal ideation, or past suicide attempts” (Twenge and Campbell 311). Notably, Livingstone among others argues that emotive assertions such as these tend to ignore the nuance of significant bodies of research (Livingstone, about Twenge). Even so, it is plausible that teens’ online activities interpolate both positively and negatively upon their offline activities. The capacity to disconnect, however, to disengage from smartphone use at will, potentially allows a teen more opportunity for individual choice impacting both positive and negative experiences. As boyd argued in 2014: “it’s complicated”. The Pew findings from 2018 indicate that teens’ positive comments about social media use include: 81% “feel more connected to their friends”; 69% “think it helps [them] interact with a more diverse group of people”; and 68% “feel as if they have people who will support them through tough times.” (Anderson and Jiang) The most numerous negative comments address how of all teens: 45% “feel overwhelmed by all the drama there”; 43% “feel pressure to only post content that makes them look good to others”; and 37% “feel pressure to post content that will get a lot of likes and comments.” (Anderson and Jiang) It is notable that these three latter points relate to teens’ vulnerabilities around others’ opinions of themselves and the associated rollercoaster of emotions these opinions may cause. They resonate with Ciarrochi et al.’s argument that different kinds of Internet activity impact different issues of control, with more social forms of digital media associated with young females’ higher “compulsive internet use […] and worse mental health than males” (276). What is not known, because it has never been investigated, is whether any benefits flowing from regular smartphone disconnection might have a gendered dimension. If there is specific value in a capacity to disconnect regularly, separating that experience from haphazard episodes of connection and disconnection, regular disconnection may also enhance the quality of smartphone engagement. Potentially, the power to turn off their smartphone when the going got tough might allow young people to feel greater control over their media use while being less susceptible to the drama and compulsion of digital engagement. As one 17-year-old told the Pew researchers, possibly ruefully, “[teens] would rather go scrolling on their phones instead of doing their homework, and it’s so easy to do so. It’s just a huge distraction” (Anderson and Jiang). Few cultural contexts support teens’ regular and repeated disengagement from smartphones, but Icelandic society, Orthodox Judaism and the comparatively common practice of overnight disconnection from smartphone use may offer helpful indications of possible benefits. Cross-Cultural and Religious Interventions in Smartphone Use Concern around teens’ smartphone use, as described above, is typically applied to young people whose smartphone use constitutes an integral part of everyday life. The untangling of such interconnection would benefit from being both comparative and experimental. Our suggestions follow. Iceland has, in the past, adopted what Karlsson and Broddason term “a paternalistic cultural conservatism” (1). Legislators concerned about the social impacts of television deferred the introduction of Icelandic broadcasting for many years, beyond the time that most other European nations offered television services. Program offerings were expanded in a gradual way after the 1966 beginnings of Iceland’s public television broadcasting. As Karlsson and Broddason note, “initially the transmission hours were limited to only a few hours in the evening, three days a week and a television-free month in July. The number of transmission days was increased to six within a few years, still with a television-free month in July until 1983 and television-free Thursdays until 1987” (6). Interestingly, the nation is still open to social experimentation on a grand scale. In the 1990s, for example, in response to significant substance abuse by Icelandic teens, the country implemented an interventionist whole-of-Iceland public health program: the Icelandic Prevention Model (Kristjansson et al.). Social experimentation on a smaller scale remains part of the Icelandic cultural fabric. More recently, between 2015 and 2019, Iceland ran a successful social experiment whereby 1% of the working population worked a shorter work week for full time pay. The test was deemed successful because “workers were able to work less, get paid the same, while maintaining productivity and improving personal well-being” (Lau and Sigurdardottir). A number of self-governing Icelandic villages operate a particularly inclusive form of consultative local democracy enabling widespread buy-in for social experiments. Two or more such communities are likely to be interested in trialling an intervention study if there is a plausible reason to believe that the intervention may make a positive difference to teens’ (and others’) experiences of smartphone use. Those plausible reasons might be indicated by observational data from other people’s everyday practices. One comparatively common everyday practice which has yet to be systematically investigated from the perspective of evaluating the possible impacts of regular disconnection is that practiced by families who leave connected media outside the bedroom at night-time. These families are in the habit of putting their phones on to charge, usually in a shared space such as a kitchen or lounge room, and not referring to them again until a key point in the morning: when they are dressed, for example, or ready to leave the house. It is plausible to believe that such families might feel they have greater control over smartphone use than a family who didn’t adopt a regular practice of smartphone disconnection. According to social researchers in the Nordic nations, including co-authors Kjartan Ólafsson and Elisabeth Staksrud, it is likely that an Icelandic community will be keen to trial this experience of regular smartphone disconnection for a period of six months or more, if that trial went hand in hand with a rigorous evaluation of impact. Some religious communities offer a less common exemplar for teens’ regular disconnection from their smartphone. Young people in these communities may suspend their smartphone (and other media use) for just over a full day per week to focus on deepening their engagement with family and friends, and to support their spiritual development. Notable among such examples are teenagers who identify as members of the Orthodox Jewish faith. Their religious practices include withdrawing from technological engagement as part of the observance of Shabbat (the Sabbath): at least, that’s the theory. For the past ten years or so in Australia there has been a growing concern over some otherwise-Orthodox Jewish teens’ practice of the “half-Shabbat,” in which an estimated 17-50% of this cohort secretly use digital media for some time during their 25 hours of mandated abstinence. As one teacher from an Orthodox high school argues, “to not have access to the phone, it’s like choking off their air” (Telushikin). Interestingly, many Jewish teens who privately admit practicing half-Shabbat envision themselves as moving towards full observance in adulthood: they can see benefits in a wholehearted commitment to disengagement, even if it’s hard to disengage fully at this point in their lives. Hadlington et al.’s article “I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]” similarly evokes a broader community crisis around children’s dependence on digital media, noting that many children aged 8-12 have a tablet of their own before moving onto smartphone ownership in their teens (Common Sense Media 22). We appreciate that not every society has children and young people who are highly networked and integrated within digital dataflows. Nonetheless, while constant smartphone connectivity might appear to be a ‘first world problem’, preparing teens to be adults with optimal choice over their smartphone use includes identifying and promoting support for conscious disengagement from media as and when a young person wishes. Such a perspective aligns with promoting young people’s rights in digital contexts by interrogating the possible benefits of regularly disconnecting from digital media. Those putative benefits may be indicated by investigating perspectives around smartphone use held by Orthodox Jewish teenagers and comparing them with those held by teens who follow a liberal Jewish faith: liberal Jewish teens use smartphones in ways that resonate with broader community teens. A comparison of these two groups, suggests co-author Lynne Cohen, may indicate differences that can (in part) be attributed to Orthodox Jewish practices of digital disconnection, compared with liberal Jewish practices that don’t include disconnection. If smartphone disconnection has the potential to offer non-fungible benefits, it is incumbent upon researchers to investigate the possible advantages and drawbacks of such practices. That can be done through the comparative investigation of current practice as outlined above, and via an experimental intervention for approximately six months with a second Icelandic/Nordic community. The Potential Value of Investigating the (Non-)Fungibility of Digital Engagement and Digital Inactivity The overarching hypothesis addressed in this article is that a lived experience of regular smartphone disconnection may offer teenagers the opportunity to feel more in control of their personal technologies. Such a perspective aligns with many established media theories. These theories include the domestication of technology and its integration into daily life, helping to explain the struggle teens experience in detaching from digital media once they have become a fundamental element of their routine. Domestication theory asserts that technology moves from novelty to an integral aspect of everyday experience (Berker et al.). Displacement theory asserts that young people whose lives are replete with digital media may have substituted that media use for other activities enjoyed by the generations that grew up before them, while boyd offers an alternative suggestion that digital media add to, rather than displace, teens’ activities in daily contexts. Borrowing inputs from other disciplinary traditions, theories around mindfulness are increasingly robust and evidence-based, asserting that “attentiveness to what is present appears to yield corrective and curative benefits in its own right” (Brown et al. 1). Constant attention to digital media may be a distraction from mindful engagement with the lived environment. A detailed study of the non-fungible character of smartphone disconnection practices might offer an evidence base to support suggestions, such as those proffered by Beyond Blue, that a digital detox benefits mental health, resilience, and sociality. Such information might support initiatives by schools and other organisations central to the lives of teenagers to institute regular digital disconnection regimes, akin to Iceland’s experiments with television-free Thursdays. These innovations could build upon aligned social initiatives such as “no email Fridays” (Horng), which have been trialled in business contexts. Further, studies such as those outlined above could add authority to recommendations for parents, educators, and caregivers such as those recommendations contained in papers on the Common Sense Media site, for example, including Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health (Odgers and Robb) and Device-Free Dinners (Robb). Relevantly, the results from such observational and intervention studies would address the post-COVID era when parents and others will be considering how best to support a generation of children who went online earlier, and more often, than any generation before them. These results might also align with work towards early-stage adoption of the United Nations’ General Comment No. 25 on Children’s Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment (UNCRC). If so, an investigation into the fungibility or otherwise of digital abstention could contribute to the national and international debate about the rights of young people to make informed decisions around when to connect, and when to disconnect, from engagement via a smartphone. References Anderson, Monica, and Jingjing Jiang. "Teens’ Social Media Habits and Experiences." Pew Research Center 28 Nov. 2018. <https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2018/11/28/teens-social-media-habits-and-experiences/>. Berker, Thomas, Maren Hartmann, and Yves Punie. Domestication of Media and Technology. McGraw-Hill Education, 2005. Beyond Blue. “The Benefits of a Digital Detox: Unplugging from Digital Technology Can Have Tremendous Benefits on Body and Mind.” Beyond Blue, n.d. <https://www.beyondblue.org.au/personal-best/pillar/wellbeing/the-benefits-of-a-digital-detox>. Boer, Maartje, Gonneke W.J.M. Stevens, Catrin Finkenauer, Margaretha E. de Looze, and Regina J.J.M. van den Eijnden. “Social Media Use Intensity, Social Media Use Problems, and Mental Health among Adolescents: Investigating Directionality and Mediating Processes.” Computers in Human Behavior 116 (Mar. 2021): 106645. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2020.106645>. boyd, danah. It’s Complicated : The Social Lives of Networked Teens. Yale University Press, 2014. <http://www.danah.org/books/ItsComplicated.pdf>. Brown, Kirk Warren, J. David Creswell, and Richard M. Ryan. “The Evolution of Mindfulness Science.” Handbook of Mindfulness : Theory, Research, and Practice, eds. Kirk Warren Brown et al. Guilford Press, 2016. Cabin, The. “Internet Addiction Treatment Center.” The Cabin, 2020. <https://www.thecabinsydney.com.au/internet-addiction-treatment/>. Ciarrochi, Joseph, Philip Parker, Baljinder Sahdra, Sarah Marshall, Chris Jackson, Andrew T. Gloster, and Patrick Heaven. “The Development of Compulsive Internet Use and Mental Health: A Four-Year Study of Adolescence.” Developmental Psychology 52.2 (2016): 272. Common Sense Media. "The Common Sense Census: Media Use by Tweens and Teens, 2021". <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/sites/default/files/research/report/8-18-census-integrated-report-final-web_0.pdf>. Deibert, Ron. “Reset: Reclaiming the Internet for Civil Society.” 2020 Massey Lectures. CBC Radio. 7 Feb. 2022 <https://www.cbc.ca/radio/ideas/reset-reclaiming-the-internet-for-civil-society-1.5795345>. Donald, James N., Joseph Ciarrochi, and Baljinder K. Sahdra. "The Consequences of Compulsion: A 4-Year Longitudinal Study of Compulsive Internet Use and Emotion Regulation Difficulties." Emotion (2020). Gaspard, Luke. “Australian High School Students and Their Internet Use: Perceptions of Opportunities versus ‘Problematic Situations.’” Children Australia 45.1 (Mar. 2020): 54–63. <https://doi.org/10.1017/cha.2020.2>. Hadlington, Lee, Hannah White, and Sarah Curtis. "‘I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]’: Children's Experiences of Using Tablet Technology within the Home." Computers in Human Behavior 94 (2019): 19-24. Horng, Eric. “No-E-Mail Fridays Transform Office.” ABC News [US], 4 Aug. 2007. <https://abcnews.go.com/WNT/story?id=2939232&page=1>. Hoving, Kristel. “Digital Detox Tourism: Why Disconnect? : What Are the Motives of Dutch Tourists to Undertake a Digital Detox Holiday?” Undefined, 2017. <https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Digital-Detox-Tourism%3A-Why-disconnect-%3A-What-are-of-Hoving/17503393a5f184ae0a5f9a2ed73cd44a624a9de8>. Jaunzems, Kelly, Donell Holloway, Lelia Green, and Kylie Stevenson. “Very Young Children Online: Media Discourse and Parental Practice.” Digitising Early Childhood. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2019, <https://ro.ecu.edu.au/ecuworkspost2013/7550>. Karlsson, Ragnar, and Thorbjörn Broddason. Between the Market and the Public: Content Provision and Scheduling of Public and Private TV in Iceland. Kristjansson, Alfgeir L., Michael J. Mann, Jon Sigfusson, Ingibjorg E. Thorisdottir, John P. Allegrante, and Inga Dora Sigfusdottir. “Development and Guiding Principles of the Icelandic Model for Preventing Adolescent Substance Use.” Health Promotion Practice 21.1 (Jan. 2020): 62–69. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1524839919849032>. Lau, Virginia, and Ragnhildur Sigurdardottir. “The Shorter Work Week Really Worked in Iceland: Here’s How.” Time, 2021. <https://time.com/6106962/shorter-work-week-iceland/>. Lee, James. “16 Smartphone Statistics Australia Should Take Note Of (2021).” Smartphone Statistics Australia, 2022. <https://whatasleep.com.au/blog/smartphone-statistics-australia/>. Leonowicz-Bukała, Iwona, Anna Martens, and Barbara Przywara. "Digital Natives Disconnected. The Qualitative Research on Mediatized Life of Polish and International Students in Rzeszow and Warsaw, Poland." Przegląd Badań Edukacyjnych (Educational Studies Review) 35.2 (2021): 69-96. Light, Ben. Disconnecting with Social Networking Sites. Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. Livingstone, Sonia. "iGen: Why Today’s Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy–and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood." Journal of Children and Media, 12.1 (2018): 118–123. <https://doi.org/10.1080/17482798.2017.1417091>. Marvin, Carolyn. When Old Technologies Were New : Thinking about Electric Communication in the Late Nineteenth Century. Oxford UP, 1990. Maushart, Susan. The Winter of Our Disconnect: How Three Totally Wired Teenagers (and a Mother Who Slept with Her iPhone) Pulled the Plug on Their Technology and Lived to Tell the Tale. Penguin, 2011. Odgers, Candice L., and Michael Robb. “Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health: Coming of Age in an Increasingly Digital, Uncertain, and Unequal World.” Common Sense Media, 2020. <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/research/tweens-teens-tech-and-mental-health>. Robb, Michael. “Why Device-Free Dinners Are a Healthy Choice.” Common Sense Media, 4 Aug. 2016. <https://www.commonsensemedia.org/blog/why-device-free-dinners-are-a-healthy-choice>. Shlain, Tiffany. “Tech’s Best Feature: The Off Switch.” Harvard Business Review, 1 Mar. 2013. <https://hbr.org/2013/03/techs-best-feature-the-off-swi>. Stäheli, Urs, and Luise Stoltenberg. “Digital Detox Tourism: Practices of Analogization.” New Media & Society (Jan. 2022). <https://doi.org/10.1177/14614448211072808>. Telushikin, Shira. “Modern Orthodox Teens Can’t Put Down Their Phones on Shabbat.” Tablet Magazine, 12 Sep. 2014. <https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/belief/articles/shabbat-phones>. Thulin, Eva, and Bertil Vilhelmson. “More at Home, More Alone? Youth, Digital Media and the Everyday Use of Time and Space.” Geoforum 100 (Mar. 2019): 41–50. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.geoforum.2019.02.010>. Tóth-Király, István, Alexandre J.S. Morin, Lauri Hietajärvi, and Katariina Salmela‐Aro. “Longitudinal Trajectories, Social and Individual Antecedents, and Outcomes of Problematic Internet Use among Late Adolescents.” Child Development 92.4 (2021): e653–73. <https://doi.org/10.1111/cdev.13525>. Traveltalk. “The Rise of Digital Detox Holidays and Tech-Free Tourism.” Traveltalk, 2018. <https://www.traveltalkmag.com.au/blog/articles/the-rise-of-digital-detox-holidays-and-tech-free-tourism>. Tsaliki, Liza, and Despina Chronaki. Discourses of Anxiety over Childhood and Youth across Cultures. 1st ed. Springer International Publishing, 2020. <https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46436-3>. Twenge, Jean M. iGen: Why Today's Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy – and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood – and What That Means for the Rest of Us. Simon and Schuster, 2017. Twenge, Jean M., and W. Keith Campbell. “Media Use Is Linked to Lower Psychological Well-Being: Evidence from Three Datasets.” The Psychiatric Quarterly 90.2 (2019): 311-331. <https://doi.org/10.1007/s11126-019-09630-7>. UNCRC. "General Comment No. 25 (2021) on Children's Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment." United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2 Mar. 2021. <https://www.ohchr.org/en/documents/general-comments-and-recommendations/general-comment-no-25-2021-childrens-rights-relation>. Vuorre, Matti, Amy Orben, and Andrew K. Przybylski. “There Is No Evidence That Associations Between Adolescents’ Digital Technology Engagement and Mental Health Problems Have Increased.” Clinical Psychological Science 9.5 (Sep. 2021): 823–35. <https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702621994549>. Zaman, Bieke, Donell Holloway, Lelia Green, Kelly Jaunzems, and Hadewijch Vanwynsberghe. “Opposing Narratives about Children’s Digital Media Use: A Critical Discourse Analysis of Online Public Advice Given to Parents in Australia and Belgium:” Media International Australia (May 2020). <https://doi.org/10.1177/1329878X20916950>.

Introduction The public sphere includes a range of credible discourses asserting that a proportion of teenagers (“teens”) has an unhealthy dependence upon continuous connection with media devices, and especially smartphones. A review of media discourse (Jaunzems et al.) in Australia, and a critical review of public discourse in Australia and Belgium (Zaman et al.), reveal both positive and negative commentary around screentime. Despite the “emotionally laden, opposing views” expressed in the media, there appears to be a groundswell of concern around young people’s dependence upon digital devices (Zaman et al. 120). Concerns about ‘addiction’ to and dependency on digital media first emerged with the Internet and have been continually represented as technology evolves. One recent example is the 2020 multi-part Massey Lecture series which hooked audiences with the provocative title: “we need to reclaim our lives from our phones” (Deibert). In Sydney, a psychology-based “outpatient addiction treatment centre” offers specialised recovery programs for “Internet addiction”, noting that addicts include school-aged teens, as well as adults (Cabin). Such discourse reflects well-established social anxieties around the disruptive impacts of new technologies upon society (Marvin), while focussing such concern disproportionately upon the lives, priorities, and activities of young people (Tsaliki and Chronaki). While a growing peer-reviewed evidence base suggests some young people have problematic relationships with digital media (e.g. Odgers and Robb; Donald et al.; Gaspard; Tóth-Király et al.; Boer et al.), there are also opposing views (e.g. Vuorre et al.) Ben Light, for instance, highlights the notion of disconnection as a set of practices that include using some platforms and not others, unfriending, and selective anonymity (Light). We argue that this version of disconnection and what we refer to as ‘detox’ are two different practices. Detox, as we use it, is the regular removal of elements of lived experience (such as food consumption) that may be enjoyable but which potentially have negative consequences over time, before (potentially) reintroducing the element or pratice. The aims of a detox include ensuring greater control over the enjoyable experience while, at the same time, reducing exposure to possible harm. There is a lack of specific research that unequivocally asserts young people’s unhealthy dependence upon smartphones. Nonetheless, there appears to be a growing public belief in the efficacy of “the detox” (Beyond Blue) or “unplugging” (Shlain). We argue that a teen’s commitment to regular smartphone abstinence is non-fungible with ‘as and when’ smartphone use. In other words, there is a significant, ineluctable and non-trivial difference between the practice of regularly disconnecting from a smartphone at a certain point of the day, or for a specified period in the week, compared with the same amount of time ‘off’ the device which is a haphazard, as and when, doing something else, type of practice. We posit that recurrent periods of smartphone abstinence, equating to a regular detox, might support more balanced, healthy and empowered smartphone use. Repeated abstinence in this case differs from the notion of the disconnected holiday, where a person might engage in irregular smartphone withdrawal during an annual holiday, for example (Traveltalk; Hoving; Stäheli and Stoltenberg). Such abstinence does have widespread historical and cultural resonance, however, as in the fasting practices of Islam (the month of Ramadan), the Christian season of Lent, and the holy Hindu month of Śravaṇa. Where prolonged periods of fasting are supplemented by weekly or holy-day fasts, they may be reprised with a regularity that brings the practice closer to the scheduled pattern of abstinence that we see as non-fungible with an unstructured as-and-when approach. An extreme example of the long fast and intermittent fast days is offered by the traditional practices of the Greek Orthodox church, whose teachings recommend fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays as well as on religious holy days. With the inclusion of Lent, Greek Orthodox fasting practices can comprise 180 fast days per year: that’s about half of available days. As yet, there is no coherent evidence base supporting the benefits of regular intermittent disconnection. The Australian mental health Website Beyond Blue, which asserts the value of digital detox, cannot find a stronger authority to underpin a practice of withdrawal than “Research from Deloitte’s annual Mobile Consumer Survey report” which indicates that “44 per cent of people in Australia think their phone use is a problem and are trying to reduce how much time they spend on it” (Beyond Blue). Academic literature that addresses these areas by drawing on more than personal experience and anecdote is scarce to non-existent. Insofar as such studies exist over the past decade, from Maushart to Leonowicz-Bukała et al., they are irregular experiments which do not commit to repeated periods of disconnection. This article is a call to investigate the possibly non-fungible benefits of teens’ regularly practicing smartphone disconnection. It argues that there is actual evidence which is yet to be collected. New knowledge in this area may provide a compelling dataset that suggests verifiable benefits for the non-fungible practice of regular smartphone disconnection. We believe that there are teenagers, parents and communities willing to trial appropriate interventions over a significant period of time to establish ‘before’ and ‘after’ case studies. The evidence for these opinions is laid out in the sections that follow. Teens’ Experiences of Media, Smartphone, and Other Cultural Dis/connection In 2018, the Pew Research Center in the US surveyed teens about their experiences of social media, updating elements of an earlier study from 2014-15. They found that almost all (95%) the 743 teens in the study, aged between 13 and 17 when they were surveyed in March-April 2018, had or had access to a smartphone (Anderson and Jiang). A more recent report from 2021 notes that 88% of US teenagers, aged 13-18, have their own smartphone (Common Sense Media 22). What is more, this media use survey indicates that American teens have increased their screen entertainment time from 7 hours, 22 minutes per day in 2019 to 8 hours, 39 minutes per day in 2021 (Common Sense Media 3). Lee argues that, on average, mobile phone users in Australia touch their phones 2,617 times a day. In Sweden, a 2019 study of youth aged 15-24 noted a pervasive concern regarding the logical assumption “that offline time is influenced and adapted when people spend an increasing amount of time online” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 41). These authors critique the overarching theory of young people comprising a homogenous group of ‘digital natives’ by identifying different categories of light, medium, and heavy users of ICT. They say that the “variation in use is large, indicating that responses to ubiquitous ICT access are highly diverse rather than homogenously determined” (Thulin and Vilhelmson 48). The practice or otherwise of regular periods of smartphone disconnection is a further potential differentiator of teens’ digital experiences. Any investigation into these areas of difference should help indicate ways in which teens may or may not achieve comparatively more or less control over their smartphone use. Lee argues that in Australia “teens who spend five or more hours per day on their devices have a 71% higher risk factor for suicide”. Twenge and Campbell (311) used “three large surveys of adolescents in two countries (n = 221,096)” to explore differences between ‘light users’ of digital media (<1 hour per day) and ‘heavy users’ (5+ hours per day). They use their data to argue that “heavy users (vs. light) of digital media were 48% to 171% more likely to be unhappy, to be low in well-being, or to have suicide risk factors such as depression, suicidal ideation, or past suicide attempts” (Twenge and Campbell 311). Notably, Livingstone among others argues that emotive assertions such as these tend to ignore the nuance of significant bodies of research (Livingstone, about Twenge). Even so, it is plausible that teens’ online activities interpolate both positively and negatively upon their offline activities. The capacity to disconnect, however, to disengage from smartphone use at will, potentially allows a teen more opportunity for individual choice impacting both positive and negative experiences. As boyd argued in 2014: “it’s complicated”. The Pew findings from 2018 indicate that teens’ positive comments about social media use include: 81% “feel more connected to their friends”; 69% “think it helps [them] interact with a more diverse group of people”; and 68% “feel as if they have people who will support them through tough times.” (Anderson and Jiang) The most numerous negative comments address how of all teens: 45% “feel overwhelmed by all the drama there”; 43% “feel pressure to only post content that makes them look good to others”; and 37% “feel pressure to post content that will get a lot of likes and comments.” (Anderson and Jiang) It is notable that these three latter points relate to teens’ vulnerabilities around others’ opinions of themselves and the associated rollercoaster of emotions these opinions may cause. They resonate with Ciarrochi et al.’s argument that different kinds of Internet activity impact different issues of control, with more social forms of digital media associated with young females’ higher “compulsive internet use […] and worse mental health than males” (276). What is not known, because it has never been investigated, is whether any benefits flowing from regular smartphone disconnection might have a gendered dimension. If there is specific value in a capacity to disconnect regularly, separating that experience from haphazard episodes of connection and disconnection, regular disconnection may also enhance the quality of smartphone engagement. Potentially, the power to turn off their smartphone when the going got tough might allow young people to feel greater control over their media use while being less susceptible to the drama and compulsion of digital engagement. As one 17-year-old told the Pew researchers, possibly ruefully, “[teens] would rather go scrolling on their phones instead of doing their homework, and it’s so easy to do so. It’s just a huge distraction” (Anderson and Jiang). Few cultural contexts support teens’ regular and repeated disengagement from smartphones, but Icelandic society, Orthodox Judaism and the comparatively common practice of overnight disconnection from smartphone use may offer helpful indications of possible benefits. Cross-Cultural and Religious Interventions in Smartphone Use Concern around teens’ smartphone use, as described above, is typically applied to young people whose smartphone use constitutes an integral part of everyday life. The untangling of such interconnection would benefit from being both comparative and experimental. Our suggestions follow. Iceland has, in the past, adopted what Karlsson and Broddason term “a paternalistic cultural conservatism” (1). Legislators concerned about the social impacts of television deferred the introduction of Icelandic broadcasting for many years, beyond the time that most other European nations offered television services. Program offerings were expanded in a gradual way after the 1966 beginnings of Iceland’s public television broadcasting. As Karlsson and Broddason note, “initially the transmission hours were limited to only a few hours in the evening, three days a week and a television-free month in July. The number of transmission days was increased to six within a few years, still with a television-free month in July until 1983 and television-free Thursdays until 1987” (6). Interestingly, the nation is still open to social experimentation on a grand scale. In the 1990s, for example, in response to significant substance abuse by Icelandic teens, the country implemented an interventionist whole-of-Iceland public health program: the Icelandic Prevention Model (Kristjansson et al.). Social experimentation on a smaller scale remains part of the Icelandic cultural fabric. More recently, between 2015 and 2019, Iceland ran a successful social experiment whereby 1% of the working population worked a shorter work week for full time pay. The test was deemed successful because “workers were able to work less, get paid the same, while maintaining productivity and improving personal well-being” (Lau and Sigurdardottir). A number of self-governing Icelandic villages operate a particularly inclusive form of consultative local democracy enabling widespread buy-in for social experiments. Two or more such communities are likely to be interested in trialling an intervention study if there is a plausible reason to believe that the intervention may make a positive difference to teens’ (and others’) experiences of smartphone use. Those plausible reasons might be indicated by observational data from other people’s everyday practices. One comparatively common everyday practice which has yet to be systematically investigated from the perspective of evaluating the possible impacts of regular disconnection is that practiced by families who leave connected media outside the bedroom at night-time. These families are in the habit of putting their phones on to charge, usually in a shared space such as a kitchen or lounge room, and not referring to them again until a key point in the morning: when they are dressed, for example, or ready to leave the house. It is plausible to believe that such families might feel they have greater control over smartphone use than a family who didn’t adopt a regular practice of smartphone disconnection. According to social researchers in the Nordic nations, including co-authors Kjartan Ólafsson and Elisabeth Staksrud, it is likely that an Icelandic community will be keen to trial this experience of regular smartphone disconnection for a period of six months or more, if that trial went hand in hand with a rigorous evaluation of impact. Some religious communities offer a less common exemplar for teens’ regular disconnection from their smartphone. Young people in these communities may suspend their smartphone (and other media use) for just over a full day per week to focus on deepening their engagement with family and friends, and to support their spiritual development. Notable among such examples are teenagers who identify as members of the Orthodox Jewish faith. Their religious practices include withdrawing from technological engagement as part of the observance of Shabbat (the Sabbath): at least, that’s the theory. For the past ten years or so in Australia there has been a growing concern over some otherwise-Orthodox Jewish teens’ practice of the “half-Shabbat,” in which an estimated 17-50% of this cohort secretly use digital media for some time during their 25 hours of mandated abstinence. As one teacher from an Orthodox high school argues, “to not have access to the phone, it’s like choking off their air” (Telushikin). Interestingly, many Jewish teens who privately admit practicing half-Shabbat envision themselves as moving towards full observance in adulthood: they can see benefits in a wholehearted commitment to disengagement, even if it’s hard to disengage fully at this point in their lives. Hadlington et al.’s article “I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]” similarly evokes a broader community crisis around children’s dependence on digital media, noting that many children aged 8-12 have a tablet of their own before moving onto smartphone ownership in their teens (Common Sense Media 22). We appreciate that not every society has children and young people who are highly networked and integrated within digital dataflows. Nonetheless, while constant smartphone connectivity might appear to be a ‘first world problem’, preparing teens to be adults with optimal choice over their smartphone use includes identifying and promoting support for conscious disengagement from media as and when a young person wishes. Such a perspective aligns with promoting young people’s rights in digital contexts by interrogating the possible benefits of regularly disconnecting from digital media. Those putative benefits may be indicated by investigating perspectives around smartphone use held by Orthodox Jewish teenagers and comparing them with those held by teens who follow a liberal Jewish faith: liberal Jewish teens use smartphones in ways that resonate with broader community teens. A comparison of these two groups, suggests co-author Lynne Cohen, may indicate differences that can (in part) be attributed to Orthodox Jewish practices of digital disconnection, compared with liberal Jewish practices that don’t include disconnection. If smartphone disconnection has the potential to offer non-fungible benefits, it is incumbent upon researchers to investigate the possible advantages and drawbacks of such practices. That can be done through the comparative investigation of current practice as outlined above, and via an experimental intervention for approximately six months with a second Icelandic/Nordic community. The Potential Value of Investigating the (Non-)Fungibility of Digital Engagement and Digital Inactivity The overarching hypothesis addressed in this article is that a lived experience of regular smartphone disconnection may offer teenagers the opportunity to feel more in control of their personal technologies. Such a perspective aligns with many established media theories. These theories include the domestication of technology and its integration into daily life, helping to explain the struggle teens experience in detaching from digital media once they have become a fundamental element of their routine. Domestication theory asserts that technology moves from novelty to an integral aspect of everyday experience (Berker et al.). Displacement theory asserts that young people whose lives are replete with digital media may have substituted that media use for other activities enjoyed by the generations that grew up before them, while boyd offers an alternative suggestion that digital media add to, rather than displace, teens’ activities in daily contexts. Borrowing inputs from other disciplinary traditions, theories around mindfulness are increasingly robust and evidence-based, asserting that “attentiveness to what is present appears to yield corrective and curative benefits in its own right” (Brown et al. 1). Constant attention to digital media may be a distraction from mindful engagement with the lived environment. A detailed study of the non-fungible character of smartphone disconnection practices might offer an evidence base to support suggestions, such as those proffered by Beyond Blue, that a digital detox benefits mental health, resilience, and sociality. Such information might support initiatives by schools and other organisations central to the lives of teenagers to institute regular digital disconnection regimes, akin to Iceland’s experiments with television-free Thursdays. These innovations could build upon aligned social initiatives such as “no email Fridays” (Horng), which have been trialled in business contexts. Further, studies such as those outlined above could add authority to recommendations for parents, educators, and caregivers such as those recommendations contained in papers on the Common Sense Media site, for example, including Tweens, Teens, Tech, and Mental Health (Odgers and Robb) and Device-Free Dinners (Robb). Relevantly, the results from such observational and intervention studies would address the post-COVID era when parents and others will be considering how best to support a generation of children who went online earlier, and more often, than any generation before them. These results might also align with work towards early-stage adoption of the United Nations’ General Comment No. 25 on Children’s Rights in Relation to the Digital Environment (UNCRC). If so, an investigation into the fungibility or otherwise of digital abstention could contribute to the national and international debate about the rights of young people to make informed decisions around when to connect, and when to disconnect, from engagement via a smartphone. References Anderson, Monica, and Jingjing Jiang. "Teens’ Social Media Habits and Experiences." Pew Research Center 28 Nov. 2018. <https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2018/11/28/teens-social-media-habits-and-experiences/>. Berker, Thomas, Maren Hartmann, and Yves Punie. Domestication of Media and Technology. McGraw-Hill Education, 2005. Beyond Blue. “The Benefits of a Digital Detox: Unplugging from Digital Technology Can Have Tremendous Benefits on Body and Mind.” Beyond Blue, n.d. <https://www.beyondblue.org.au/personal-best/pillar/wellbeing/the-benefits-of-a-digital-detox>. Boer, Maartje, Gonneke W.J.M. Stevens, Catrin Finkenauer, Margaretha E. de Looze, and Regina J.J.M. van den Eijnden. “Social Media Use Intensity, Social Media Use Problems, and Mental Health among Adolescents: Investigating Directionality and Mediating Processes.” Computers in Human Behavior 116 (Mar. 2021): 106645. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2020.106645>. boyd, danah. It’s Complicated : The Social Lives of Networked Teens. Yale University Press, 2014. <http://www.danah.org/books/ItsComplicated.pdf>. Brown, Kirk Warren, J. David Creswell, and Richard M. Ryan. “The Evolution of Mindfulness Science.” Handbook of Mindfulness : Theory, Research, and Practice, eds. Kirk Warren Brown et al. Guilford Press, 2016. Cabin, The. “Internet Addiction Treatment Center.” The Cabin, 2020. <https://www.thecabinsydney.com.au/internet-addiction-treatment/>. Ciarrochi, Joseph, Philip Parker, Baljinder Sahdra, Sarah Marshall, Chris Jackson, Andrew T. 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Hadlington, Lee, Hannah White, and Sarah Curtis. "‘I Cannot Live without My [Tablet]’: Children's Experiences of Using Tablet Technology within the Home." Computers in Human Behavior 94 (2019): 19-24. Horng, Eric. “No-E-Mail Fridays Transform Office.” ABC News [US], 4 Aug. 2007. <https://abcnews.go.com/WNT/story?id=2939232&page=1>. Hoving, Kristel. “Digital Detox Tourism: Why Disconnect? : What Are the Motives of Dutch Tourists to Undertake a Digital Detox Holiday?” Undefined, 2017. <https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Digital-Detox-Tourism%3A-Why-disconnect-%3A-What-are-of-Hoving/17503393a5f184ae0a5f9a2ed73cd44a624a9de8>. Jaunzems, Kelly, Donell Holloway, Lelia Green, and Kylie Stevenson. “Very Young Children Online: Media Discourse and Parental Practice.” Digitising Early Childhood. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2019, <https://ro.ecu.edu.au/ecuworkspost2013/7550>. Karlsson, Ragnar, and Thorbjörn Broddason. Between the Market and the Public: Content Provision and Scheduling of Public and Private TV in Iceland. Kristjansson, Alfgeir L., Michael J. Mann, Jon Sigfusson, Ingibjorg E. Thorisdottir, John P. Allegrante, and Inga Dora Sigfusdottir. “Development and Guiding Principles of the Icelandic Model for Preventing Adolescent Substance Use.” Health Promotion Practice 21.1 (Jan. 2020): 62–69. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1524839919849032>. Lau, Virginia, and Ragnhildur Sigurdardottir. “The Shorter Work Week Really Worked in Iceland: Here’s How.” Time, 2021. <https://time.com/6106962/shorter-work-week-iceland/>. Lee, James. “16 Smartphone Statistics Australia Should Take Note Of (2021).” Smartphone Statistics Australia, 2022. <https://whatasleep.com.au/blog/smartphone-statistics-australia/>. Leonowicz-Bukała, Iwona, Anna Martens, and Barbara Przywara. "Digital Natives Disconnected. The Qualitative Research on Mediatized Life of Polish and International Students in Rzeszow and Warsaw, Poland." Przegląd Badań Edukacyjnych (Educational Studies Review) 35.2 (2021): 69-96. Light, Ben. Disconnecting with Social Networking Sites. Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. Livingstone, Sonia. "iGen: Why Today’s Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy–and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood." Journal of Children and Media, 12.1 (2018): 118–123. <https://doi.org/10.1080/17482798.2017.1417091>. Marvin, Carolyn. When Old Technologies Were New : Thinking about Electric Communication in the Late Nineteenth Century. Oxford UP, 1990. Maushart, Susan. The Winter of Our Disconnect: How Three Totally Wired Teenagers (and a Mother Who Slept with Her iPhone) Pulled the Plug on Their Technology and Lived to Tell the Tale. Penguin, 2011. 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Thulin, Eva, and Bertil Vilhelmson. “More at Home, More Alone? Youth, Digital Media and the Everyday Use of Time and Space.” Geoforum 100 (Mar. 2019): 41–50. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.geoforum.2019.02.010>. Tóth-Király, István, Alexandre J.S. Morin, Lauri Hietajärvi, and Katariina Salmela‐Aro. “Longitudinal Trajectories, Social and Individual Antecedents, and Outcomes of Problematic Internet Use among Late Adolescents.” Child Development 92.4 (2021): e653–73. <https://doi.org/10.1111/cdev.13525>. Traveltalk. “The Rise of Digital Detox Holidays and Tech-Free Tourism.” Traveltalk, 2018. <https://www.traveltalkmag.com.au/blog/articles/the-rise-of-digital-detox-holidays-and-tech-free-tourism>. Tsaliki, Liza, and Despina Chronaki. Discourses of Anxiety over Childhood and Youth across Cultures. 1st ed. Springer International Publishing, 2020. <https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46436-3>. 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Israël est un pays complexe et les anthropologues qui en font l’étude le savent bien (Dominguez 1989; Marx 1980; Motzafi-Haller 2018). La plus grande partie de l’anthropologie en Israël a jusqu’à présent été réalisée par des anthropologues juifs, hommes et femmes, ashkénazes (principalement d’ascendance européenne du nord et de l’est d’Europe) et mizrachi (principalement d’origine nord-africaine, ibérique et du Moyen-Orient). Les juifs ashkénazes ont largement prédominé dans les domaines politique, universitaire, économique et artistique au cours des premières décennies qui ont suivi la création de l'État d'Israël, ce pays qui vient de fêter ses 70 ans. Il n'est donc pas surprenant qu’on y retrouve beaucoup plus d'anthropologues juifs ashkénazes que d’anthropologues juifs Mizrachim ou d’anthropologues palestiniens. La plupart des anthropologues en Israël sont des anthropologues sociaux ou socioculturels (Abuhav 2015). Certains d’entre eux sont des anthropologues praticiens / appliqués qui travaillent dans les ministères de l’éducation, de la santé et de l’absorption des immigrants juifs et qui ont font partie d’une association d’anthropologie appliquée. Mais beaucoup n’adhèrent à aucune association. L'archéologie, partie des quatre champs de l’anthropologie selon la conception américaine de cette dernière, n'est pas considérée comme une carrière anthropologique en Israël, même si elle y est considérée comme une discipline visible et importante. On trouve la présence d’anthropologues médicaux et biologiques en Israël, mais ils ne sont certainement pas la majorité et ils sont rarement embauchés par les départements de l'université ou du collège dans lesquels travaillent la plupart des anthropologues universitaires. Jusqu'à récemment, tous ces départements étaient dans les faits des départements de sociologie et d'anthropologie, composés d’une majorité de sociologues. Ce n'est que depuis 5 ans qu'un département entièrement composé d’anthropologues a vu le jour, soit le département de l'Université de Haïfa qui se consacre au niveaux supérieurs de formation. L’association d’anthropologie d’Israël ((HaAguda HaAntropologit HaYisraelit)) remonte au début des années 1970 et n’a compté jusqu’à présent que des anthropologues juifs comme chefs ou présidents. Des efforts ont été faits pour changer cette situation au fil des ans, car tous les membres de l’Association ne sont pas juifs et certains d’entre eux croient fermement qu’ils ne doivent pas tous être juifs. Cette question demeure délicate pour certains des membres les plus en vue de la communauté anthropologique en Israël, citoyens d’Israël mais également Palestiniens (Kanaaneh 2002; Sa’ar 2016). Alors que l’association d’anthropologie d’Israël s'oppose largement à l'occupation de la Cisjordanie et à toute forme de discrimination à l'encontre des Palestiniens, en particulier de ses concitoyens, cette organisation est toujours israélienne et a toujours été une association fortement juive. En fait, ce n’est que récemment que la plupart des départements universitaires israéliens ont engagé des Arabes, des Palestiniens, voire des musulmans, en tant que membres du corps enseignant. Pour les quelques Palestiniens qui occupent actuellement ces postes dans des universités ou des collèges israéliens, les postes de direction de l'association anthropologique israélienne les laisseraient ouverts à la critique selon lesquelles ils seraient simplement des collaborateurs ou des complices des sionistes israéliens qui considèrent Israël comme un pays réservé aux juifs et un pays réalisé par les juifs dont les valeurs morales l'obligent à être tolérant envers les non-Juifs parmi eux. Ainsi, une nouvelle association appelée Insaniyyat a simplement été créée ces dernières années pour et par des anthropologues palestiniens Pendant des années et avant la date de la fondation de l’association (1973) l’anthropologie a été enseignée aux niveaux universitaire dans toutes les grandes universités israéliennes et les étudiants ont obtenu un baccalauréat en sociologie et en anthropologie, une maîtrise en anthropologie et un doctorat en anthropologie en Israël. Le corps professoral et les étudiants israéliens font des recherches, présentent leurs travaux lors de conférences et pratiquent périodiquement des activités d'anthropologie engagée ou de plaidoyer. La qualité de leurs recherches et de leurs publications est généralement élevée, et les universités s'attendent à de nombreuses publications dans des revues savantes internationales de haute qualité destinées à toute personne considérée pour une promotion et une permanence. Pendant des années aussi, l'anglais a été fortement enseigné et fortement favorisé à la fois dans la communauté universitaire en général en Israël et dans la communauté anthropologique israélienne en particulier. En fait, la publication en hébreu dans des revues israéliennes n'a pas autant de valeur que celle dans des revues de langue anglaise au Royaume-Uni, aux États-Unis, en Australie ou au Canada. Une partie de cette tendance est valable pour les universités israéliennes en général, mais une autre est spécifique à l'anthropologie en Israël. Au fil des ans, plusieurs influences ont marqué l'anthropologie en Israël. Le regretté professeur Shmuel Eisenstadt (1967), qui a marqué la sociologie et l'anthropologie en Israël, en particulier dans son département d'origine à l'Université hébraïque de Jérusalem, compte parmi celles-la. Pendant bon nombre d'années, ce professeur a été nommé à Harvard (pendant six mois) alors qu'il était également à l'Université hébraïque de Jérusalem. Ce professeur se croyait autant anthropologue que sociologue et considérait l'anthropologie comme une branche de la sociologie, cela bien que ce n’était généralement pas l’opinion des anthropologues qu’il était disposé à engager comme professeurs dans ce même département. Sa connexion à Harvard était importante. C’est vers les États-Unis qu’il s’est tourné en ses qualités de sociologue et d’anthropologue, mais aussi que sur l’organisation de l’enseignement supérieur en Israël. Ce n’était pas l’Allemagne, la Pologne, la France, l’Italie ou tout autre pays imaginable. Ce n’est donc pas un hasard si ce chercheur a privilégié les publications en anglais et plus particulièrement aux États-Unis. La deuxième influence importante qui a marqué l’anthropologie israélienne a été celle de la Manchester School dirigée par Max Gluckman, un juif sud-africain émigré en Angleterre à l’origine de ce puissant département d'anthropologie à l'Université de Manchester en Angleterre. Gluckman a formé des anthropologues à Manchester pour effectuer des travaux d'anthropologie sociale en Israël, et certains de ses plus importants étudiants sont restés en Israël et y sont devenus professeurs d'anthropologie sociale. Une troisième influence sur le développement de l'anthropologie en Israël fut le sionisme travailliste lui-même. Des juifs d'autres pays sont venus s'installer en Israël pour participer au développement d'un Israël à tendance socialiste dans les années 1950 et 1960. Certains d'entre eux étaient des anthropologues titulaires d'un doctorat de pays anglophones (ou dominants anglophones), comme les États-Unis, le Royaume-Uni, Canada, l’Australie, l’Afrique du Sud et la Nouvelle-Zélande. Pendant de nombreuses années, peu de postes de professeur d’anthropologie dans des universités israéliennes ont été occupés par des Israéliens nés dans le pays, et certainement pas par des anthropologues n’ayant jamais étudié dans un pays anglophone, suivi une formation postuniversitaire dans un pays anglophone ou encore terminé au moins un postdoc dans un pays anglophone. Quand des collègues qui sont des rédacteurs de revues anglophones en anthropologie aux États-Unis, au Royaume-Uni ou au Canada font une remarque sur le nombre de manuscrits qu’ils reçoivent d’anthropologues israéliens et sur leur qualité, je souris. Les anthropologues israéliens publient en dehors d’Israël parce que leur université accorde plus d’importance, en particulier dans les articles de revues, et que leurs textes sont bons (c’est-à-dire que leurs problèmes sont familiers et qu’ils respectent les normes des articles de journaux aux États-Unis), car ils ont en grande partie été formés et par des anthropologues anglophones. Une génération plus jeune est maintenant moins à l'aise de publier ou de présenter ses recherches en anglais, parce que l'anglais n'est pas la langue maternelle des anthropologues israéliens, mais le fait demeure qu'ils lisent des livres et des articles en anglais tout au long de leurs études universitaires. Il faut mentionner que peu de livres ou d'articles académiques sont traduits de l’anglais vers l’hébreu. Quoi que les conférences et conversations universitaires soient en hébreu, de nombreux livres et articles qu'ils sont censés lire sont en anglais. Quels sont les champs et thèmes de recherche privilégiés par ces anthropologues ? Sans surprise, ils travaillent sur une variétés de sujets, mais aussi, sans surprise, on note quelques changements au fil des ans (Feldman 2008; Levy et Weingrod 2004; Markowitz 2013). Les premières vagues d'anthropologues en Israël avaient tendance à travailler sur des groupes d'immigrants juifs non ashkénazes en Israël ou sur des communautés non juives vivant en Israël. Pour la plupart, ils ont étudié les kibboutzim et les moshavim ou villes de développement en Israël. Cette tendance s’est partiellement modifiée dans les années 1980 et 1990, mais la plupart des anthropologues israéliens travaillent encore largement sur le terrain en Israël et non en dehors d’Israël. L'adaptation et l'intégration des nouveaux arrivants ne sont plus des thèmes dominants. D’autres thèmes de recherche apparaissent tels que les LGBTQ, les New Agers en Israël, certains se penchent sur la science et la technologie en Israël, d’autres sur la reproduction et sa politique en Israël, sur le néolibéralisme en Israël ou encore les tribunaux de conversion en Israël. Les autres sujets prédominants sont l'anthropologie médicale et psychologique, la jeunesse, le féminisme et le genre, et ainsi que les études environnementales. L'anthropologie israélienne interroge de nombreux aspects de la vie en Israël. Elle se considérait de gauche dans les premières décennies d’Israël (quand Israël avait un gouvernement à tendance socialiste) comme c’est toujours le cas aujourd’hui (malgré le mouvement connu d’Israël vers la droite) (voir Lomsky-Feder et Ben-Ari 2000). L'anthropologie israélienne a longtemps été influencée par l'anthropologie dans le monde anglophone et aucun signe n’indique que cela soit en train de changer. L’anthropologie israélienne a longtemps été centrée sur la vie en Israël (juive et arabe) ; bien que les thèmes de recherche aient tendance à se diversifier, et encore là tout indique que cette tendance se poursuit, même si davantage d’anthropologues israéliens travaillent dorénavant sur terrains en dehors d’Israël. Les anthropologues israéliens ont reçu une formation rigoureuse à tous les niveaux de leurs études universitaires, et je vois que cela continue. Reste à savoir si les juifs et les palestiniens trouveront davantage de collaborations que ce que l’on constate aujourd’hui. Lorsque la communauté anthropologique américaine a sérieusement envisagé le mouvement BDS (mouvement britannique de boycott, désinvestissement et sanction face à Israël) (voir Redden 2016) les anthropologues israéliens se sont préparés au boycott qu'ils attendaient des départements, revues et maisons d'édition anthropologiques américains. Ils ont également subi un peu de pression (de leurs universités et de leurs collègues) pour combattre le BDS. Beaucoup s'inquiètent de l'impact du BDS sur la communauté anthropologique israélienne. Rétrospectivement, c’est un signe vraiment visible de la manière dont la communauté anthropologique israélienne a été liée - et continue de l’être - à la communauté anthropologique américaine. Certains[DVR1] [DVR2] [DVR3] [DVR4] anthropologues israéliens de la première génération craignent que la jeune génération ne fasse plus de travail sur le terrain en immersion totale et, partant, que l'anthropologie disparaisse bientôt de la vie et du monde universitaire israéliens, mais je vois des continuités tout autant que des changements dans l'anthropologie israélienne, et je ne pense pas que l'anthropologie est susceptible de disparaître en Israël.