Статті в журналах з теми "Barossa Complex"

Has the industry seen the light on project delivery? Numerous signs of improved execution through the downturn in Australia and across the globe suggest oil and gas companies are finally getting it right after a lengthy period of dismal performance. Even before prices went to US$100 per barrel and beyond, the oil and gas industry had a poor track record of delivering major projects. However, higher prices exacerbated the situation, encouraging poor capital discipline and overconfidence in undertaking large-scale, highly complex projects that overstretched the supply chain. The results were delays, cost overruns and billions of dollars in value destroyed. Over the past decade the average project was delivered 6 months late, with costs up 14% compared with the forecast at final investment decision. The top 15 cost blowouts were a cumulative US$80 billion over budget. Much of that was in Australia. But lessons have been learned. Without the safety net of higher prices, the successful execution of capital projects has become of crucial importance to the industry. There is now evidence of post-downturn projects being delivered on time and on budget; in Australasia, recent examples include Greater Western Flank Phase 2 and the Bayu-Undan infill drilling campaign. But do these successes mean execution has really improved? It can be argued these are relatively simple brownfield, subsea developments. When we enter the next investment cycle with bigger projects (Scarborough, Browse and Barossa), will we see the same old mistakes repeated again?

We developed an electronic pneumatic barostat to measure changes in gallbladder muscle tone in vivo independent of biliary flow dynamics. Dogs were prepared with a gallbladder cannula for insertion of barostat balloon and an inflatable balloon-occluder around the cystic duct. The barostat was validated to maintain a constant pressure of 2 +/- 0.4 (SE) mmHg within a plastic balloon of “infinite” compliance that filled the gallbladder lumen; changes in balloon volume reflected changes in wall tone because intraluminal pressure was kept constant. Gallbladder tone, as measured by the barostat balloon volume, varied cyclically with the duodenal migrating motor complex and decreased by 28 +/- 8% (P less than 0.05) at the time of phase III in the stomach and duodenum. Superimposed rapid changes in barostat volume occurred during phase III. The barostat response to motilin mimicked events during spontaneous phase III; in contrast, the response to cholecystokinin octapeptide (CCK-OP) was greater (volume decrease = 53 +/- 12%) and no phasic changes occurred. Two distinct patterns of gallbladder contraction were demonstrated: a basal tone increase with superimposed phasic contractions observed during phase III and after motilin, and a basal tone increase without phasic activity that occurs after CCK-OP.

O melhoramento genético da batata é complexo e requer uma grande demanda de tempo e energia. A tecnologia do DNA recombinante, com sua capacidade potencial de isolar e transferir genes a partir de qualquer organismo, permite incorporar nas plantas novos caracteres de interesse agrícola. No entanto, as conseqüências da inserção de determinados genes em relação às características fisiológicas da planta são, muitas vezes desconhecidas. O presente trabalho teve como objetivo avaliar as características fotossintéticas de plantas de batata cultivar Baronesa modificadas geneticamente com genes de resistência a vírus. Para isso, tubérculos de batata cultivar Baronesa e seu respectivo genótipo transformado foram plantados em vasos e mantidos em casa de vegetação. Durante o ciclo de vida das plantas foram avaliados parâmetros da fluorescência das clorofilas, fotossíntese líquida e fotossíntese potencial. As plantas de batata cv. Baronesa transformadas com genes de resistência ao vírus PVY apresentaram maior eficiência fotoquímica máxima e maior taxa de liberação de oxigênio do que plantas da mesma cultivar não modificadas geneticamente, embora tivessem mantido os demais parâmetros de fluorescência das clorofilas e a taxa de fotossíntese líquida iguais.

The assessment of parameters which adequately represent rectal and neorectal compliance is complex. Biological properties of the rectum during distension and relaxation show significant departures from in vitro physical compliance measurements; as much dependent upon the viscoelastic characteristics of hollow organ deformation as upon the technique of compliance calculation. This review discusses the pressure/volume characteristics of importance in the rectum during distension from a bioengineering perspective and outlines the disparities of such measurements in living biological systems. Techniques and pitfalls of newer methods to assess rectal wall stiffness (impedance planimetry and barostat measurement) are discussed. .

Ecosystem management policies are complex and susceptible to social conflict because of uncertainty and many interests. The management policy without considering the mangrove ecosystem services is also believed to be one of the main factors causing the degradation of mangrove ecosystem. This research intends to formulate management strategy by considering the type of mangrove ecosystem services that is important according to the perspective of the community user. A total of 108 respondents were included in the survey. The results of PCA (Principal component analysis) showed that there were three main components formed with cumulative variance of 75,238%. The three components are physical ecological function which has the highest eigenvalue of 4,454 and 49,494% of variance, followed by tourism 14,150%, forest and fishery products 11,594%. The main components can be interpreted as a priority that can be used as the basis for management strategies. Therefore, an appropriate management strategy to be implemented based on these priorities is to harmonize the ecological functions and physical benefits of the processes that take place in the mangrove ecosystem with the use of educational based tourism. Keywords: management strategies, ecosystem services, perspectives, community users

Abstract The industrial production has suffered from huge amounts of waste discharges that contain valuable unreacted components as well as major contaminants that affect the environment. Just like heat integration, mass integration evolves around recycling the discharge streams back into the process to increase the overall plant performance and decrease the fresh feedstock resources used as well as extracting the valuable by-products whether in product streams or waste streams; thus, decreasing the overall cost and increasing the production value of outcomes. The study has tackled mass integration graphically on an existing production process, acrylonitrile, and evaluated the performance of mass-exchange networks. It also suggested improvements can be recommended in terms of composition driving forces inside mass exchangers. The mass network developed improved both the production yield and the product quality. In this research, the plant, located in Baroda complex, India, on a 500 m2 area, has been studied for mass integration using mass separating agents. The mass separating agents used were water and benzene. A mass exchange network design has been conducted in the feasible design regions to achieve maximum mass recovery and mass targets of each mass exchanger. Three extra units were added for Acetonitrile removal, Hydrogen cyanide removal, and Acrylonitrile extraction.

The journey and stay of the Hungarian queen Elizabeth Łokietek, mother of King Lajos the Great and widow of King Charles Robert, to the Kingdoms of Naples and Rome from June 1343 until May 1344, is a well-researched topic in historiography. On that journey the queen was accompanied, as a Hungarian chronicler noted, by her court, numerous ladies-in-waiting, girls of noble origin, Hungarian barons, knights and servants. Yet, of all the women accompanying the queen, only the identity of one of her court ladies is known, that of aristocrat Maria Follia. Her presence in the (closest) surrounding of the queen is testified by two diplomatic sources, one of Hungarian and another of Naples provenance. Maria was the widow of a recently deceased Hungarian palatine William Drugeth (who died in September 1342). The author in this paper investigates the causes and complex circumstances under which Maria Follia participated in the Italian journey of her mistress. The issue is all the more interesting since it is known that, after the death of palatine William, the Drugeth family, until then the most powerful Hungarian baron family, lost their wealth, fortune and positions in the royal court. One of the possible answers to this question is a conclusion that the palatine’s widow, independent of her husband’s family, stayed in good relations with Queen Elizabeth and kept her positions in the royal court.

Molecular dynamics (MD) simulations represent an essential tool in the toolbox of modern chemistry, enabling the prediction of experimental observables for a variety of chemical systems and processes and majorly impacting the study of biological membranes. However, the chemical diversity of complex lipids beyond phospholipids brings new challenges to well-established protocols used in MD simulations of soft matter and requires continuous assessment to ensure simulation reproducibility and minimize unphysical behavior. Lipopolysaccharides (LPS) are highly charged glycolipids whose aggregation in a lamellar arrangement requires the binding of numerous cations to oppositely charged groups deep inside the membrane. The delicate balance between the fully hydrated carbohydrate region and the smaller hydrophobic core makes LPS membranes very sensitive to the choice of equilibration protocol. In this work, we show that the protocol successfully used to equilibrate phospholipid bilayers when applied to complex lipopolysaccharide membranes occasionally leads to a small expansion of the simulation box very early in the equilibration phase. Although the use of a barostat algorithm controls the system dimension and particle distances according to the target pressure, fluctuation in the fleeting pressure occasionally enables a few water molecules to trickle into the hydrophobic region of the membrane, with spurious solvent buildup. We show that this effect stems from the initial steps of NPT equilibration, where initial pressure can be fairly high. This can be solved with the use of a stepwise-thermalization NVT/NPT protocol, as demonstrated for atomistic MD simulations of LPS/DPPE and lipid-A membranes in the presence of different salts using an extension of the GROMOS forcefield within the GROMACS software. This equilibration protocol should be standard procedure for the generation of consistent structural ensembles of charged glycolipids starting from atomic coordinates not previously pre-equilibrated. Although different ways to deal with this issue can be envisioned, we investigated one alternative that could be readily available in major MD engines with general users in mind.

Homeostasis is a founding principle of integrative physiology. In current systems biology, however, homeostasis seems almost invisible. Is homeostasis a key goal driving body processes, or is it an emergent mechanistic fact? In this perspective piece, I propose that the integrative physiological and systems biological viewpoints about homeostasis reflect different epistemologies, different philosophies of knowledge. Integrative physiology is concept driven. It attempts to explain biological phenomena by continuous formation of theories that experimentation or observation can test. In integrative physiology, “function” refers to goals or purposes. Systems biology is data driven. It explains biological phenomena in terms of “omics”–i.e., genomics, gene expression, epigenomics, proteomics, and metabolomics–it depicts the data in computer models of complex cascades or networks, and it makes predictions from the models. In systems biology, “function” refers more to mechanisms than to goals. The integrative physiologist emphasizes homeostasis of internal variables such as Pco2 and blood pressure. The systems biologist views these emphases as teleological and unparsimonious in that the “regulated variable” (e.g., arterial Pco2 and blood pressure) and the “regulator” (e.g., the “carbistat” and “barostat”) are unobservable constructs. The integrative physiologist views systems biological explanations as not really explanations but descriptions that cannot account for phenomena we humans believe exist, although they cannot be observed directly, such as feelings and, ultimately, the conscious mind. This essay reviews the history of the two epistemologies, emphasizing autonomic neuroscience. I predict rapprochement of integrative physiology with systems biology. The resolution will avoid teleological purposiveness, transcend pure mechanism, and incorporate adaptiveness in evolution, i.e., “Darwinian medicine.”

Iron deficiency is the most common nutritional deficiency worldwide. Anemia, defined by the World Health Organization as hemoglobin < 11 g/dl, is frequently seen in the antenatal period and affects 4-48% of women who give birth and severe anemia, with hemoglobin levels <9 g/dl .This study is to evaluate the efficacy and safety of intravenous Ferric Carboxymaltose. (FCM) in comparison with intravenous Iron sucrose complex (ISC) for treatment of iron deficiency anemia in pregnancy.: A comparative, interventional, prospective study was carried out in 100 antenatal patients with Anemia (hemoglobin level between 5 to 9.5 gm/dl) in the department of obstetrics and gynecology, Government Medical College, Baroda, Gujarat, India from September 2017 to August 2018. The subjects were randomized in two groups. First group receiving 1000 mg of intravenous iron sucrose divided in five doses on alternate days (200 mg each) and Second group receiving 1000 mg of intravenous ferric carboxymaltose.: Maximum number of patients in our study were belonged to low socioeconomic group, significantly higher number of women achieved rise of hemoglobin >2gm/dl in FCM group, which was highly significant (p value <0.001). Mean rise of hemoglobin was 1.9 g/dl for FCM group and 1.66gm/dl for iron sucrose group, which was also significant. Serum ferritin level in ferric carboxymaltose group was rises more as compared to iron sucrose group. Unpaired‘t’ test was used to test the significance of rise and compare the rise between two groups.Ferric carboxymaltose is an efficient and better alternative to Iron Sucrose in treating iron deficiency anemia of pregnancy. It has an added advantage of single dose regime with lower side effects.

Biojutikliai yra analitiniai įrenginiai, skirti medžiagų koncentracijoms matuoti. Kuriant naujus biojutiklius reikia atlikti daug eksperimentų. Siekiant sumažinti atliekamų fizinių eksperimentų skaičių taikomas kompiuterinis biojutiklių veiksmo odeliavimas, kai įprastai kiekvienam struktūriškai naujam biojutikliui yra sudaromas matematinis modelis, tuomet jis keičiamas skirtuminiu, o jo lygčių sistemos sprendimas įgyvendinamas sudarant kompiuterinį modelį. Kiekvienas žingsnis reikalauja atidos ir turėtų būti automatizuotas. Straipsnyje yra pateikiamas biojutiklio metamodelis, leidžiantis formuluoti biojutiklių modelius dalykinės srities sąvokomis. Pasiūlytasis metamodelis aprašo biojutiklių modelius, formuluojamus dvimatėje erdvėje, apimančius biojutiklio struktūros, jo geometrinių savybių, biojutikliuose vykstančių reakcijų ir difuzijos procesų aprašus. Sudarius metamodelį, buvo sukurta programinė įranga, automatiškai sukonstruojanti kompiuterinį biojutiklio modelį pagal metamodeliosąvokomis išreikšto biojutiklio aprašą. Metamodelis ir programinė įranga buvo taikoma realiam biojutiklio modeliui sudaryti ir jo veiksmui modeliuoti kompiuteriniu būdu.", t. y. ištrinti žodžius "biojutiklių veiksmo.Computer-Aided Modeling of Biosensors with a Complex Geometrical StructureRomas Baronas, Karolis Petrauskas SummaryBiosensors are analytical devices used to measure the concentration of substances. When developing new biosensors, a lot of experiments are needed to be performed. Mathematical modeling of biosensors is used to decrease the number of physical experiments. Models of biosensors are usually created for each structurally unique biosensor by defining its mathematical model and the corresponding numerical approximation. Equations of the numerical model are then solved using computer programs, usually created for a particular model of the biosensor. Each of these steps requires a great attention and should be automated. The article presents a metamodel for a biosensor, enabling one to define models of biosensors in domain-specific terms. The proposed metamodel describes biosensor models, defined in the two-dimensional space and including definitions of the structure of a biosensor, its geometrical properties, reactions and diffusion processes taking place in it. Upon defining the metamodel, we compiled the computer software able to create computer models for biosensors from the models formulated according to the proposed metamodel. The metamodel was practically used to define a model for a real biosensor, and the biosensor modeling software was used to simulate its operation.

From the beginning of the thirteenth century, the Peloponnese became a zone of civilization borderland, where Greek and Western European ethnocultural communities coexisted and interacted with each other. For a long time, they had been in a state of permanent war, but over time, their relationship began to change. By the mid-fourteenth century, the changes became especially evident as the balance of power in the Peloponnese shifted in favour of the Byzantines. This article analyses the evolution of military and political cooperation between the Greeks and the Franks in the Peloponnese between the 1340s and 1370s. Based on data from historical writings, the author examines the reasons for cooperation between the Franks and the Greeks, identifies the motives of each side for such interaction and new features which expressed the evolution of their military and political contacts. The study demonstrates that on the part of the barony of Achaea, the rapprochement with the Greeks was promoted by disillusionment with the Angevin administration of the principality. For the Byzantines, peace and cooperation were beneficial for security reasons and for strengthening the internal organisation of the Despotate of the Morea. The main motivation for this military and political alliance between the Greeks and the Franks was the need to protect the Peloponnese from external attacks. The author concludes that the alliance between a part of the Achaean barons and the despot Manuel Kantakouzenos indicated the emergence of a new, more complex model of Graeco-Latin relations in the Peloponnese. The evolution of the military and political cooperation between the parties was expressed in its unprecedented stability and duration in comparison with previous situational agreements. Unlike before, the political course of the despot was consistent. For a long time, he avoided any military actions against the neighbours who were also complying with agreements. Their military and political cooperation between the 1350s and 1360s gave a visible result and showed the fruitfulness of such a relationship model.

Abstract Abstract 2811 Among chronic myeloproliferative neoplasms (MPN) myelofibrosis (MF) has the worst prognosis. The International Prognostic Score System-IPSS reliably discriminates four categories of patients (pts) with different survival (OS); however, the possibility to identify pts with very high-risk disease, based on intrinsic characteristics of the underlying disease, would be particularly useful for therapeutic choices that include early stem cell transplantation. Several studies have addressed the prognostic value of molecular abnormalities harbored by MF pts, but a part from a negative role of low JAK2V617F allele burden on survival independently reported by the Mayo Clinic and our own group, none of them impacted significantly on survival. Here we have genotyped at diagnosis 370 pts with primary MF (PMF) and 148 with post-polycythemia vera/essential thrombocythemia MF (PPV/PET-MF) for mutations of EZH2 and ASXL1. EZH2 is the catalytic component of polycomb repressive complex 2 involved in trimethylation of H3 lysine 27, while ASXL1 is a member of enhancer of trithorax and polycomb group required for repression of HOX genes through deubiquitination of histone H2A. All 20 EZH2 exons were screened by high-resolution melting followed by direct sequencing whereas direct sequencing was used for ASXL1 exon 12 genotype. Pts median FU was 39 mo (1–340); 128 pts died (25.9%), 81 (18.3%) because of leukemia (AL). Among PMF pts survival differed significantly according to the IPSS category and was also predicted by the lowest V617F quartile. EZH2 mutation. We found 22 PMF (6%), 1 PPV-MF (1.2%) and 6 PET-MF (9.4%) mutated pts, harboring 25 different mutations, 20 exonic (heterozygous in 83%), 5 intronic. Concurrent JAK2 V617F, MPL W515L/K, IDH1/2, TET2, CBL and ASXL1 mutations were found in 41.4%, 0%, 0%, 6.9%, 3.4% and 20.7% of EZH2 -mutated pts. In multivariate analysis EZH2 mutation was associated with leukocytosis (12.3±13.2 vs 18.7±11.5×10e9/L) in PMF pts, but no additional clinical/hematological correlation was discovered. EZH2 mut pts clustered preferentially in the IPSS high-risk category (52.6%; P=.002). More EZH2 mut than wt PMF pts died (51.9% vs 24.4%; P<.001); median OS was shorter in EZH2 mut pts (32 vs 137 mo, P=.001). Leukemia occurred in 31.8% of EZH2 mutated and 17.6% of wt pts; leukemia-free survival (LFS) was shorter in EZH2 mut PMF pts (25.7 vs 63.6 mo; P=.028). ASXL1 mutation. In a total number of 334 evaluated patients we found 38 different mutations in 49 pts (14.7%), 35 PMF (15%), 5 PPV-MF (8.6 %) and 9 PET-MF (21.4%). Mutations were frameshift, non sense and missense mutations, heterozygous in 46 of 49 cases. Co-expression of JAK2 V617F, MPL W515L/K and EZH2 mutation was found in 55.1%, 4.1% and 12.2%, respectively. Co-espression of ASXL1 and IDH1/2, TET2 or CBL was observed in two, one and one of the evaluable subjects, respectively. ASXL1 mutation was associated with leucocytosis (P=.006), a blast count >1% (43.8% vs 16.6%, P<.0001) and constitutional symptoms (P=.027). ASXL1 mutated pts clustered preferentially in the IPSS high-risk category (46.4%; P<.0001). OS was significantly shortened in ASXL1 mutated PMF patients (median= 87.6 mo vs 264; P=.004); leukemia occurred in 34.9% of ASXL1 mutated and 15.2% of wt pts (P=.002). LFS was shorter in ASXL1 mutated PMF patients [137 mo than wt 264 mo, (P=.01)]. According to EZH2 and ASXL1 mutational status, median OS was significantly shorter in double EZH2/ASXL1 mutated PMF pts compared with single EZH2 or ASXL1 mutated or WT patients (34 vs 116 vs 198 vs 272 mo, respectively. P<.0001). On multivariate analysis, OS was predicted by IPSS score (P<.001), ASXL1 (P=.016) and EZH2 mutational status (P=.011). Leukemia-free survival (LFS) was shorter in double EZH2/ASXL1 mutated PMF pts compared with single EZH2 or ASXL1 mutated or WT patients (25 vs 153 vs 138 vs 264 mo; P=.002), but the low number of cases (n=6) prevented multivariate analysis. No impact of EZH2 or ASXL1 mutations on OS or LFS was seen in PPV/PET-MF. Overall, these results showed that mutations in genes involved in epigenetic gene regulation such as EZH2 and ASXL1 negatively impact on OS and LFS in pts with PMF, suggesting that screening for these mutations might be useful for risk stratification and treatment decisions. Disclosures: Barosi: Novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Vannucchi:Novartis: Honoraria.

Background Myeloproliferative neoplasms (MPN) commonly result from mutations in genes encoding the kinase JAK2 or the multi-functional protein CALR. In preclinical studies, estrogen receptor alpha (ERα) modulation restores normal apoptosis in JAK2V617F hematopoietic progenitors (HSPCs). Use of selective ER modulators (SERM) such as tamoxifen may permit the molecular reduction of MPNs. Methods TAMARIN is a Trials Acceleration Programme, Phase II, multicentre, single arm A'herns design clinical trial assessing tamoxifen's safety and activity in reducing molecular markers of disease burden in MPN male patients aged ≥60 years and post-menopausal female patients with stable blood counts, no history of thrombosis and ≥20% mutated JAK2V617F, CALR 5bp insertion or CALR 52bp deletion. Based on tamoxifen's safety profile in ER+ breast cancer, an oral dose of 20 mg once daily was initially given and progressively escalated to 40 mg, in addition to standard cytoreductive therapy (excluding treatments known to lower allele burden eg interferon). Mutant allele burden was measured after 12 and 24 weeks (w) of treatment. The A'herns success criteria required the primary outcome (&gt;50% reduction in allele burden at 24w) be observed in ≥3 patients (Barosi Leuk. 2015). Patient blood (baseline, 12 and 24w) samples were collected and CD34+ HSPCs were isolated in a subset for RNA-Seq, which was also performed on HEL and UKE-1 JAK2V617F-mutated human cell lines treated with tamoxifen/vehicle. Apoptosis and oxidative phosphorylation (OXPHOS) were measured in SERM-treated cell lines for confirmation. Results and Discussion 38 patients (37% essential thrombocythaemia (ET), 29% polycythaemia vera (PV), 16% primary myelofibrosis (PMF), 13% post-PV MF and 5% post-ET MF) were recruited over 112w. 33 patients completed ≥24w of tamoxifen treatment, 1 was untreated, 1 discontinued following an unprovoked thrombotic event and 3 discontinued due to toxicity. 4 patients achieved the primary outcome and 6 additional patients met the secondary outcome (≥25% reduction)(A-B). Responders included 4 JAK2V617F PV males, a JAK2V617F PMF female and ET patients of both genders carrying JAK2V617F, CALRdel52 or CALRins5 mutations. 4 patients remain on trial treatment beyond 48w as they are considered to be deriving clinical benefit. Two grade 3 adverse events unrelated to tamoxifen, as well as 1 superficial thrombophlebitis and 1 deep vein thrombosis (grade 2) occurred on study. HSPC transcriptome seggregates responders and non-responders perfectly at baseline (C), suggesting a potential predictive signature of response. Pathway analysis of differentially-expressed genes shows enrichment of myeloid differentiation and hormone-dependent transcriptional complex assembly in responders at baseline. In contrast, chromosome segregation, DNA replication, and chromosome condensation pathways are enriched in non-responders. Gene-set enrichment analysis (GSEA) reveals increased apoptosis and oxidative phosphorylation (OXPHOS) signatures in responders at baseline (D). Upregulated genes in responders are associated with H3K4me1 modification whilst genes upregulated in non-responders are associated with H3K9me3, suggesting the possibility that chromatin modifications account for tamoxifen sensitivity. 24w after treatment, OXPHOS and ROS pathways are downregulated in responder HSPCs (E) but upregulated in non-responders (F), suggesting striking differences in the metabolism of HSPCs in both groups and/or the eradication of sensitive HSPCs in responders. Reduced OXPHOS pathways and deregulated expression of unfolded protein response (UPR) genes were confirmed in HEL and UKE-1 cells. In fact, tamoxifen induces dose-dependent apoptosis in HEL and UKE-1 cells, where serum deprivation or UPR inducers sensitize resistant cells to tamoxifen-induced apoptosis, which is associated with decreased OXPHOS and energy (ATP) production. Conclusions These results demonstrate the safety and activity of tamoxifen in reducing mutant allele burden in a subset of MPN patients who could be prospectively identified based on their transcriptomic signature at baseline. Tamoxifen can induce apoptosis of human JAK2V617F or CALR mutated HSPCs through metabolic and transcriptional effects. These results advocate for future studies to test the effects of SERMs in MPN with careful consideration of thrombotic risk. Disclosures Harrison: Roche: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Janssen: Speakers Bureau; AOP Orphan Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria; Promedior: Honoraria; Shire: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; CTI Biopharma Corp: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; Celgene: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Sierra Oncology: Honoraria; Gilead Sciences: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; Incyte Corporation: Speakers Bureau. Mead:CTI: Consultancy; Gilead: Consultancy; Celgene/BMS: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: travel, accommodations, expenses, Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Other: travel, accommodations, expenses, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Abbvie: Consultancy. Knapper:Novartis: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding. Ewing:Novartis: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Incyte: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Celgene/BMS: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. McMullin:Jazz Pharmaceuticals: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; BMS: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy; Abbvie: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Narayanan:Novartis: Other: Educational support to attend conferences; MSD: Speakers Bureau; Celgene: Other: Educational support to attend conferences; Alexion: Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Other: Educational support to attend conferences. Milojkovic:Incyte: Consultancy, Honoraria; Pfizer: Consultancy, Honoraria; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Consultancy, Honoraria. Drummond:Jazz: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Pfizer: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Gilead: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Blueprint Medicine Corporation: Research Funding; Astellas: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Bristol Myers Squibb: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. OffLabel Disclosure: Tamoxifen is a selective estrogen receptor modulator frequently used in estrogen receptor-positive breast cancer.

Purpose This paper aims to draw on Seamon’s(2012a, 2012b, 2014, 2015, 2018) theories on the “processes of place attachment” to understand the influence of place attachment on community leadership and the management of four towns in the Barossa region of South Australia. Design/methodology/approach The research methodology combines photo-elicitation, participant observation and in-depth interviews with 12 community leaders across four town groups. Scannell and Gifford’s(2010) tripartite model for place attachment is used to segment qualitative interview data to understand the nature of place attachment of community leaders. This was followed by thematic analysis using Seamon’s(2012a, 2014, 2018) six processes of place attachment to understand how the dynamics of place attachment as a series of processes interact to influence community leadership and place-based action. Findings The research revealed that community leaders in the Barossa region regularly confront a tension between the “Being” and “Becoming” of Place. It also suggests that place attachment for new residents is accelerated by engaging multiple place attachment processes; these can be measured using the research methodology in this study. The result is a tipping point where place leadership from new residents can accelerate towards the “Being of Place” showing a tendency towards protectionist behaviour commonly seen amongst long-term residents. Research limitations/implications Testing the findings in this paper in other rural regions and other cultural contexts will add further insight and validation of these findings. It is recommended that future research could further develop this approach through engaging multiple place-based community groups in the same town and across different locations to understand the pattern language of communities with more accuracy. Practical implications This study has enabled a deeper understanding of place-based community groups and their motivations to protect the status quo or promote change in the development and management of the place. Each community requires a tailored approach to place management and development to activate community resources and partnerships successfully. This research also provides knowledge on how to accelerate place attachment for new residents to improve their sense of belonging, value and purpose by engaging programs that engage all six place attachment processes. Social implications The research reveals that place relations are dynamic, complex and often political. Rural towns display a pattern language for how they engage networks and resources that government needs to understand to engage community stewardship of place – its social, environmental and economic setting. This research offers a method to better understand the pattern language of place attachment that drives community leadership and place management to help communities sustain themselves and adapt to change. Originality/value The research explores the inter-relationship between the place attachment of community leaders and their response to change from different types of community impacts such as bushfires or the COVID-19 pandemic. Understanding these processes is valuable in informing place management partnerships between community, business and government.

In this short conversation Rajni Shah and Kharaini Barokka (Okka) discuss the complex relationships between listening, safety, harm, accountability, and trust. These topics are especially poignant because Okka and Rajni did not know each other before recording this podcast, and so we hear them navigating in their own conversation some of the questions they are reflecting on together. In the accompanying offering, Okka shares some of her daily wellbeing practices. Full credits and transcript for this episode will be published when the episode is released on 12 April 2021.

Objectives: The aim of the study was to evaluate the outcome of pregnancy and early development of offspring, in women with epilepsy (WWE) who were receiving and not receiving anti-epileptic drugs (AED). Methods: Women with epilepsy who delivered in a teaching hospital (n=60), between November 2017 and October 2018, were identified from the delivery records (n=5202) and their infants (n=39) underwent developmental assessment by Baroda development screening test. Maternal epilepsy syndrome, AEDs during pregnancy, and other details were obtained from medical records and interview. Results: Fourteen mothers received monotherapy, 15 polytherapy and 10 mothers were not taking any AED. There were four major congenital malformations (MCM) among 39 babies. Two were cardiac malformations; one was complex anomaly, caused death in neonate and other was ventricular septal defect (VSD). Both occurred in babies of mothers receiving clobazam in combination with oxcarbazepine and levetiracetam, respectively. There were two urological anomalies in babies unexposed to AEDs. When mothers were receiving monotherapy (14), normal Development Quotient score (DQ score) was observed in 11 babies, but low DQ score was observed in three. In the polytherapy group (15), normal DQ scores were found in five and low DQ in nine (one baby died neonatally). Among the group who were unexposed to AED (10), normal DQ score was found in eight, but low DQ in two (in the antenatal period mother of one of the low DQ babies reported frequent major seizures). Conclusion: Clobazam therapy is a risk factor for developing MCM in babies of WWE. Oxcarbazepine, monotherapy or polytherapy, and Clobazam polytherapy are risk factors for low DQ scores in the offspring of WWE. Polytherapy and frequent seizures during pregnancy are also risk factors for low DQ scores. Widely used drugs which were considered safe demonstrated adverse effects in offspring. Even though sample size is small, it is a matter of concern and curiosity.

Introduction The recipe is more than just a list of ingredients and the instructions on how to prepare a particular dish. Recipes also are, as Janet Floyd and Laurel Foster argue, a form of narrative that tells a myriad of stories, “of family sagas and community, of historical and cultural moments and also of personal histories and narratives of self” (Floyd and Forster 2). Among the most intimate and personal sources of recipes are manuscript cookbooks. These typically contained original handwritten recipes created by the author as well as those shared by family and friends; some recipes were copied from published cookbooks or clipped out of newspapers and magazines. However, these books are more than a mere collection of recipes and domestic instructions, they also paint a unique and vivid picture of the life of their authors. These manuscript cookbooks were a common sight in many Australian colonial kitchens, yet they are a rarely examined and rich archival source that provides a valuable insight into foodways, material culture, and the lives and social relationships of the women who created them. This article will examine the manuscript cookbook created by Phillis Clark in the Darling Downs during the 1860s. Through a close examination of Clark’s manuscript cookbook, this article will explore colonial domestic habits and the cultural context in which they were formed. It will also highlight the historical value of manuscript cookbooks as social texts that chronicle daily life, both inside and outside the kitchen, in colonial Australia. A Colonial Woman Phillis Clark was born in Tasmania in 1836. She was the daughter of Charles Seal, the pioneer of the whaling industry in that state. In 1858 she married Charles George Clark, the eldest son of a well-known Tasmanian family. Both the Seal and Clark families were at the centre of social and political life in Tasmania. In 1861, the couple moved to Talgai, twenty two kilometres north-west of Warwick in the Darling Downs region of Queensland. Here, Charles Clark established himself as a storekeeper and became a partner in the Ellinthorp Steam Flour Mills, the first successful flour mill in Queensland (Waterson 3). He also represented Warwick in the Queensland Legislative assembly between 1871 and 1873. Clark’s brother, George Clark, also settled in the area together with his wife and family. In 1868, both families set up home in adjoining properties known as East Talgai and West Talgai. This joint property, with its well manicured gardens, English trees, and fruit orchard, has been described as a small oasis “in an empty, brown and dusty summer landscape” (Waterson, Squatter 19). The Manuscript Sometime during this period Clark began to compile her very own manuscript cookbook. The front of Clark’s manuscript is dated 1866, yet there is ample evidence to suggest that she began work on this manuscript some years earlier. Clark was scrupulous in acknowledging the sources of her recipes, a habit common to many manuscript cookbook authors (Newlyn 35). She also initialled her own creations, firstly with P.S., for her maiden name Phillis Seal, and later P.S.C. for Phillis Seal Clark, her married name. By 1866 Clarke had been married for eight years so it can be assumed that she commenced her manuscript some time before 1858. A number of the recipes that appear in the manuscript appear to be credited to people living in Tasmania. Furthermore, a number of the newspaper clippings found in her manuscript can be dated to before 1866, including one for 1861. The manuscript itself is a hard bound and lined notebook, sturdy enough to withstand the rigours of daily use in the kitchen. The majority of recipes are handwritten but there are also a number of recipes clipped from newspapers interspaced within the manuscript. The handwritten recipes are in a neat copperplate style and all appear to be written in the same hand. The recipes are not found in distinct sections, although there are some small clusters of particular types of recipes, highlighting the fact that they were added to the manuscript over a period of time. At the front of the manuscript there is a detailed index noting the page number on which each recipe is to be found. The recipes themselves follow the standard conventions of the period. The Sources The sources from which Clark gathered some of the recipes in her manuscript indicate the variety of texts that were available to her. There are a number of newspaper clippings pasted in the pages of her manuscript for a range of both recipes for foods as well as the so-called domestic remedies (medicines) and receipts for household products. Amongst the food recipes there are to be found instructions in the making of cream cheese in the Irish manner and a recipe for stewed shoulder of mutton as well as two different methods for preparing kangaroo. While it is impossible to fully know what newspapers all these clippings have been taken from, at least one of them came from the Darling Downs Gazette and General Advertiser and it is likely that some of them might also have come from a number of the local Warwick papers (one which was founded by her brother-in-law George Clark) that were in publication during Clark’s residence in the area. Clark also utilised a number of published cookbooks as sources for some of the recipes in her own manuscripts. Like most Australians until the last few decades of the nineteenth century, Clark would have mainly resorted to the British cookbooks that were available. The two most commonly acknowledged cookbooks in her manuscript were Enquire Within Upon Everything and Eliza Acton’s. Enquire Within Upon Everything was an immensely popular general household guide amassing eighty-nine editions in a little over forty years in print. It contained information on a plethora of subjects (over three thousand individual entries) including such topics as etiquette, first aid, domestic hints, and recipes. It first appeared on the British market in 1856, under the editorship of Robert Kemp Philp, and became available in Australia in the same year. Booksellers in the Darling Downs advertised copies of the book for the price of three shillings and six pence. Eliza Acton, for her part, was one of Britain’s leading cookbook authors. Her books were widely available throughout the colonies with copies advertised for sale by J. Walch and Sons booksellers in Hobart (‘Advertising’ 1). Extracts from her cookbook Modern Cookery for Private Families began to appear in Australian newspapers only months after it first was published in Britain in 1845 (‘Bullion’ 4). Although Modern Cookery did not provide any recipes directly catering for Australian conditions, its simple and straightforward approach to cookery made it an invaluable resource in the colonial kitchen. Such was the popularity and reputation of Acton’s work that in the preface to Australia’s first cookbook, The English and Australian Cookery Book, the author, Tasmanian born Edward Abbott, stated that he hoped that his cook book would posses “all the advantages of Mrs. Acton’s work” (Abbott vi). The range of printed sources contained within Clark’s manuscript indicate that women in colonial households were far from isolated from the culinary trends occurring in other parts of Australia and the wider British empire. The Recipes Like many Australian women of her class and generation, Phillis Clark reproduced the predominant British food culture in her kitchen. The great majority of recipes contained in her manuscript are for typically English dishes, particularly those for sweet dishes such as biscuits, cakes, and puddings. Plum pudding, trifle, and custard pudding are all featured in her book. As well, many of the savoury dishes such as curry, roast beef, and Yorkshire pudding similarly reflect the British palate. In There is No Taste like Home: The Food of Empire, Adele Wessell argues that the maintenance of British food habits in Australia was a device to reaffirm “cultural and historical bonds and sustain a shared sense of British identity” (811). However, as in many other rural kitchens, native ingredients also found a place. Her manuscript included a number of recipes for the preparation of kangaroo and detailed instructions for the butchering of the animal. Clark’s recipe for “Jugged Hare or Kangaroo” bares a close resemblance to the one that appears in Edward Abbott’s cookbook. Clark’s father and Abbott were from the same, small social milieu in colonial Hobart and were both active in the same political causes. This raises the intriguing possibility that Phillis also knew Abbott and came into contact with some of his culinary ideas. Australians consumed all manners of native ingredients, not only as a matter of necessity but also as a matter of choice. The inclusion of freshly killed native game in Clark’s kitchen would have served to alleviate the monotony of the salted beef and mutton that were common staples during this period. The distinct Australian flavour that began to appear in manuscript cookbooks like Clark’s would later be replicated in their printed counterparts. Australian cookbooks published in the last decades of the nineteenth century demonstrate the importance of native ingredients in colonial kitchens (Singley 37). The Darling Downs region had been a popular destination for German migrants from the 1850s and Clark’s manuscript contained a number of recipes for German dishes. This included one for the traditional German Christmas cake Lebkuchen as well as for various German puddings and biscuits. Clark also included an elaborate recipe for making ham or bacon in the traditional Westphalian fashion. This was a laborious process that involved vigorously rubbing salt, sugar, and beer into the leg of ham every day for a fortnight after which it is then hung to dry for a couple of days and then smoked. Katie Hume, a fellow Darling Downs resident and a close friend of the extended Clark family described feeling like a “gute verstandige Hausfrau” (a good sensible housewife) after salting 112 pounds of pork she had purchased from a neighbour (152). While, unlike their counterparts in the Barossa valley in South Australia, the Germans who lived in the Darling Downs area did not leave a significant mark on the local culinary landscape, the inclusion of German recipes in Clark’s manuscript indicates that there was not only some cross-cultural transmission of culinary knowledge, but also some willingness to go beyond traditional British fare. Many, more mundane recipes also populate Clark’s manuscript. “Toad in a Hole”, “Mutton Pie” and “Stewed Sirloin” all merit an entry. Yet, even with such simple dishes, Clark demonstrated a keen eye for detail. This is attested by her method for the preparation of a simple dish of roasted pumpkin: “Cut into slices 1 inch thick and about 5 inches long, have ready a baking dish with boiling fat—lay the slices in it so that the fat will cover them and bake for 20 minutes (by fat I mean good dripping) Half an hour will not bake them too much. They ought to be brown” (Clark 13). Whilst Clark’s manuscript is not indicative of the foodways of all classes across Queensland society, it does provide some insight as to what was consumed at the table of a well-heeled rural household. As the wife of a prominent businessman and a local dignitary, Phillis Clark would have also undoubtedly been called upon to play the role of hostess and to entertain her husband’s commercial and political acquaintances. Her manuscript also reflects the overwhelmingly British nature of colonial Australian foodways despite the intrusion of some foreign dishes. As Anne Murcott argues, the preparation and consumption of food provides a way through which individuals can express the more abstract significance of cultural values and social systems (204). The Clark household also showed some interest in producing a broad range of products in the home. There are, for example, a number of recipes for beverages including those for non-alcoholic ginger beers and flavoured cordials. They were also far from abstemious, with recipes for wine, mead, and ale included in the manuscript. This last recipe was given to her by her brother Alfred who, according to Clark, “understands brewing and therefore I think it can be depended upon” (Clark 43). Clark also bottled her own fruit, made a wide range of jams, including grape and mock melon, as well as making her own butter, confectionery, and vinegar. The production of goods like these within the home indicates the level of self-reliance in many colonial households, particularly those finding themselves far from the convenience of shops and markets. Many culinary historians argue that there exists a significant time lag between the initial appearance and consumption of a particular dish in a society and its subsequent appearance in the pages of a cookbook. This time lag can be between forty and 150 years long (Mennell 44; Mason 23). However, manuscript cookbooks reflect the immediacy of eating practices. The very personal nature of manuscript cookbooks would suggest that the recipes included within their pages were ones that the author intended to use in her own kitchen. Moreover, from the reciprocal nature of recipe sharing that is evident from these types of cookbooks it can be concluded that the recipes in Clark’s manuscript were ones that, at least in her own social milieu, were in common usage. In her manuscript Clark clearly noted those recipes which she especially liked or otherwise found useful. Many recipes throughout the manuscript have been marked as “proved” indicating that Clark had used and tested them at some stage. A number of them have also been favourably annotated as being “delicious”, “very nice”, “the best”, and “very good”. Amongst the number of recipes for “Soda Cake” that feature in the manuscript Clarke clearly indicates that “Number 1 is the best”. However, she was not averse to commenting on recipes and altering them to suit her taste. In a recipe for “A nice light Cake”, for example, Clark noted that the addition of a “little peel and currants is an improvement” (89). This form of marginal intrusion was a common practice amongst many women and it can even be seen in the margins of many published cookbooks (Theophano 186). These annotations, according to Sandra Sherman, are not transgressive, since the manuscripts are not authored “by” anyone (Sherman 121). In fact, annotations personalise the recipe and confirm the compiler’s confidence in it (Sherman 121). Not Just Food: ‘Domestic Receipts’ As noted above, Clark’s manuscript contained more than just recipes for food and drink. Many of them are “Domestic Receipts” that reflect the complex nature of running a household in rural Australia. Some of Clark’s domestic receipts are in the form of newspaper clippings and are general instructions for the manufacture of simple household products such as a “ready to use glue” and a home-made tooth powder. Others are handwritten and copied from other domestic advice books or were given to Clark by family and friends. A recipe for manufacturing “blacking for stoves”, essential in the maintenance of cast iron stoves, was, for example, culled from Enquire Within Upon Everything. Here, with some authorial intrusion, Clark includes her own list of measured ingredients to prepare the mixture. An intriguing method for the “artificial preparation of ice” involving the use of ammonium nitrate and bicarbonate of soda was given to Clark by Mrs. McKeachie, the wife of Charles Clark’s business partner. Clark also showed an interest in beekeeping and in raising turkeys, with instructions for both these tasks included in her manuscript. The wide range of miscellaneous receipts featured in Clark’s book highlights the breadth of activities that were carried out in many homes in rural Australia. A hint of Clark’s artistic side is also in evidence, with detailed instructions on how to create delicate fern impressions on paper also included in her book. As with many other women in colonial Australia, Clark was expected to take on the role of caregiver when members of her family fell ill or were injured. Her manuscript included a number of recipes for “domestic remedies”, another common trope in books of this kind as well as in their printed counterparts. These remedies included recipes for a cough mixture composed of linseed, liquorice, and water and a liniment to treat rheumatism which was made by mixing rape seed oil and turpentine with a hefty dose of laudanum. Clark used olive oil in a number of medical recipes to treat burns and scalds. As well, treatments for diphtheria, cholera, and diarrhoea feature prominently in her manuscript. The Darling Downs had been subject to a number of outbreaks of dysentery and cholera during Clark’s residency in the area (Waterson, Squatter 71). For “a pain in the chest” Clark recommended the following: “a piece of brown paper spread with tallow and placed on the chest” (69).The inclusion of these domestic remedies and Clark’s obvious concerns for her family’s health is particularly poignant given her personal history. Her family was plagued by misfortune and illness and she lost three of her ten children in a six-year period including two within just months of each other. Clark herself would die during childbirth in 1874. Sharing and Caring The word “recipe” has its origins in the Latin recipere meaning to “receive”. In order to receive there has to be, by implication, someone doing the giving. A recipe signifies an exchange and a connection between individuals. The sharing of recipes was a common activity for many women in nineteenth century Australia. Wilhelmina Rawson, Queensland’s first published cookbook author, was keenly aware of the manner in which women shared recipes and culinary knowledge. This act of reciprocity, she argued, not only helped to ease the isolation of bush living but also allowed each individual to be “benefited by the cleverness of the whole number” (14). For many, food often has a deeply private and personal component, being prepared and consumed within the realm of the home. However, food is also a communal experience and is openly shared through rituals, feasts, the contexts in which it is bought and sold, and, most importantly, reciprocal exchange. In her manuscript, Clark acknowledged a number of different individuals as the source for the recipes she included within its pages. The convention of acknowledging the sources of recipes in manuscript cookbooks functions as a way to assert the recipe’s authority and to ensure that they are proven (Sherman 122). This act of acknowledgement also locates Clark within a social network of women who not only shared recipes but also, one can imagine, many of the vicissitudes of domestic life in a remote rural setting. In her study of women’s manuscript cookbooks, entitled Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives Through the Cookbooks They Wrote, Janet Theophano describes these texts as “the maps of the social and cultural life they inhabited” (13). This circulation of recipes allowed women to share their knowledge, skills, and creativity. Those who received and used these recipes not only engaged in a conversation with the writer of these recipes but also formed a connection with a broader community that allowed them to learn more about themselves and the world. Conclusion The manuscript cookbook created by Phillis Clark is a fascinating prism through which to explore domestic life in colonial Australia. The recipes contained in Clark’s manuscript reflect the eating habits of her own family and those of a particular social class in Queensland. They not only demonstrate the tenacity of British foodways in Australia but also show the degree of culinary adventurism that existed in some homes. The personal, almost autobiographical nature of manuscript cookbooks also provides an intimate view in the life of its creator. In the splattered pages of Phillis Clark’s book we can read the many travails, joys, and tragedies of her life. References Abbott, Edward. The English and Australian Cookery Book: Cookery for the Many, as Well as for the Upper Ten Thousand. London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston, 1864. ‘Advertising’. Launceston Examiner 9 Mar. 1858: 1. ‘Boullion, The Common Soup of France’. The Sydney Morning Herald 22 Aug. 1845: 4. Clark, Phillis. “Manuscript Cookbook”. 1863 Floyd, Janet, and Laurel Forster. “The Recipe in Its Cultural Content.” The Recipe Reader: Narratives, Contexts, Traditions. Ed. Janet Floyd and Laurel Forster. Aldershot, Hants, England: Ashgate. 2003. Hume, Anna Kate. Katie Hume on the Darling Downs, a Colonial Marriage: Letters of a Colonial Lady, 1866-1871. Ed. Nancy Bonnin. Toowoomba: DDIP, 1985. Mason, Laura. Food Culture in Great Britain. Greenwood, 2004. Mennell, Stephen. All Manners of Food: Eating and Taste in England and France from the Middle Ages to the Present. Oxford, UK: B. Blackwell, 1985. Murcott, Anne. “The Cultural Significance of Food and Eating”. Proceedings of the Nutrition Society 41.02 (1982): 203–10. Newlyn, Andrea K. “Redefining ‘Rudimentary’ Narrative: Women’s Nineteenth Century Manuscript Cookbooks”. The Recipe Reader: Narratives, Contexts, Traditions. Ed. Janet Floyd and Laurel Forster. Aldershot, Hants, England: Ashgate, 2003. Rawson, Wilhelmina. Australian Enquiry Book of Household and General Information: A Practical Guide for the Cottage, Villa and Bush Home. Melbourne: Pater and Knapton, 1894. Sherman, S. “‘The Whole Art and Mystery of Cooking’: What Cookbooks Taught Readers in the Eighteenth Century”. Eighteenth-Century Life 28.1 (2004): 115–35. Singley, Blake. “‘Hardly Anything Fit for Man to Eat’: Food and Colonialism in Australia.” History Australia 9.3 (2012): 27–42. Theophano, Janet. Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives Through the Cookbooks They Wrote. New York, N.Y: Palgrave, 2002. Waterson, D. B. “A Darling Downs Quartet”. Queensland Heritage 1.7 (1967): 3–14. Waterson, D. B. Squatter, Selector and Storekeeper: A History of the Darling Downs, 1859-93. Sydney: Sydney UP, 1968. Wessell, Adele. “There’s No Taste Like Home: The Food of Empire”. Exploring the British World: Identity, Cultural Production, Institutions. Ed. Kate Darian-Smith and Patricia Grimshaw. Melbourne: RMIT, 2004.

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>.

Photo by Clément Hélardot on Unsplash INTRODUCTION The history of biomedical research in the United States is both inspiring and haunting. From the first public demonstration of anesthesia in surgery at Massachusetts General Hospital to the infamous Tuskegee Experiment, we see the significant advances made for the medical field and the now exposed power dynamics that contribute to injustices when they are left unmonitored.[1] Over the past century, biomedical research led to positive change but also reinforced structural racism. Henrietta Lacks, whose tissue was used without her consent to generate HeLa cells, and the Tuskegee study research subjects, who were denied an existing treatment for syphilis, exemplify how biomedical research in the US has been a vector for exploiting minority groups in exchange for knowledge creation. As we usher in the age of computational medicine, leaders of the field must listen to calls from communities around the country and world to decrease the prevalence of structural racism in the next wave of medical advances.[2] We are vulnerable to perpetuating structural racism through algorithms and databases that will drive biomedical research and aid healthcare systems in developing new methods for diagnosing and treating illness. With guidelines from governmental funding agencies and inclusivity of racial and ethnic minorities in research and development communities, we can inch closer to a more just future for our nation's health. BACKGROUND Many health systems rely on commercial software to store and process their patient’s data. This software commonly comes with patented predictive algorithms that help providers assign a risk score to patients based on health needs. However, biases held by algorithm developers can reflect racial disparities and incorporate them in the algorithms if proper counterbalances are not in place to audit the work of algorithm designers.[3] Despite the recent digitization of healthcare data across the United States, racial bias has already found its way into healthcare algorithms that manage populations. ANALYSIS l. Use of Algorithms One landmark study that interrogated a widely used algorithm demonstrated that Black patients were considerably sicker than white patients at a given risk score, evidenced by signs of uncontrolled disease.[4] The algorithm predicted the need for additional help based on past expenditures, and we historically spend less on Black patients than white patients. Rectifying this bias would lead to three times as many Black patients receiving additional resources. The algorithm produces a treatment gap due to a history of unequal access to care and lower spending on people of color compared to white people in the healthcare system. The disconnect between the clinical situation and historical resource allocation exemplifies how certain predictors may produce an outcome that harms patients. The study shows that using a proxy measure for healthcare spending to quantify how sick a patient is instead of using physiologic data can amplify racial disparities. This example highlights the need for collaboration between clinicians, data scientists, ethicists, and epidemiologists of diverse backgrounds to ensure model parameters do not perpetuate racial biases. ll. Use of Big Data in Algorithm Creation In addition to eradicating algorithms that make decisions based on proxy measures encoding racial inequities, we must also be diligent about the content of databases employed in algorithm development. Racial disparities in a database may result from the intentional selection of a homogenous population or unintentional exclusion due to systemic issues such as unequal distribution of resources. For example, a genetic study conducted in a Scandinavian country is more likely to be racially homogenous and not generalizable to a broader population. Applying algorithms derived from homogenous populations to either diverse populations or to different homogenous populations would fail to account for biological differences and could result in a recess of care when used beyond the appropriate population. Additionally, companies like Apple or FitBit could de-identify consumer data collected using their wearable sensors and make it available in research. This is problematic because the demographic distribution of people who have access to their technology may not reflect the general population. To combat these potential disparities, we must construct freely accessible research databases containing patients with diverse demographic characteristics that better model the actual populations that a given model will serve. lll. Government-Based Safeguards Armed with an understanding of how systemic bias is integrated into algorithms and databases, we must strive to construct safeguards that minimize systemic racism in computational biomedical research. A potential way to step forward as a society would be aligning incentives to produce the desired results. Governmental agencies wield enormous power over the trajectory of publicly funded research. Therefore, it is crucial that computational biomedical research funding is regulated by procedures that encourage diverse researchers to investigate and develop healthcare algorithms and databases that promote our nation's health. For example, the National Institutes of Health (NIH) has set forth two large initiatives to catalyze equitable growth of knowledge and research in healthcare artificial intelligence (AI). The first initiative is the Artificial Intelligence/Machine Learning Consortium to Advance Health Equity and Researcher Diversity (AIM-AHEAD), which focuses on increasing diversity in researchers and data within AI/machine learning (ML). The program states that “these gaps pose a risk of creating and continuing harmful biases in how AI/ML is used, how algorithms are developed and trained, and how findings are interpreted.” Increased participation of researchers and communities currently underrepresented in AI/ML modeling can prevent continued health disparities and inequities. Programs like AIM-AHEAD are crucial to reducing the risk of creating and continuing harmful biases in biomedical research. With the four key focus areas of partnerships, research, infrastructure, and data science training, AIM-AHEAD and its future incarnations can promote health equity for the next era of medicine and biomedical research. The second initiative announced by the NIH is known as the Bridge to Artificial Intelligence (Bridge2AI) program.[5] This program has a different approach to tackling systemic racism and bias by focusing on the content and process of AI/ML research. Two key components of AI/ML research are rich databases and algorithm development protocols. To develop reproducible and actionable algorithms, researchers must have access to large, well-labeled databases and follow best practices in their development of algorithms. However, large databases are not readily available across the healthcare research ecosystem. As a result, many investigators struggle to gain access to databases that would enable them to carry out AI/ML research at their home institution. A movement toward more freely available databases like the Medical Information Mart for Intensive Care (MIMIC) and electronic Intensive Care Unit (eICU) through the PhysioNet platform created at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Laboratory for Computational Physiology can improve access to data for research.[6] By adopting the practice of freely available databases commonly used in the AI/ML research communities outside of medicine, MIMIC and eICU lowered the barrier to entry for data scientists interested in health care. The improved access from MIMIC and eICU has led to over 2,000 publications to date. While this is a solid foundational step for the healthcare AI/ML research community, it is essential to reflect on progress and ensure that freely accessible databases are racially and geographically diverse. In this manner, Bridge2AI will facilitate the expansion of healthcare databases that are ethically sourced, trustworthy, and accessible. Without government programs such as AIM-AHEAD and Bridge2AI, the US biomedical research community is at higher risk of perpetuating systemic racism and biases in how AI/ML is used, how algorithms are developed, and how clinical decision support results are interpreted when delivering patient care. lV. Private Sector Standards Even with the proper incentives delivered from governmental agencies, there can be a disconnect between the public and private sectors, leading to racial bias in algorithms used in patient care. Privately funded AI/ML algorithms used in care decision-making should be held to the same ethical standards as those developed by publicly funded research at academic institutions. Publicly funded research is usually peer-reviewed before publication, giving reviewers a chance to evaluate algorithmic bias or deficiencies. Algorithms used in care may have avoided similar scrutiny. Corporations have an inherent conflict between protecting intellectual property and providing transparency of algorithmic design and inputs. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) is responsible for regulating AI/ML algorithms. It has classified them as Software as a Medical Device (SaMD), focusing on the development process and benchmarking.[7] The importance of holding privately funded algorithm development to the same standards as publicly funded research is highlighted in a September 2020 review of FDA-approved AI/ML algorithms. All SaMD approved by the FDA are registered by private companies.[8] Regulators must be well-versed in structural racism and equipped to evaluate proprietary algorithms for racial bias and maintain oversight as population data drifts occur and the algorithms continue to optimize themselves. The FDA role is crucial to clinical use of SaMD. CONCLUSION Computational decision support using algorithms and large databases has the potential to transform the way we deliver care. However, governments should plan how they will prevent structural racism and associated inequities from running rampant in the new systems. Racial bias and mistreatment are engrained in the history of medical research. In the newly formulated digital world, these biases are potentially even more dangerous. They now can propagate quietly in the background, masked under layers of computer code that very few people understand how to write and interpret. It will be possible for a doctor to unconsciously propagate bias because an algorithm is nudging the doctor’s behavior to make the best treatment decision for their patient. Healthcare leaders must be vigilant in guiding the development of algorithms and databases to minimize systemic racism. Guidance from funding agencies to uphold minimum quality standards, a transparent vetting process for algorithms by governing bodies like the FDA, and a diverse community of researchers and developers will allow us to curb the spread of structural racism in research and build equitable tools for diagnosing and treating illness. The real question is: will the age of digital medicine also lead to a more equitable healthcare system? - [1] About the USPHS Syphilis Study. Accessed August 18 2021. https://www.tuskegee.edu/about-us/centers-of-excellence/bioethics-center/about-the-usphs-syphilis-study; MGH. MGH Firsts. Accessed August 18 2021. https://libguides.massgeneral.org/mghhistory/firsts. [2] Geneviève LD, Martani A, Shaw D, Elger BS, Wangmo T. Structural racism in precision medicine: leaving no one behind. BMC medical ethics. 2020;21(1):1-13. [3] Barocas S, Selbst AD. Big data's disparate impact. Calif L Rev. 2016;104:671. [4] Obermeyer Z, Powers B, Vogeli C, Mullainathan S. Dissecting racial bias in an algorithm used to manage the health of populations. Science. 2019;366(6464):447-453. [5] NIH. Bridge to Artificial Intelligence. Accessed August 17 2021. https://commonfund.nih.gov/bridge2ai. [6] PhysioNet. PhysioNet: The Research Resource for Complex Physiologic Signals. Accessed August 17 2021. https://physionet.org. [7] FDA. Software as a Medical Device (SaMD). Accessed August 16 2021. https://www.fda.gov/medical-devices/digital-health-center-excellence/software-medical-device-samd. [8] Benjamens S, Dhunnoo P, Meskó B. The state of artificial intelligence-based FDA-approved medical devices and algorithms: an online database. npj Digital Medicine. 2020;3(1):1-8.