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Nash, Chris, and Wendy Bacon. "Reporting sustainability in the English-language press of Southeast Asia." Pacific Journalism Review : Te Koakoa 12, no. 2 (September 1, 2006): 106–35. http://dx.doi.org/10.24135/pjr.v12i2.865.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
This article reports on a preliminary scan of six English-language newspapers in Southeast Asia, with a side comparison to a leading Australian newspaper, regarding their coverage of environmental sustainability issues over a two month period in 2005. It identifies the ownership and key politico-economic issues for each masthead, and does a detailed quantitative analysis of their subject matter and use of sources, followed by two case studies of complex, multisourced stories critical of corporate or government activities. The analysis draws on field theory, and canvasses debates about the power relations among journalists and sources. It concludes that there is a common set of journalistic practices across the sample regardless of national and political differences, but considerable diversity of approaches within that commonality. Patterns of ownership, particularly state vs non-state offer little general explanatory power for this diversity. Protection of the environment had ‘motherhood status’ in the reporting, but precisely because of this status no assumptions can be made about the quality of the coverage.
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Arifin, Zainal, and Emi Puasa Handayani. "THE INFLUENCE OF MASS MEDIA REPORTING ON THE RESCUE AND FORMULATION OF ENVIRONMENTAL LAWS IN KEDIRI." Legal Standing : Jurnal Ilmu Hukum 6, no. 1 (April 4, 2022): 105. http://dx.doi.org/10.24269/ls.v6i1.5088.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
News coverage by the mass media is very influential on the way of thinking and behaving society in saving the environment from damage. Examples are pollution, abuse of natural resources and environmental protection. Media coverage also influences policy makers in formulating environmental law policies. Aspects of communication and policy aspects have interrelationships that affect each other. In the empirical level the relationship is reflected in the public perception when responding to environmental problems. The mass media as a social institution has contributed to the worldview and thinking of the community and policy makers. This study focuses on the interrelation or relationship between press coverage with rescue and environmental law formulation policy. The purpose of research to determine the influence of mass media coverage on rescue and environmental management policy. This type of research is qualitative research with mass media content analysis method combined with in-depth interview technique to source and stake holder applied in this research. Data processing is done by manual coding technique, coding sheet and interview guide. The analysis is done by qualitative and quantitative descriptive approach presented in the form of frequency table and bar diagram. Interview results are used to sharpen the analysis. The result, that the continuous and continuous mass media coverage and deep, was able to stop environmental destruction, especially illegal sand mining in the Brantas River Basin of Kediri. Second, the government in taking environmental law policy is influenced by mass media coverage. The conclusion of this research is that the mass media influence the cessation of illegal sand mining activity in Brantas River Basin of Kediri. Both media coverage influenced policy makers to formulate legal policy in Kediri.
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Artner-Nehls, Astrid, Sandra Uthes, Jana Zscheischler, and Peter H. Feindt. "How the Agricultural Press Addresses the Slurry–Water Nexus: A Text Mining Analysis." Sustainability 14, no. 16 (August 12, 2022): 10002. http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/su141610002.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Water pollution from intensive livestock husbandry is a persistent social-ecological problem. Since remedies require attention to the slurry–water nexus among practitioners, the agricultural press is a strategic entry point for agenda setting. Systematic content analysis can provide insights into how farming practices and sustainability issues are communicated, which may influence farmers’ attention to the issue and to potential solutions. To address this question, we present a semantic network analysis of three specialized farming magazines in Germany and analyze their coverage of the slurry–water nexus, in particular relationships of actors and issues and co-occurrence with political events. We used text mining methods in order to analyze a text corpus consisting of 4227 online articles published between 2010 and 2020. Results show that one fifth of all slurry-themed articles contained water-related content. We found a shift over time from dominantly management-oriented content towards a politicized debate with more actors and stronger semantic relationships with water protection constructed as an insulated stand-alone issue. This is accompanied by a shift from thematic reporting to episodic reporting focused on environmental legislation and compliance management. This implies less attention to innovations for water-conserving slurry management. Despite its shortcomings, episodic coverage may open up windows of opportunity to improve communication by experts and policy makers.
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Dou, Yong, Rui Nan Chen, and Wen Li Zhou. "A Study on Coastal Ecosystem Health Assessment in Qingdao Based on Press-State-Response Model." Applied Mechanics and Materials 522-524 (February 2014): 487–90. http://dx.doi.org/10.4028/www.scientific.net/amm.522-524.487.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
In order to get a scientific assessment of the coastal ecosystem health in Qingdao, a study on ecosystem health assessment of Qingdao coastal zone during 1998-2009 based on press-state-response (PSR) model contained a series of indicators was conducted. In this paper, the integrated ecosystem health index was calculated through weight values multiplied the standardization values of the indicators. The results indicated that the IEHI in the coastal zone of Qingdao fluctuated by a large margin during 1998-2009, when the IEHI range from 0.35 to 0.84, and the ecosystem was in the states of unhealthy and subhealthy in most of the time interval. The urban expansion and the three wastes were the dominating pressure factors which effected the coastal ecosystem health. The atmosphere and inshore environment took a turn for the worse, while the cultivated land resource exhausted almost. In order to improve the coastal ecosystem health, it was quite necessary to increase the forest coverage rate, tertiary industry proportion and investment in environmental protection.
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Allen, Alexis M., Todd Green, Michael K. Brady, and John Peloza. "Can corporate social responsibility deter consumer dysfunctional behavior?" Journal of Consumer Marketing 37, no. 7 (July 22, 2020): 729–38. http://dx.doi.org/10.1108/jcm-11-2019-3503.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Purpose The purpose of this paper is to examine how and when a reputation for corporate social responsibility (CSR) can deter dysfunctional consumer behaviors (DCBs) such as shoplifting or negative word-of-mouth (WOM) in response to firm failures. The authors predict that congruency of the CSR activities and the basis for the firm failure (e.g. environmental protection, environmental harm) provides protection for firms while incongruency (e.g. environmental protection, social harm) does not. The authors base this prediction on the process of retroactive attribution and sense-making. Design/methodology/approach Across two studies the research finds support that a reputation for CSR can deter consumer dysfunctional behavior. Study 1 uses an experimental design with a Mturk sample, and a behavioral outcome using an overpayment situation, to examine when consumers will act honestly and recognize overpayment. Study 2 uses secondary data, across three novel data sources (Google trends data, an existing data set of consumer perceptions of CSR and Factiva to uncover press coverage of negative firm events). Study 2 examines how CSR reputation impacts consumers’ participation in negative WOM in response to firm failures. Findings Study 1 finds support for CSR congruency as a protection mechanism against dysfunctional behavior in response to negative events. The authors find that dysfunctional behaviors in conditions of congruency, while incongruent and a control condition do not provide such protections. Study 2 supports these findings using Google trends data in the form of online negative WOM. The authors find that when firms are known for their social performance, negative events in the social domain result in significantly lower levels of negative WOM. Originality/value The current paper makes the novel prediction that consumers will use a current negative event (corporate social irresponsibility) to re-evaluate previous CSR. Thus, in contrast with prior research, the authors argue that a negative event is not affected by previous CSR but that previous CSR is affected by a negative event. Furthermore, the authors posit that the congruency between the transgression and previous CSR moderates consumer perceptions, such that incongruent CSR and transgression contexts lead to increased DCBs through consumers’ retroactive sense-making process.
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Broshkova, Svitlana. "Problems and prospects for the development of human rights journalism." Dialog: media studios, no. 27 (December 30, 2021): 25–38. http://dx.doi.org/10.18524/2308-3255.2021.27.251394.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
The article is devoted to media coverage of human rights protection, namely the problems and prospects for the development of human rights journalism in Ukraine. Human protection, adherence to the fundamental principles enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Basic Law of Ukraine are the basis of freedom, justice and universal peace. Violation by the media of a wide range of media — from human integration and development in society to sensitive conflict issues, voices of people with disabilities, the elderly, vulnerable groups, etc. — shows adherence to democratic principles of statehood, humanism and freedom of speech. Advocacy or advocacy journalism is participatory journalism, and the journalist is a direct participant who seeks to protect those who find themselves in a difficult situation by changing the situation itself, resolving the conflict, andexpressing one’s own opinion. Today, with the intensification of social processes in society, socio-economic and environmental conflicts, emphasis should be placed on personal (civil, political, economic, social, cultural and environmental) rights and freedoms that ensure the right of everyone to a safe life, health, free access to information, the right to the state of the environment, the quality of food and household items, etc. For the development of human rights journalism, it would be appropriate to increase the number and quality of publications in the media, which cover the problems of all vulnerable groups (children, adolescents, people with disabilities, prisoners, women / men, gender, etc.), use correct terminology in accordance with human rights), the balance of authenticity and judgments from the facts is observed (the standard of separation of facts), the avoidance of hate speech, the materials of one’s own analysis prevail (without reprinting official press releases of the authorities). This study aims to increase the sensitivity of the media to socially vulnerable groups and the protection of human rights. One of the solutions to the problem is to highlight the problems and prospects for the development of human rights journalism in Ukraine. Strengthening the media to the standard of reliability through quality work with sources of information, the use of correct terminology and improving the performance of their own journalistic materials and is the most important in the development of human rights journalism.
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Brenes-Alfaro, Laura María, Dulce Rodríguez-Rodríguez, and Carlos Quesada-Acuña. "Implementación de una estrategia de comunicación para posicionar las buenas prácticas agrícolas (BPA): el caso de los productores de piña de la zona norte de Costa Rica/ Implementation of a communication strategy to adopt good agricultural practices (GAP)." Revista Internacional de Relaciones Públicas 11, no. 22 (December 23, 2021): 49–74. http://dx.doi.org/10.5783/rirp-22-2021-04-49-74.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Based on the high use of agrochemicals and pressure on ecosystems from agricultural production, as well as complaints and social movements against pineapple crop in the northern region of Costa Rica, a communication strategy was articulated within the framework of the project “Characterization of agricultural practices and the use and management of agrochemicals in pineapple crop, for implementing good agricultural practices (GAP)”. The strategy focused on promoting agricultural and environmental education to help farmers in the implementation of GAPs in the northern region of Costa Rica. There are not many public relations studies about agriculture and rural areas in Latin America. However, public relations can contribute to community development, based on the search for relationships based on trust, mutual understanding, cooperation and a sense of belonging that could lay the foundations for promoting sustainable development. The methodology was carried out in three main stages: diagnosis, approach and execution, and evaluation of the strategy. In the initial stage, one of the main findings was the outstanding negativity in local and national media coverage of pineapple production. Based on the results of the diagnosis, four main problems to be addressed during the implementation stage were identified: 1) overdose of pesticides; 2) bad stubble management; 3) poor soil management; 4) disrespect for aquifer protection zones. For the second stage, we applied two tactics consisting of a set of tasks intended to target audiences identified as main or primary. Also, a training program and crisis management activities were executed. The final stage consisted of the application of an evaluation questionnaire to 25 farmers participating in the training program. The results were several activities developed in the communities, including a series of informative and educational products (videos, key messages through WhatsApp, newsletters, infographics, a guide for the identification of pests and diseases in the pineapple crop); press management; workshops at local schools; and a GAPs Fair to promote the sustainable production of pineapple. The strategy promoted a training program, consisting of 34 talks, which was attended by 240 people: farmers, university students, agricultural products and tools sales personnel, people from cooperatives and interested members of the public. According to the final evaluation, 68 % of the training participants stated that their ability to produce pineapple using GAP improved during the last years; 40 % stated that environmental balance was the main benefit of implementing GAPs in pineapple crop, followed by economic savings (24 %). This shows that the message related to the environment was the prevailing one, consistent with the environmental and educational communication proposed by the strategy. As a conclusion, of the three most implemented agricultural practices by pineapple farmers, we identified that two were part of those promoted by the communication campaign. Thus, the project’s communication strategy had a strong incidence in the improvement of agricultural practices in the area and increased the number of positive notes related to the pineapple crop, before the crisis. We were able to impact the local production of pineapple through a clearly established strategy. Also, this allowed us to face the different phases of the crisis situation.
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Lindenmayer, David, and Elle Bowd. "Critical Ecological Roles, Structural Attributes and Conservation of Old Growth Forest: Lessons From a Case Study of Australian Mountain Ash Forests." Frontiers in Forests and Global Change 5 (May 12, 2022). http://dx.doi.org/10.3389/ffgc.2022.878570.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Old growth is a critical growth stage in many forest types globally. It has many key ecological roles including biodiversity conservation, carbon storage and the provision of services such as water production. The extent of old growth forest has been declining in many ecosystems around the world, with major ecological and ecosystem service consequences. Important insights about such declines, as well as the structure, function and conservation of old growth forest, can be gained from detailed cross-sectional and longitudinal studies of different age cohorts within a given forest ecosystem. In this review article, we outline key insights into the characteristics of, and threats to old growth forests, using the Mountain Ash (Eucalyptus regnans) forests of the Central Highlands of Victoria, south-eastern Australia as a detailed case study. These forests are dominated by the tallest flowering plants on earth and have been subject to several decades of intense study. These studies show that old growth Mountain Ash forests are characterized by (among other features): giant trees (approaching 100 m tall and sometimes exceeding 20 m in circumference), numerous trees with hollows, an understorey of Acacia and rainforest trees, a range of plant and animal species that are rare or absent in younger aged stands, and moist, nutrient-rich soils. The area of old growth Mountain Ash forest has declined to 1.16% of the ∼141,000 ha area occupied by ash-type forests in the Central Highlands region. This is up to 60 times less than it was at the time of European colonization ∼220 years ago. The loss of old growth has major implications for bird, mammal and other biodiversity, as well as for carbon storage and water production for human consumption. The main drivers of old growth decline are recurrent wildfire, widespread clearcutting, and a logging-fire interaction in which cut and then regenerated forests become more flammable and are at significantly elevated risk of burning at high (stand replacing) severity. Climate change is also a driver of old growth decline both through elevating the mortality of large old living trees and underpinning an increase in the frequency of high severity wildfire. These interacting drivers mean that restoring old growth Mountain Ash forest will be an ecological and policy challenge. We argue that a first step must be to cease all commercial logging in the Mountain Ash ecosystem to allow new cohorts of old growth forest to be recruited and thereby expand the extent of the old growth estate. In addition, the Government of Victoria should revert to a past definition of old growth that made it easier for forest to qualify for protection. Given there are high risks of recurrent high-severity wildfire in the existing Mountain Ash forest estate which is dominated by highly flammable young regrowth forest, new technologies (such as the use of drones and satellites) are needed to rapidly detect and then suppress ignitions before fires become large and difficult to control. Mountain Ash forests have provided an important natural laboratory for understanding the dynamics, management and conservation of old growth forest. They have also helped generate some valuable general perspectives likely to be relevant to other forest ecosystems globally. These include: (1) the critical value of multi-facetted cross-sectional and longitudinal studies in quantifying attributes of, and threats to, old growth forest, (2) the need for a carefully crafted definition of old growth that will typically be ecosystem-specific and based on the time required to develop key ecosystem attributes (e.g., large old trees), (3) the importance of rigorous protection measures because poor decisions that result in the loss of old growth now will take prolonged periods to rectify, and (4) setting protection levels that are relative to the existing spatial coverage of remaining old growth and the extent and impacts of stressors driving old growth decline.
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Shim, Chin Yee, Si Yee Chan, Yuan Wei, Hazim Ghani, Liyana Ahmad, Hanisah Sharif, Mohammad Fathi Alikhan, et al. "Technology-assisted adaptive recruitment strategy for a large nation-wide COVID-19 vaccine immunogenicity study in Brunei." Frontiers in Public Health 10 (September 12, 2022). http://dx.doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2022.983571.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
A national study was conducted in Brunei to assess and compare the immunogenicity of the various brands of COVID-19 vaccines administered to the population as part of the National COVID-19 Vaccination Programme. Most of the population have had received at least 2 doses of BBIBP-CorV, AZD1222 or MRNA-1273 vaccines. Neutralising antibodies against SARS-CoV-2 induced by these vaccines will be analysed to infer population-level immune protection against COVID-19. During the 5-week recruitment period, 24,260 eligible individuals were invited to the study via SMS, out of which 2,712 participants were enrolled into the study. This paper describes the novel adaptive strategy used to recruit the study participants. Digital technology was leveraged to perform targeted online recruitment to circumvent the limitations of traditional recruitment methods. Technology also enabled stratified random selection of these eligible individuals who were stratified based on age, gender and vaccine brand. Data was extracted from the electronic health records, the national mobile health application and a third-party survey platform and integrated into a dedicated research platform called EVYDResearch. The instant availability and access to up-to-date data on EVYDResearch enabled the study team to meet weekly and adopt an adaptive recruitment strategy informed by behavioural science, where interventions could be quickly implemented to improve response rates. Some examples of these include incorporating nudge messaging into SMS invitations, involving the Minister of Health to make press announcements on this study, media coverage, setting up an enquiries hotline and reaching out to foreign language speaking expatriates of a local multinational company to participate in this study. Data integration from various data sources, real time information sharing and a strong teamwork led to good outcomes adaptable to the progress of recruitment, compared to the more time-consuming and static traditional recruitment methods.
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Levine, Michael, and William Taylor. "The Upside of Down: Disaster and the Imagination 50 Years On." M/C Journal 16, no. 1 (March 18, 2013). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.586.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
IntroductionIt has been nearly half a century since the appearance of Susan Sontag’s landmark essay “The Imagination of Disaster.” The critic wrote of the public fascination with science fiction disaster films, claiming that, on the one hand “from a psychological point of view, the imagination of disaster does not greatly differ from one period in history to another [but, on the other hand] from a political and moral point of view, it does” (224). Even if Sontag is right about aspects of the imagination of disaster not changing, the types, frequency, and magnitude of disasters and their representation in media and popular culture suggest that dynamic conditions prevail on both counts. Disaster has become a significantly urban phenomenon, and highly publicised “worst case” scenarios such as Hurricane Katrina and the Haiti earthquake highlight multiple demographic, cultural, and environmental contexts for visualising cataclysm. The 1950s and 60s science fiction films that Sontag wrote about were filled with marauding aliens and freaks of disabused science. Since then, their visual and dramatic effects have been much enlarged by all kinds of disaster scenarios. Partly imagined, these scenarios have real-life counterparts with threats from terrorism and the war on terror, pan-epidemics, and global climate change. Sontag’s essay—like most, if not all of the films she mentions—overlooked the aftermath; that is, the rebuilding, following extra-terrestrial invasion. It ignored what was likely to happen when the monsters were gone. In contrast, the psychological as well as the practical, social, and economic aspects of reconstruction are integral to disaster discourse today. Writing about how architecture might creatively contribute to post-conflict (including war) and disaster recovery, for instance, Boano elaborates the psychological background for rebuilding, where the material destruction of dwellings and cities “carries a powerful symbolic erosion of security, social wellbeing and place attachment” (38); these are depicted as attributes of selfhood and identity that must be restored. Similarly, Hutchison and Bleiker (385) adopt a view evident in disaster studies, that disaster-struck communities experience “trauma” and require inspired responses that facilitate “healing and reconciliation” as well as material aid such as food, housing, and renewed infrastructure. This paper revisits Sontag’s “The Imagination of Disaster,” fifty years on in view of the changing face of disasters and their representation in film media, including more recent films. The paper then considers disaster recovery and outlines the difficult path that “creative industries” like architecture and urban planning must tread when promising a vision of rebuilding that provides for such intangible outcomes as “healing and reconciliation.” We find that hopes for the seemingly positive psychologically- and socially-recuperative outcomes accompanying the prospect of rebuilding risk a variety of generalisation akin to wish-fulfilment that Sontag finds in disaster films. The Psychology of Science Fiction and Disaster FilmsIn “The Imagination of Disaster,” written at or close to the height of the Cold War, Sontag ruminates on what America’s interest in, if not preoccupation with, science fiction films tell us about ourselves. Their popularity cannot be explained in terms of their entertainment value alone; or if it can, then why audiences found (and still find) such films entertaining is something that itself needs explanation.Depicted in media like photography and film, utopian and dystopian thought have at least one thing in common. Their visions of either perfected or socially alienated worlds are commonly prompted by criticism of the social/political status quo and point to its reform. For Sontag, science fiction films portrayed both people’s worst nightmares concerning disaster and catastrophe (e.g. the end of the world; chaos; enslavement; mutation), as well as their facile victories over the kinds of moral, political, and social dissolution the films imaginatively depicted. Sontag does not explicitly attribute such “happy endings” to wish-fulfilling phantasy and ego-protection. (“Phantasy” is to be distinguished from fantasy. It is a psychoanalytic term for states of mind, often symbolic in form, resulting from infantile wish-fulfilment, desires and instincts.) She does, however, describe the kinds of fears, existential concerns (like annihilation), and crises of meaning they are designed (purpose built) to allay. The fears are a product of the time—the down and dark side of technology (e.g. depersonalisation; ambivalence towards science, scientists, and technology) and changes wrought in our working and personal lives by urbanisation. In short, then as now, science fictions films were both expressions of deep and genuine worries and of the pressing need to inventively set them to rest.When Sontag claims that “the imagination of disaster does not greatly differ” (224) from one period to another, this is because, psychologically speaking, neither the precipitating concerns and fears (death, loss of love, meaninglessness, etc.), nor the ways in which people’s minds endeavour to assuage them, substantively differ. What is different is the way they are depicted. This is unsurprisingly a function of the political, social, and moral situations and milieus that provide the context in which the imagination of disaster unfolds. In contemporary society, the extent to which the media informs and constructs the context in which the imagination operates is unprecedented.Sontag claims that there is little if any criticism of the real social and political conditions that bring about the fears the films depict (223). Instead, fantasy operates so as to displace and project the actual causes away from their all too human origins into outer space and onto aliens. In a sense, this is the core and raison d’etre for such films. By their very nature, science fiction films of the kind Sontag is discussing cannot concern themselves with genuine social or political criticism (even though the films are necessarily expressive of such criticism). Any serious questioning of the moral and political status quo—conditions that are responsible for the disasters befalling people—would hamper the operation of fantasy and its production of temporarily satisfying “solutions” to whatever catastrophe is being depicted.Sontag goes on to discuss various strategies science fiction employs to deal with such fears. For example, through positing a bifurcation between good and evil, and grossly oversimplifying the moral complexity of situations, it allows one to “give outlet to cruel or at least amoral feelings” (215) and to exercise feelings of superiority—moral and otherwise. Ambiguous feelings towards science and technology are repressed. Quick and psychologically satisfying fixes are sought for these by means of phantasy and the imaginative construction of invulnerable heroes. Much of what Sontag says can straightforwardly be applied to catastrophe in general. “Alongside the hopeful fantasy of moral simplification and international unity embodied in the science fiction films lurk the deepest anxieties about contemporary existence” (220). Sontag writes:In the films it is by means of images and sounds […] that one can participate in the fantasy of living through one’s own death and more, the death of cities, the destruction of humanity itself. Science fiction films are not about science. They are about disaster, which is one of the oldest subjects in art. In science fiction films disaster is rarely viewed intensively; it is always extensive. It is a matter of quality and ingenuity […] the science fiction film […] is concerned with the aesthetics of disaster […] and it is in the imagery of destruction that the core of a good science fiction film lies. (212–13)In science fiction films, disaster, though widespread, is viewed intensively as well as extensively. The disturbances constitutive of the disaster are moral and emotional as well as material. People are left without the mental or physical abilities they need to cope. Government is absent or useless. We find ourselves in what amounts to what Naomi Zack (“Philosophy and Disaster”; Ethics for Disaster) describes as a Hobbesian second state of nature—where government is inoperative and chaos (moral, social, political, personal) reigns. Science fiction’s way out is to imaginatively construct scenarios emotionally satisfying enough to temporarily assuage the distress (anomie or chaos) experienced in the film.There is, however, a tremendous difference in the way in which people who face catastrophic occurrences in their lives, as opposed to science fiction, address the problems. For one thing, they must be far closer to complex and quickly changing realities and uncertain truths than are the phantastic, temporarily gratifying, and morally unproblematic resolutions to the catastrophic scenarios that science fiction envisions. Genuine catastrophe, for example war, undermines and dismantles the structures—material structures to be sure but also those of justice, human kindness, and affectivity—that give us the wherewithal to function and that are shown to be inimical to catastrophe as such. Disaster dispenses with civilization while catastrophe displaces it.Special Effects and Changing StorylinesScience fiction and disaster film genres have been shaped by developments in visual simulation technologies providing opportunities for imaginatively mixing fact and fiction. Developments in filmmaking include computer or digital techniques for reproducing on the screen what can otherwise only be imagined as causal sequences of events and spectacles accompanying the wholesale destruction of buildings and cities—even entire planets. Indeed films are routinely promoted on the basis of how cinematographers and technicians have advanced the state of the art. The revival of 3-D movies with films such as Avatar (2009) and Prometheus (2012) is one of a number of developments augmenting the panoramas of 1950s classics featuring “melting tanks, flying bodies, crashing walls, awesome craters and fissures in the earth, plummeting spacecraft [and] colourful deadly rays” (Sontag 213). An emphasis on the scale of destruction and the wholesale obliteration of recognisable sites emblematic of “the city” (mega-structures like the industrial plant in Aliens (1986) and vast space ships like the “Death Star” in two Star Wars sequels) connect older films with new ones and impress the viewer with ever more extraordinary spectacle.Films that have been remade make for useful comparison. On the whole, these reinforce the continuation and predictability of some storylines (for instance, threats of extra-terrestrial invasion), but also the attenuation or disappearance of other narrative elements such as the monsters and anxieties released by mid-twentieth century atomic tests (Broderick). Remakes also highlight emerging themes requiring novel or updated critical frameworks. For example, environmental anxieties, largely absent in 1950s science fiction films (except for narratives involving colliding worlds or alien contacts) have appeared en masse in recent years, providing an updated view on the ethical issues posed by the fall of cities and communities (Taylor, “Urban”).In The Invasion of the Bodysnatchers and its remakes (1956, 1978, 1993), for example, the organic and vegetal nature of the aliens draws the viewer’s attention to an environment formed by combative species, allowing for threats of infestation, growth and decay of the self and individuality—a longstanding theme. In the most recent version, The Invasion (2007), special effects and directorial spirit render the orifice-seeking tendrils of the pod creatures threateningly vigorous and disturbing (Lim). More sanctimonious than physically invasive, the aliens in the 1951 version of The Day the Earth Stood Still are fed up with humankind’s fixation with atomic self-destruction, and threaten global obliteration on the earth (Cox). In the 2008 remake, the suave alien ambassador, Keanu Reeves, targets the environmental negligence of humanity.Science, including science as fiction, enters into disaster narratives in a variety of ways. Some are less obvious but provocative nonetheless; for example, movies dramatising the arrival of aliens such as War of the Worlds (1953 and 2005) or Alien (1979). These more subtle approaches can be personally confronting even without the mutation of victims into vegetables or zombies. Special effects technologies have made it possible to illustrate the course of catastrophic floods and earthquakes in considerable scientific and visual detail and to represent the interaction of natural disasters, the built environment, and people, from the scale of buildings, homes, and domestic lives to entire cities and urban populations.For instance, the blockbuster film The Day After Tomorrow (2004) runs 118 minutes, but has an uncertain fictional time frame of either a few weeks or 72 hours (if the film’s title is to taken literally). The movie shows the world as we know it being mostly destroyed. Tokyo is shattered by hailstones and Los Angeles is twisted by cyclones the likes of which Dorothy would never have seen. New York disappears beneath a mountainous tsunami. All of these events result from global climate change, though whether this is due to human (in) action or other causes is uncertain. Like their predecessors, the new wave of disaster movies like The Day After Tomorrow makes for questionable “art” (Annan). Nevertheless, their reception opens a window onto broader political and moral contexts for present anxieties. Some critics have condemned The Day After Tomorrow for its scientific inaccuracies—questioning the scale or pace of climate change. Others acknowledge errors while commending efforts to raise environmental awareness (Monbiot). Coincident with the film and criticisms in both the scientific and political arena is a new class of environmental heretic—the climate change denier. This is a shadowy character commonly associated with the presidency of George W. Bush and the oil lobby that uses minor inconsistencies of science to claim that climate change does not exist. One thing underlying both twisting facts for the purposes of making science fiction films and ignoring evidence of climate change is an infantile orientation towards the unknown. In this regard, recent films do what science fiction disaster films have always done. While freely mixing truths and half-truths for the purpose of heightened dramatic effect, they fulfil psychological tasks such as orchestrating nightmare scenarios and all too easy victories on the screen. Uncertainty regarding the precise cause, scale, or duration of cataclysmic natural phenomena is mirrored by suspension of disbelief in the viability of some human responses to portrayals of urban disaster. Science fiction, in other words, invites us to accept as possible the flight of Americans and their values to Mexico (The Day After Tomorrow), the voyage into earth’s molten core (The Core 2003), or the disposal of lava in LA’s drainage system (Volcano 1997). Reinforcing Sontag’s point, here too there is a lack of criticism of the real social and political conditions that bring about the fears depicted in the films (223). Moreover, much like news coverage, images in recent natural disaster films (like their predecessors) typically finish at the point where survivors are obliged to pick up the pieces and start all over again—the latter is not regarded as newsworthy. Allowing for developments in science fiction films and the disaster genre, Sontag’s observation remains accurate. The films are primarily concerned “with the aesthetics of destruction, with the peculiar beauties to be found in wreaking havoc, in making a mess” (213) rather than rebuilding. The Imagination of Disaster RecoverySontag’s essay contributes to an important critical perspective on science fiction film. Variations on her “psychological point of view” have been explored. (The two discourses—psychology and cinema—have parallel and in some cases intertwined histories). Moreover, in the intervening years, psychological or psychoanalytical terms and narratives have themselves become even more a part of popular culture. They feature in recent disaster films and disaster recovery discourse in the “real” world.Today, with greater frequency than in the 1950s and 60s films arguably, representations of alien invasion or catastrophic global warming serve to background conflict resolutions of a more quotidian and personal nature. Hence, viewers are led to suspect that Tom Cruise will be more likely to survive the rapacious monsters in the latest The War of the Worlds if he can become less narcissistic and a better father. Similarly, Dennis Quaid’s character will be much better prepared to serve a newly glaciated America for having rescued his son (and marriage) from the watery deep-freezer that New York City becomes in The Day After Tomorrow. In these films the domestic and familial comprise a domain of inter-personal and communal relations from which victims and heroes appear. Currents of thought from the broad literature of disaster studies and Western media also call upon this domain. The imagination of disaster recovery has come to partly resemble a set of problems organised around the needs of traumatised communities. These serve as an object of urban governance, planning, and design conceived in different ways, but largely envisioned as an organic unity that connects urban populations, their pasts, and settings in a meaningful, psychologically significant manner (Furedi; Hutchison and Bleiker; Boano). Terms like “place” or concepts like Boano’s “place-attachment" (38) feature in this discourse to describe this unity and its subjective dimensions. Consider one example. In August 2006, one year after Katrina, the highly respected Journal of Architectural Education dedicated a special issue to New Orleans and its reconstruction. Opening comments by editorialist Barbara Allen include claims presupposing enduring links between the New Orleans community conceived as an organic whole, its architectural heritage imagined as a mnemonic vehicle, and the city’s unique setting. Though largely unsupported (and arguably unsupportable) the following proposition would find agreement across a number of disaster studies and resonates in commonplace reasoning:The culture of New Orleans is unique. It is a mix of ancient heritage with layers and adaptations added by successive generations, resulting in a singularly beautiful cultural mosaic of elements. Hurricane Katrina destroyed buildings—though not in the city’s historic core—and displaced hundreds of thousands of people, but it cannot wipe out the memories and spirit of the citizens. (4) What is intriguing about the claim is an underlying intellectual project that subsumes psychological and sociological domains of reasoning within a distinctive experience of community, place, and memory. In other words, the common belief that memory is an intrinsic part of the human condition of shock and loss gives form to a theory of how urban communities experience disaster and how they might re-build—and justify rebuilding—themselves. This is problematic and invites anachronistic thinking. While communities are believed to be formed partly by memories of a place, “memory” is neither a collective faculty nor is it geographically bounded. Whose memories are included and which ones are not? Are these truly memories of one place or do they also draw on other real or imagined places? Moreover—and this is where additional circumspection is inspired by our reading of Sontag’s essay—does Allen’s editorial contribute to an aestheticised image of place, rather than criticism of the social and political conditions required for reconstruction to proceed with justice, compassionately and affectively? Allowing for civil liberties to enter the picture, Allen adds “it is necessary to enable every citizen to come back to this exceptional city if they so desire” (4). However, given that memories of places and desires for their recovery are not univocal, and often contain competing visions of what was and should be, it is not surprising they should result in competing expectations for reconstruction efforts. This has clearly proven the case for New Orleans (Vederber; Taylor, “Typologies”)ConclusionThe comparison of films invites an extension of Sontag’s analysis of the imagination of disaster to include the psychology, politics, and morality of rebuilding. Can a “psychological point of view” help us to understand not only the motives behind capturing so many scenes of destruction on screen and television, but also something of the creative impulses driving reconstruction? This invites a second question. How do some impulses, particularly those caricatured as the essence of an “enterprise culture” (Heap and Ross) associated with America’s “can-do” or others valorised as positive outcomes of catastrophe in The Upside of Down (Homer-Dixon), highlight or possibly obscure criticism of the conditions which made cities like New Orleans vulnerable in the first place? The broad outline of an answer to the second question begins to appear only when consideration of the ethics of disaster and rebuilding are taken on board. If “the upside” of “the down” wrought by Hurricane Katrina, for example, is rebuilding of any kind, at any price, and for any person, then the equation works (i.e., there is a silver lining for every cloud). If, however, the range of positives is broadened to include issues of social justice, then the figures require more complex arithmetic.ReferencesAllen, Barbara. “New Orleans and Katrina: One Year Later.” Journal of Architectural Education 60.1 (2006): 4.Annan, David. Catastrophe: The End of the Cinema? London: Lorrimer, 1975.Boano, Camillo. “‘Violent Space’: Production and Reproduction of Security and Vulnerabilities.” The Journal of Architecture 16 (2011): 37–55.Broderick, Mick, ed. Hibakusha Cinema: Hiroshima, Nagasaki and the Nuclear Image in Japanese Film. London: Kegan Paul, 1996.Cox, David. “Get This, Aliens: We Just Don’t Care!” The Guardian 15 Dec. 2008 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2008/dec/15/the-day-the-earth-stood-still›. Furedi, Frank. “The Changing Meaning of Disaster.” Area 39.4 (2007): 482–89.Heap, Shaun H., and Angus Ross, eds. Understanding the Enterprise Culture: Themes in the Work of Mary Douglas. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1992. Homer-Dixon, Thomas. The Upside of Down: Catastrophe, Creativity and the Renewal of Civilization. Washington, DC: Island Press, 2006.Hutchison, Emma, and Roland Bleiker. “Emotional Reconciliation: Reconstituting Identity and Community after Trauma.” European Journal of Social Theory 11 (2008): 385–403.Lim, Dennis. “Same Old Aliens, But New Neuroses.” New York Times 12 Aug. 2007: A17.Monbiot, George. “A Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall.” The Guardian 14 May 2004.Sontag, Susan. “The Imagination of Disaster” (1965). Against Interpretation and Other Essays. New York: Dell, 1979. 209–25.Taylor, William M. “Typologies of Katrina: Mnemotechnics in Post-Disaster New Orleans.” Interstices 13 (2012): 71–84.———. “Urban Disasters: Visualising the Fall of Cities and the Forming of Human Values.” Journal of Architecture 11.5 (2006): 603–12.Verderber, Stephen. “Five Years After – Three New Orleans Neighborhoods.” Journal of Architectural Education 64.1 (2010): 107–20.Zack, Naomi. Ethics for Disaster. New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009.———. “Philosophy and Disaster.” Homeland Security Affairs 2, article 5 (April 2006): ‹http://www.hsaj.org/?article=2.1.5›.FilmographyAlien. Dir. Ridley Scott. Brandywine Productions, 1979.Aliens. Dir. James Cameron. Brandywine Productions, 1986.Avatar. Dir. James Cameron. Lightstorm Entertainment et al., 2009.The Core. Dir. Jon Amiel. Paramount Pictures, 2003.The Day after Tomorrow. Dir. Roland Emmerich. 20th Century Fox, 2004.The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Dir. Don Siegel. Allied Artists, 1956; also 1978 and 1993.The Invasion. Dirs. Oliver Hirschbiegel and Jame McTeigue. Village Roadshow et al, 2007.Prometheus. Dir. Ridley Scott. Scott Free and Brandywine Productions, 2012Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Dir. George Lucas. Lucasfilm, 1977.Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. Dir. George Lucas. Lucasfilm, 1983.Volcano. Dir. Mick Jackson. 20th Century Fox, 1997.War of the Worlds. Dir. George Pal. Paramount, 1953; also Steven Spielberg. Paramount, 2005.Acknowledgments The authors are grateful to Oenone Rooksby and Joely-Kym Sobott for their assistance and advice when preparing this article. It was also made possible in part by a grant from the Australian Research Council.
11
Due, Clemence. "Laying Claim to "Country": Native Title and Ownership in the Mainstream Australian Media." M/C Journal 11, no. 5 (August 15, 2008). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.62.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Australia in Maps is a compilation of cartography taken from the collection of over 600,000 maps held at the Australian National Library. Included in this collection are military maps, coastal maps and modern-day maps for tourists. The map of the eastern coast of ‘New Holland’ drawn by James Cook when he ‘discovered’ Australia in 1770 is included. Also published is Eddie Koiki Mabo’s map drawn on a hole-punched piece of paper showing traditional land holdings in the Murray Islands in the Torres Strait. This map became a key document in Eddie Mabo’s fight for native title recognition, a fight which became the precursor to native title rights as they are known today. The inclusion of these two drawings in a collection of maps defining Australia as a country illustrates the dichotomies and contradictions which exist in a colonial nation. It is now fifteen years since the Native Title Act 1994 (Commonwealth) was developed in response to the Mabo cases in order to recognise Indigenous customary law and traditional relationships to the land over certain (restricted) parts of Australia. It is 220 years since the First Fleet arrived and Indigenous land was (and remains) illegally possessed through the process of colonisation (Moreton-Robinson Australia). Questions surrounding ‘country’ – who owns it, has rights to use it, to live on it, to develop or protect it – are still contested and contentious today. In part, this contention arises out of the radically different conceptions of ‘country’ held by, in its simplest sense, Indigenous nations and colonisers. For Indigenous Australians the land has a spiritual significance that I, as a non-Indigenous person, cannot properly understand as a result of the different ways in which relationships to land are made available. The ways of understanding the world through which my identity as a non-Indigenous person are made intelligible, by contrast, see ‘country’ as there to be ‘developed’ and exploited. Within colonial logic, discourses of development and the productive use of resources function as what Wetherell and Potter term “rhetorically self-sufficient” in that they are principles which are considered to be beyond question (177). As Vincent Tucker states; “The myth of development is elevated to the status of natural law, objective reality and evolutionary necessity. In the process all other world views are devalued and dismissed as ‘primitive’, ‘backward’, ‘irrational’ or ‘naïve’” (1). It was this precise way of thinking which was able to justify colonisation in the first place. Australia was seen as terra nullius; an empty and un-developed land not recognized as inhabited. Indigenous people were incorrectly perceived as individuals who did not use the land in an efficient manner, rather than as individual nations who engaged with the land in ways that were not intelligible to the colonial eye. This paper considers the tensions inherent in definitions of ‘country’ and the way these tensions are played out through native title claims as white, colonial Australia attempts to recognise (and limit) Indigenous rights to land. It examines such tensions as they appear in the media as an example of how native title issues are made intelligible to the non-Indigenous general public who may otherwise have little knowledge or experience of native title issues. It has been well-documented that the news media play an important role in further disseminating those discourses which dominate in a society, and therefore frequently supports the interests of those in positions of power (Fowler; Hall et. al.). As Stuart Hall argues, this means that the media often reproduces a conservative status quo which in many cases is simply reflective of the positions held by other powerful institutions in society, in this case government, and mining and other commercial interests. This has been found to be the case in past analysis of media coverage of native title, such as work completed by Meadows (which found that media coverage of native title issues focused largely on non-Indigenous perspectives) and Hartley and McKee (who found that media coverage of native title negotiations frequently focused on bureaucratic issues rather than the rights of Indigenous peoples to oppose ‘developments’ on their land). This paper aims to build on this work, and to map the way in which native title, an ongoing issue for many Indigenous groups, figures in a mainstream newspaper at a time when there has not been much mainstream public interest in the process. In order to do this, this paper considered articles which appeared in Australia’s only national newspaper – The Australian – over the six months preceding the start of July 2008. Several main themes ran through these articles, examples of which are provided in the relevant sections. These included: economic interests in native title issues, discourses of white ownership and control of the land, and rhetorical devices which reinforced the battle-like nature of native title negotiations rather than emphasised the rights of Indigenous Australians to their lands. Native Title: Some Definitions and Some Problems The concept of native title itself can be a difficult one to grasp and therefore a brief definition is called for here. According to the National Native Title Tribunal (NNTT) website (www.nntt.gov.au), native title is the recognition by Australian law that some Indigenous people have rights and interests to their land that come from their traditional laws and customs. The native title rights and interests held by particular Indigenous people will depend on both their traditional laws and customs and what interests are held by others in the area concerned. Generally speaking, native title must give way to the rights held by others. Native title is therefore recognised as existing on the basis of certain laws and customs which have been maintained over an area of land despite the disruption caused by colonisation. As such, if native title is to be recognised over an area of country, Indigenous communities have to argue that their cultures and connection with the land have survived colonisation. As the Maori Land Court Chief Judge Joe Williams argues: In Australia the surviving title approach […] requires the Indigenous community to prove in a court or tribunal that colonisation caused them no material injury. This is necessary because, the greater the injury, the smaller the surviving bundle of rights. Communities who were forced off their land lose it. Those whose traditions and languages were beaten out of them at state sponsored mission schools lose all of the resources owned within the matrix of that language and those traditions. This is a perverse result. In reality, of course, colonisation was the greatest calamity in the history of these people on this land. Surviving title asks aboriginal people to pretend that it was not. To prove in court that colonisation caused them no material injury. Communities who were forced off their land are the same communities who are more likely to lose it. As found in previous research (Meadows), these inherent difficulties of the native title process were widely overlooked in recent media reports of native title issues published in The Australian. Due to recent suggestions made by Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin for changes to be made to the native title system, The Australian did include reports on the need to ensure that traditional owners share the economic profits of the mining boom. This was seen in an article by Karvelas and Murphy entitled “Labor to Overhaul Native Title Law”. The article states that: Fifteen years after the passage of the historic Mabo legislation, the Rudd Government has flagged sweeping changes to native title to ensure the benefits of the mining boom flow to Aboriginal communities and are not locked up in trusts or frittered away. Indigenous Affairs Minister Jenny Macklin, delivering the third annual Eddie Mabo Lecture in Townsville, said yesterday that native title legislation was too complex and had failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities, despite lucrative agreements with mining companies. (1) Whilst this passage appears supportive of Indigenous Australians in that it argues for their right to share in economic gains made through ‘developments’ on their country, the use of phrases such as ‘frittered away’ imply that Indigenous Australians have made poor use of their ‘lucrative agreements’, and therefore require further intervention in their lives in order to better manage their financial situations. Such an argument further implies that the fact that many remote Indigenous communities continue to live in poverty is the fault of Indigenous Australians’ mismanagement of funds from native title agreements rather than from governmental neglect, thereby locating the blame once more in the hands of Indigenous people rather than in a colonial system of dispossession and regulation. Whilst the extract does continue to state that native title legislation is too complex and has ‘failed to deliver money to remote Aboriginal communities’, the article does not go on to consider other areas in which native title is failing Indigenous people, such as reporting the protection of sacred and ceremonial sites, and provisions for Indigenous peoples to be consulted about developments on their land to which they may be opposed. Whilst native title agreements with companies may contain provisions for these issues, it is rare that there is any regulation for whether or not these provisions are met after an agreement is made (Faircheallaigh). These issues almost never appeared in the media which instead focused on the economic benefits (or lack thereof) stemming from the land rather than the sovereign rights of traditional owners to their country. There are many other difficulties inherent in the native title legislation for Indigenous peoples. It is worth discussing some of these difficulties as they provide an image of the ways in which ‘country’ is conceived of at the intersection of a Western legal system attempting to encompass Indigenous relations to land. The first of these difficulties relates to the way in which Indigenous people are required to delineate the boundaries of the country which they are claiming. Applications for native title over an area of land require strict outlining of boundaries for land under consideration, in accordance with a Western system of mapping country. The creation of such boundaries requires Indigenous peoples to define their country in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones, and in many cases proves quite difficult as areas of traditional lands may be unavailable to claim (Neate). Such differences in understandings of country mean that “for Indigenous peoples, the recognition of their indigenous title, should it be afforded, may bear little resemblance to, or reflect minimally on, their own conceptualisation of their relations to country” (Glaskin 67). Instead, existing as it does within a Western legal system and subject to Western determinations, native title forces Indigenous people to define themselves and their land within white conceptions of country (Moreton-Robinson Possessive). In fact, the entire concept of native title has been criticized by many Indigenous commentators as a denial of Indigenous sovereignty over the land, with the result of the Mabo case meaning that “Indigenous people did not lose their native title rights but were stripped of their sovereign rights to manage their own affairs, to live according to their own laws, and to own and control the resources on their lands” (Falk and Martin 38). As such, Falk and Martin argue that The Native Title Act amounts to a complete denial of Aboriginal sovereignty so that Indigenous people are forced to live under a colonial regime which is able to control and regulate their lives and access to country. This is commented upon by Aileen Moreton-Robinson, who writes that: What Indigenous people have been given, by way of white benevolence, is a white-constructed from of ‘Indigenous’ proprietary rights that are not epistemologically and ontologically grounded in Indigenous conceptions of sovereignty. Indigenous land ownership, under these legislative regimes, amounts to little more than a mode of land tenure that enables a circumscribed form of autonomy and governance with minimum control and ownership of resources, on or below the ground, thus entrenching economic dependence on the nation state. (Moreton-Robinson Sovereign Subjects 4) The native title laws in place in Australia restrict Indigenous peoples to existing within white frameworks of knowledge. Within the space of The Native Title Act there is no room for recognition of Indigenous sovereignty whereby Indigenous peoples can make decisions for themselves and control their own lands (Falk and Martin). These tensions within definitions of ‘country’ and sovereignty over land were reflected in the media articles examined, primarily in terms of the way in which ‘country’ was related to and used. This was evident in an article entitled “An Economic Vision” with a tag-line “Native Title Reforms offer Communities a Fresh Start”: Central to such a success story is the determination of indigenous people to help themselves. Such a business-like, forward-thinking approach is also evident in Kimberley Land Council executive director Wayne Bergmann's negotiations with some of the world's biggest resource companies […] With at least 45 per cent of Kimberley land subject to native title, Mr Bergmann, a qualified lawyer, is acutely aware of the royalties and employment potential. Communities are also benefitting from the largesse of Australia’s richest man, miner Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest, whose job training courses and other initiatives are designed to help the local people, in his words, become “wonderful participating Australians.” (15) Again, this article focuses on the economic benefits to be made from native title agreements with mining companies rather than other concerns with the use of Indigenous areas of country. The use of the quote from Forrest serves to imply that Indigenous peoples are not “wonderful participating Australians” unless they are able to contribute in an economic sense, and overlooks many contributions made by Indigenous peoples in other areas such as environmental protection. Such definitions also measure ‘success’ in Western terms rather than Indigenous ones and force Indigenous peoples into a relationship to country based on Western notions of resource extraction and profit rather than Indigenous notions of custodianship and sustainability. This construction of Indigenous economic involvement as only rendered valid on particular terms echoes findings from previous work on constructions of Indigenous people in the media, such as that by LeCouteur, Rapley and Augoustinos. Theorising ‘Country’ The examples provided above illustrate the fact that the rhetoric and dichotomies of ‘country’ are at the very heart of the native title process. The process of recognising Indigenous rights to land through native title invites the question of how ‘country’ is conceived in the first place. Goodall writes that there are tensions within definitions of ‘country’ which indicate the ongoing presence of Indigenous people’s connections to their land despite colonisation. She writes that the word ‘country’: may seem a self-evident description of rural economy and society, with associations of middle-class gentility as well as being the antonym of the city. Yet in Australia there is another dimension altogether. Aboriginal land-owners traditionally identify themselves by the name of the land for which they were the custodians. These lands are often called, in today’s Aboriginal English, their ‘country’. This gives the word a tense and resonating echo each time it is used to describe rural-settler society and land. (162) Yet the distinctions usually drawn between those defined as ‘country’ people or ‘locals’ and the traditional Indigenous people of the area suggest that, as Schlunke states, in many cases Indigenous people are “too local to be ‘local’” (43). In other words, if white belonging and rights to an area of country are to be normalised, the prior claims of traditional owners are not able to be considered. As such, Indigenous belonging becomes too confronting as it disrupts the ways in which other ‘country’ people relate to their land as legitimately theirs. In the media, constructions of ‘country’ frequently fell within a colonial definition of country which overlooked Indigenous peoples. In many of these articles land was normatively constructed as belonging to the crown or the state. This was evidenced in phrases such as, “The proceedings [of the Noongar native title claim over the South Western corner of Australia] have been watched closely by other states in the expectation they might encounter similar claims over their capital cities” (Buckley-Carr 2). Use of the word their implies that the states (which are divisions of land created by colonisation) have prior claim to ‘their’ capital cities and that they rightfully belong to the government rather than to traditional owners. Such definitions of ‘country’ reflect European rather than Indigenous notions of boundaries and possession. This is also reflected in media reports of native title in the widespread use of European names for areas of land and landmarks as opposed to their traditional Indigenous names. When the media reported on a native title claim over an area of land the European name for the country was used rather than, for example, the Indigenous name followed by a geographical description of where that land is situated. Customs such as this reflect a country which is still bound up in European definitions of land rather than Indigenous ones (Goodall 167; Schlunke 47-48), and also indicate that the media is reporting for a white audience rather than for an Indigenous one whom it would affect the most. Native title debates have also “shown the depth of belief within much of rural and regional Australia that rural space is most rightfully agricultural space” (Lockie 27). This construction of rural Australia is reflective of the broader national imagining of the country as a nation (Anderson), in which Australia is considered rich in resources from which to derive profit. Within these discourses the future of the nation is seen as lying in the ‘development’ of natural resources. As such, native title agreements with industry have often been depicted in the media as obstacles to be overcome by companies rather than a way of allowing Indigenous people control over their own lands. This often appears in the media in the form of metaphors of ‘war’ for agreements for use of Indigenous land, such as development being “frustrated” by native title (Bromby) and companies being “embattled” by native title issues (Wilson). Such metaphors illustrate the adversarial nature of native title claims both for recognition of the land in the first place and often in subsequent dealings with resource companies. This was also seen in reports of company progress which would include native title claims in a list of other factors affecting stock prices (such as weak drilling results and the price of metals), as if Indigenous claims to land were just another hurdle to profit-making (“Pilbara Lures”). Conclusion As far as the native title process is concerned, the answers to the questions considered at the start of this paper remain within Western definitions. Native title exists firmly within a Western system of law which requires Indigenous people to define and depict their land within non-Indigenous definitions and understandings of ‘country’. These debates are also frequently played out in the media in ways which reflect colonial values of using and harvesting country rather than Indigenous ones of protecting it. The media rarely consider the complexities of a system which requires Indigenous peoples to conceive of their land through boundaries and definitions not congruent with their own understandings. The issues surrounding native title draw attention to the need for alternative definitions of ‘country’ to enter the mainstream Australian consciousness. These need to encompass Indigenous understandings of ‘country’ and to acknowledge the violence of Australia’s colonial history. Similarly, the concept of native title needs to reflect Indigenous notions of country and allow traditional owners to define their land for themselves. In order to achieve these goals and overcome some of the obstacles to recognising Indigenous sovereignty over Australia the media needs to play a part in reorienting concepts of country from only those definitions which fit within a white framework of experiencing the world and prioritise Indigenous relations and experiences of country. If discourses of resource extraction were replaced with discourses of sustainability, if discourses of economic gains were replaced with respect for the land, and if discourses of white control over Indigenous lives in the form of native title reform were replaced with discourses of Indigenous sovereignty, then perhaps some ground could be made to creating an Australia which is not still in the process of colonising and denying the rights of its First Nations peoples. The tensions which exist in definitions and understandings of ‘country’ echo the tensions which exist in Australia’s historical narratives and memories. The denied knowledge of the violence of colonisation and the rights of Indigenous peoples to remain on their land all haunt a native title system which requires Indigenous Australians to minimise the effect this violence had on their lives, their families and communities and their values and customs. As Katrina Schlunke writes when she confronts the realisation that her family’s land could be the same land on which Indigenous people were massacred: “The irony of fears of losing one’s backyard to a Native Title claim are achingly rich. Isn’t something already lost to the idea of ‘Freehold Title’ when you live over unremembered graves? What is free? What are you to hold?” (151). If the rights of Indigenous Australians to their country are truly to be recognised, mainstream Australia needs to seriously consider such questions and whether or not the concept of ‘native title’ as it exists today is able to answer them. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Damien Riggs and Andrew Gorman-Murray for all their help and support with this paper, and Braden Schiller for his encouragement and help with proof-reading. I would also like to thank the anonymous referees for their insightful comments. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. 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Kensington: UNSW P, 2000. 14-32. Meadows, Michael. “Deals and Victories: Newspaper Coverage of Native Title in Australia and Canada.” Australian Journalism Review 22.1 (2000): 81-105. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “I still call Australia Home: Aboriginal Belonging and Place in a White Postcolonising Nation.” Uprooting/Regrounding: Questions of Home and Migration. Eds. S Ahmed et.al. Oxford: Berg, 2003. 23-40. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “The Possessive Logic of Patriarchal White Sovereignty: The High Court and the Yorta Yorta Decision.” Borderlands e-Journal 3.2 (2004). 20 June 2008. http://www.borderlands.net.au/vol3no2_2004/moreton_possessive.htm Morteton-Robinson, Aileen. Ed. Sovereign Subjects: Indigenous Sovereignty Matters. Allen and Unwin, 2007. Neate, Graham. “Mapping Landscapes of the Mind: A Cadastral Conundrum in the Native Title Era.” Conference on Land Tenure and Cadastral Infrastructures for Sustainable Development, Melbourne, Australia (1999). 20 July 2008. http://www.sli.unimelb.edu.au/UNConf99/sessions/session5/neate.pdf O’Connor, Maura. Australia in Maps: Great Maps in Australia’s History from the National Library’s Collection. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2007. “Pilbara Lures Explorer with Promise of Metal Riches.” The Australian. 28 May 2008: Finance 2. Schlunke, Katrina. Bluff Rock: An Autobiography of a Massacre. Fremantle: Curtin U Books, 2005. “The National Native Title Tribunal.” Exactly What is Native Title? 29 July 2008. http://www.nntt.gov.au/What-Is-Native-Title/Pages/What-is-Native-Title.aspx The National Native Title Tribunal Fact Sheet. What is Native Title? 29 July 2008. http://www.nntt.gov.au Path; Publications-And-Research; Publications; Fact Sheets. Tucker, Vincent. “The Myth of Development: A Critique of Eurocentric Discourse.” Critical Development Theory: Contributions to a New Paradigm. Ed. Ronaldo Munck, Denis O'Hearn. Zed Books, 1999. 1-26. Wetherell, Margaret, and Jonathan Potter. Mapping the Language of Racism: Discourse and the Legitimation of Exploitation. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1992. Williams, Joe. “Confessions of a Native Title Judge: Reflections on the Role of Transitional Justice in the Transformation of Indigeneity.” Land, Rights, Laws: Issues of Native Title 3, (2008). 20 July 2008. http://ntru.aiatsis.gov.au/publications/issue_papers.html Wilson, Nigel. “Go with the Flow.” The Australian, 29 March 2008: 1.
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Maxwell, Richard, and Toby Miller. "The Real Future of the Media." M/C Journal 15, no. 3 (June 27, 2012). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.537.
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When George Orwell encountered ideas of a technological utopia sixty-five years ago, he acted the grumpy middle-aged man Reading recently a batch of rather shallowly optimistic “progressive” books, I was struck by the automatic way in which people go on repeating certain phrases which were fashionable before 1914. Two great favourites are “the abolition of distance” and “the disappearance of frontiers”. I do not know how often I have met with the statements that “the aeroplane and the radio have abolished distance” and “all parts of the world are now interdependent” (1944). It is worth revisiting the old boy’s grumpiness, because the rhetoric he so niftily skewers continues in our own time. Facebook features “Peace on Facebook” and even claims that it can “decrease world conflict” through inter-cultural communication. Twitter has announced itself as “a triumph of humanity” (“A Cyber-House” 61). Queue George. In between Orwell and latter-day hoody cybertarians, a whole host of excitable public intellectuals announced the impending end of materiality through emergent media forms. Marshall McLuhan, Neil Postman, Daniel Bell, Ithiel de Sola Pool, George Gilder, Alvin Toffler—the list of 1960s futurists goes on and on. And this wasn’t just a matter of punditry: the OECD decreed the coming of the “information society” in 1975 and the European Union (EU) followed suit in 1979, while IBM merrily declared an “information age” in 1977. Bell theorized this technological utopia as post-ideological, because class would cease to matter (Mattelart). Polluting industries seemingly no longer represented the dynamic core of industrial capitalism; instead, market dynamism radiated from a networked, intellectual core of creative and informational activities. The new information and knowledge-based economies would rescue First World hegemony from an “insurgent world” that lurked within as well as beyond itself (Schiller). Orwell’s others and the Cold-War futurists propagated one of the most destructive myths shaping both public debate and scholarly studies of the media, culture, and communication. They convinced generations of analysts, activists, and arrivistes that the promises and problems of the media could be understood via metaphors of the environment, and that the media were weightless and virtual. The famous medium they wished us to see as the message —a substance as vital to our wellbeing as air, water, and soil—turned out to be no such thing. Today’s cybertarians inherit their anti-Marxist, anti-materialist positions, as a casual glance at any new media journal, culture-industry magazine, or bourgeois press outlet discloses. The media are undoubtedly important instruments of social cohesion and fragmentation, political power and dissent, democracy and demagoguery, and other fraught extensions of human consciousness. But talk of media systems as equivalent to physical ecosystems—fashionable among marketers and media scholars alike—is predicated on the notion that they are environmentally benign technologies. This has never been true, from the beginnings of print to today’s cloud-covered computing. Our new book Greening the Media focuses on the environmental impact of the media—the myriad ways that media technology consumes, despoils, and wastes natural resources. We introduce ideas, stories, and facts that have been marginal or absent from popular, academic, and professional histories of media technology. Throughout, ecological issues have been at the core of our work and we immodestly think the same should apply to media communications, and cultural studies more generally. We recognize that those fields have contributed valuable research and teaching that address environmental questions. For instance, there is an abundant literature on representations of the environment in cinema, how to communicate environmental messages successfully, and press coverage of climate change. That’s not enough. You may already know that media technologies contain toxic substances. You may have signed an on-line petition protesting the hazardous and oppressive conditions under which workers assemble cell phones and computers. But you may be startled, as we were, by the scale and pervasiveness of these environmental risks. They are present in and around every site where electronic and electric devices are manufactured, used, and thrown away, poisoning humans, animals, vegetation, soil, air and water. We are using the term “media” as a portmanteau word to cover a multitude of cultural and communications machines and processes—print, film, radio, television, information and communications technologies (ICT), and consumer electronics (CE). This is not only for analytical convenience, but because there is increasing overlap between the sectors. CE connect to ICT and vice versa; televisions resemble computers; books are read on telephones; newspapers are written through clouds; and so on. Cultural forms and gadgets that were once separate are now linked. The currently fashionable notion of convergence doesn’t quite capture the vastness of this integration, which includes any object with a circuit board, scores of accessories that plug into it, and a global nexus of labor and environmental inputs and effects that produce and flow from it. In 2007, a combination of ICT/CE and media production accounted for between 2 and 3 percent of all greenhouse gases emitted around the world (“Gartner Estimates,”; International Telecommunication Union; Malmodin et al.). Between twenty and fifty million tonnes of electronic waste (e-waste) are generated annually, much of it via discarded cell phones and computers, which affluent populations throw out regularly in order to buy replacements. (Presumably this fits the narcissism of small differences that distinguishes them from their own past.) E-waste is historically produced in the Global North—Australasia, Western Europe, Japan, and the US—and dumped in the Global South—Latin America, Africa, Eastern Europe, Southern and Southeast Asia, and China. It takes the form of a thousand different, often deadly, materials for each electrical and electronic gadget. This trend is changing as India and China generate their own media detritus (Robinson; Herat). Enclosed hard drives, backlit screens, cathode ray tubes, wiring, capacitors, and heavy metals pose few risks while these materials remain encased. But once discarded and dismantled, ICT/CE have the potential to expose workers and ecosystems to a morass of toxic components. Theoretically, “outmoded” parts could be reused or swapped for newer parts to refurbish devices. But items that are defined as waste undergo further destruction in order to collect remaining parts and valuable metals, such as gold, silver, copper, and rare-earth elements. This process causes serious health risks to bones, brains, stomachs, lungs, and other vital organs, in addition to birth defects and disrupted biological development in children. Medical catastrophes can result from lead, cadmium, mercury, other heavy metals, poisonous fumes emitted in search of precious metals, and such carcinogenic compounds as polychlorinated biphenyls, dioxin, polyvinyl chloride, and flame retardants (Maxwell and Miller 13). The United States’ Environmental Protection Agency estimates that by 2007 US residents owned approximately three billion electronic devices, with an annual turnover rate of 400 million units, and well over half such purchases made by women. Overall CE ownership varied with age—adults under 45 typically boasted four gadgets; those over 65 made do with one. The Consumer Electronics Association (CEA) says US$145 billion was expended in the sector in 2006 in the US alone, up 13% on the previous year. The CEA refers joyously to a “consumer love affair with technology continuing at a healthy clip.” In the midst of a recession, 2009 saw $165 billion in sales, and households owned between fifteen and twenty-four gadgets on average. By 2010, US$233 billion was spent on electronic products, three-quarters of the population owned a computer, nearly half of all US adults owned an MP3 player, and 85% had a cell phone. By all measures, the amount of ICT/CE on the planet is staggering. As investigative science journalist, Elizabeth Grossman put it: “no industry pushes products into the global market on the scale that high-tech electronics does” (Maxwell and Miller 2). In 2007, “of the 2.25 million tons of TVs, cell phones and computer products ready for end-of-life management, 18% (414,000 tons) was collected for recycling and 82% (1.84 million tons) was disposed of, primarily in landfill” (Environmental Protection Agency 1). Twenty million computers fell obsolete across the US in 1998, and the rate was 130,000 a day by 2005. It has been estimated that the five hundred million personal computers discarded in the US between 1997 and 2007 contained 6.32 billion pounds of plastics, 1.58 billion pounds of lead, three million pounds of cadmium, 1.9 million pounds of chromium, and 632000 pounds of mercury (Environmental Protection Agency; Basel Action Network and Silicon Valley Toxics Coalition 6). The European Union is expected to generate upwards of twelve million tons annually by 2020 (Commission of the European Communities 17). While refrigerators and dangerous refrigerants account for the bulk of EU e-waste, about 44% of the most toxic e-waste measured in 2005 came from medium-to-small ICT/CE: computer monitors, TVs, printers, ink cartridges, telecommunications equipment, toys, tools, and anything with a circuit board (Commission of the European Communities 31-34). Understanding the enormity of the environmental problems caused by making, using, and disposing of media technologies should arrest our enthusiasm for them. But intellectual correctives to the “love affair” with technology, or technophilia, have come and gone without establishing much of a foothold against the breathtaking flood of gadgets and the propaganda that proclaims their awe-inspiring capabilities.[i] There is a peculiar enchantment with the seeming magic of wireless communication, touch-screen phones and tablets, flat-screen high-definition televisions, 3-D IMAX cinema, mobile computing, and so on—a totemic, quasi-sacred power that the historian of technology David Nye has named the technological sublime (Nye Technological Sublime 297).[ii] We demonstrate in our book why there is no place for the technological sublime in projects to green the media. But first we should explain why such symbolic power does not accrue to more mundane technologies; after all, for the time-strapped cook, a pressure cooker does truly magical things. Three important qualities endow ICT/CE with unique symbolic potency—virtuality, volume, and novelty. The technological sublime of media technology is reinforced by the “virtual nature of much of the industry’s content,” which “tends to obscure their responsibility for a vast proliferation of hardware, all with high levels of built-in obsolescence and decreasing levels of efficiency” (Boyce and Lewis 5). Planned obsolescence entered the lexicon as a new “ethics” for electrical engineering in the 1920s and ’30s, when marketers, eager to “habituate people to buying new products,” called for designs to become quickly obsolete “in efficiency, economy, style, or taste” (Grossman 7-8).[iii] This defines the short lifespan deliberately constructed for computer systems (drives, interfaces, operating systems, batteries, etc.) by making tiny improvements incompatible with existing hardware (Science and Technology Council of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences 33-50; Boyce and Lewis). With planned obsolescence leading to “dizzying new heights” of product replacement (Rogers 202), there is an overstated sense of the novelty and preeminence of “new” media—a “cult of the present” is particularly dazzled by the spread of electronic gadgets through globalization (Mattelart and Constantinou 22). References to the symbolic power of media technology can be found in hymnals across the internet and the halls of academe: technologies change us, the media will solve social problems or create new ones, ICTs transform work, monopoly ownership no longer matters, journalism is dead, social networking enables social revolution, and the media deliver a cleaner, post-industrial, capitalism. Here is a typical example from the twilight zone of the technological sublime (actually, the OECD): A major feature of the knowledge-based economy is the impact that ICTs have had on industrial structure, with a rapid growth of services and a relative decline of manufacturing. Services are typically less energy intensive and less polluting, so among those countries with a high and increasing share of services, we often see a declining energy intensity of production … with the emergence of the Knowledge Economy ending the old linear relationship between output and energy use (i.e. partially de-coupling growth and energy use) (Houghton 1) This statement mixes half-truths and nonsense. In reality, old-time, toxic manufacturing has moved to the Global South, where it is ascendant; pollution levels are rising worldwide; and energy consumption is accelerating in residential and institutional sectors, due almost entirely to ICT/CE usage, despite advances in energy conservation technology (a neat instance of the age-old Jevons Paradox). In our book we show how these are all outcomes of growth in ICT/CE, the foundation of the so-called knowledge-based economy. ICT/CE are misleadingly presented as having little or no material ecological impact. In the realm of everyday life, the sublime experience of electronic machinery conceals the physical work and material resources that go into them, while the technological sublime makes the idea that more-is-better palatable, axiomatic; even sexy. In this sense, the technological sublime relates to what Marx called “the Fetishism which attaches itself to the products of labour” once they are in the hands of the consumer, who lusts after them as if they were “independent beings” (77). There is a direct but unseen relationship between technology’s symbolic power and the scale of its environmental impact, which the economist Juliet Schor refers to as a “materiality paradox” —the greater the frenzy to buy goods for their transcendent or nonmaterial cultural meaning, the greater the use of material resources (40-41). We wrote Greening the Media knowing that a study of the media’s effect on the environment must work especially hard to break the enchantment that inflames popular and elite passions for media technologies. We understand that the mere mention of the political-economic arrangements that make shiny gadgets possible, or the environmental consequences of their appearance and disappearance, is bad medicine. It’s an unwelcome buzz kill—not a cool way to converse about cool stuff. But we didn’t write the book expecting to win many allies among high-tech enthusiasts and ICT/CE industry leaders. We do not dispute the importance of information and communication media in our lives and modern social systems. We are media people by profession and personal choice, and deeply immersed in the study and use of emerging media technologies. But we think it’s time for a balanced assessment with less hype and more practical understanding of the relationship of media technologies to the biosphere they inhabit. Media consumers, designers, producers, activists, researchers, and policy makers must find new and effective ways to move ICT/CE production and consumption toward ecologically sound practices. In the course of this project, we found in casual conversation, lecture halls, classroom discussions, and correspondence, consistent and increasing concern with the environmental impact of media technology, especially the deleterious effects of e-waste toxins on workers, air, water, and soil. We have learned that the grip of the technological sublime is not ironclad. Its instability provides a point of departure for investigating and criticizing the relationship between the media and the environment. The media are, and have been for a long time, intimate environmental participants. Media technologies are yesterday’s, today’s, and tomorrow’s news, but rarely in the way they should be. The prevailing myth is that the printing press, telegraph, phonograph, photograph, cinema, telephone, wireless radio, television, and internet changed the world without changing the Earth. In reality, each technology has emerged by despoiling ecosystems and exposing workers to harmful environments, a truth obscured by symbolic power and the power of moguls to set the terms by which such technologies are designed and deployed. Those who benefit from ideas of growth, progress, and convergence, who profit from high-tech innovation, monopoly, and state collusion—the military-industrial-entertainment-academic complex and multinational commandants of labor—have for too long ripped off the Earth and workers. As the current celebration of media technology inevitably winds down, perhaps it will become easier to comprehend that digital wonders come at the expense of employees and ecosystems. This will return us to Max Weber’s insistence that we understand technology in a mundane way as a “mode of processing material goods” (27). Further to understanding that ordinariness, we can turn to the pioneering conversation analyst Harvey Sacks, who noted three decades ago “the failures of technocratic dreams [:] that if only we introduced some fantastic new communication machine the world will be transformed.” Such fantasies derived from the very banality of these introductions—that every time they took place, one more “technical apparatus” was simply “being made at home with the rest of our world’ (548). Media studies can join in this repetitive banality. Or it can withdraw the welcome mat for media technologies that despoil the Earth and wreck the lives of those who make them. In our view, it’s time to green the media by greening media studies. References “A Cyber-House Divided.” Economist 4 Sep. 2010: 61-62. “Gartner Estimates ICT Industry Accounts for 2 Percent of Global CO2 Emissions.” Gartner press release. 6 April 2007. ‹http://www.gartner.com/it/page.jsp?id=503867›. Basel Action Network and Silicon Valley Toxics Coalition. Exporting Harm: The High-Tech Trashing of Asia. Seattle: Basel Action Network, 25 Feb. 2002. Benjamin, Walter. “Central Park.” Trans. Lloyd Spencer with Mark Harrington. New German Critique 34 (1985): 32-58. Biagioli, Mario. “Postdisciplinary Liaisons: Science Studies and the Humanities.” Critical Inquiry 35.4 (2009): 816-33. Boyce, Tammy and Justin Lewis, eds. Climate Change and the Media. New York: Peter Lang, 2009. Commission of the European Communities. “Impact Assessment.” Commission Staff Working Paper accompanying the Proposal for a Directive of the European Parliament and of the Council on Waste Electrical and Electronic Equipment (WEEE) (recast). COM (2008) 810 Final. Brussels: Commission of the European Communities, 3 Dec. 2008. Environmental Protection Agency. Management of Electronic Waste in the United States. Washington, DC: EPA, 2007 Environmental Protection Agency. Statistics on the Management of Used and End-of-Life Electronics. Washington, DC: EPA, 2008 Grossman, Elizabeth. Tackling High-Tech Trash: The E-Waste Explosion & What We Can Do about It. New York: Demos, 2008. ‹http://www.demos.org/pubs/e-waste_FINAL.pdf› Herat, Sunil. “Review: Sustainable Management of Electronic Waste (e-Waste).” Clean 35.4 (2007): 305-10. Houghton, J. “ICT and the Environment in Developing Countries: Opportunities and Developments.” Paper prepared for the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, 2009. International Telecommunication Union. ICTs for Environment: Guidelines for Developing Countries, with a Focus on Climate Change. Geneva: ICT Applications and Cybersecurity Division Policies and Strategies Department ITU Telecommunication Development Sector, 2008. Malmodin, Jens, Åsa Moberg, Dag Lundén, Göran Finnveden, and Nina Lövehagen. “Greenhouse Gas Emissions and Operational Electricity Use in the ICT and Entertainment & Media Sectors.” Journal of Industrial Ecology 14.5 (2010): 770-90. Marx, Karl. Capital: Vol. 1: A Critical Analysis of Capitalist Production, 3rd ed. Trans. Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, Ed. Frederick Engels. New York: International Publishers, 1987. Mattelart, Armand and Costas M. Constantinou. “Communications/Excommunications: An Interview with Armand Mattelart.” Trans. Amandine Bled, Jacques Guot, and Costas Constantinou. Review of International Studies 34.1 (2008): 21-42. Mattelart, Armand. “Cómo nació el mito de Internet.” Trans. Yanina Guthman. El mito internet. Ed. Victor Hugo de la Fuente. Santiago: Editorial aún creemos en los sueños, 2002. 25-32. Maxwell, Richard and Toby Miller. Greening the Media. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Nye, David E. American Technological Sublime. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1994. Nye, David E. Technology Matters: Questions to Live With. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. 2007. Orwell, George. “As I Please.” Tribune. 12 May 1944. Richtel, Matt. “Consumers Hold on to Products Longer.” New York Times: B1, 26 Feb. 2011. Robinson, Brett H. “E-Waste: An Assessment of Global Production and Environmental Impacts.” Science of the Total Environment 408.2 (2009): 183-91. Rogers, Heather. Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage. New York: New Press, 2005. Sacks, Harvey. Lectures on Conversation. Vols. I and II. Ed. Gail Jefferson. Malden: Blackwell, 1995. Schiller, Herbert I. Information and the Crisis Economy. Norwood: Ablex Publishing, 1984. Schor, Juliet B. Plenitude: The New Economics of True Wealth. New York: Penguin, 2010. Science and Technology Council of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The Digital Dilemma: Strategic Issues in Archiving and Accessing Digital Motion Picture Materials. Los Angeles: Academy Imprints, 2007. Weber, Max. “Remarks on Technology and Culture.” Trans. Beatrix Zumsteg and Thomas M. Kemple. Ed. Thomas M. Kemple. Theory, Culture [i] The global recession that began in 2007 has been the main reason for some declines in Global North energy consumption, slower turnover in gadget upgrades, and longer periods of consumer maintenance of electronic goods (Richtel). [ii] The emergence of the technological sublime has been attributed to the Western triumphs in the post-Second World War period, when technological power supposedly supplanted the power of nature to inspire fear and astonishment (Nye Technology Matters 28). Historian Mario Biagioli explains how the sublime permeates everyday life through technoscience: "If around 1950 the popular imaginary placed science close to the military and away from the home, today’s technoscience frames our everyday life at all levels, down to our notion of the self" (818). [iii] This compulsory repetition is seemingly undertaken each time as a novelty, governed by what German cultural critic Walter Benjamin called, in his awkward but occasionally illuminating prose, "the ever-always-the-same" of "mass-production" cloaked in "a hitherto unheard-of significance" (48).
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Howarth, Anita. "A Hunger Strike - The Ecology of a Protest: The Case of Bahraini Activist Abdulhad al-Khawaja." M/C Journal 15, no. 3 (June 26, 2012). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.509.
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Introduction Since December 2010 the dramatic spectacle of the spread of mass uprisings, civil unrest, and protest across North Africa and the Middle East have been chronicled daily on mainstream media and new media. Broadly speaking, the Arab Spring—as it came to be known—is challenging repressive, corrupt governments and calling for democracy and human rights. The convulsive events linked with these debates have been striking not only because of the rapid spread of historically momentous mass protests but also because of the ways in which the media “have become inextricably infused inside them” enabling the global media ecology to perform “an integral part in building and mobilizing support, co-ordinating and defining the protests within different Arab societies as well as trans-nationalizing them” (Cottle 295). Images of mass protests have been juxtaposed against those of individuals prepared to self-destruct for political ends. Video clips and photographs of the individual suffering of Tunisian Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation and the Bahraini Abdulhad al-Khawaja’s emaciated body foreground, in very graphic ways, political struggles that larger events would mask or render invisible. Highlighting broad commonalties does not assume uniformity in patterns of protest and media coverage across the region. There has been considerable variation in the global media coverage and nature of the protests in North Africa and the Middle East (Cottle). In Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen uprisings overthrew regimes and leaders. In Syria it has led the country to the brink of civil war. In Bahrain, the regime and its militia violently suppressed peaceful protests. As a wave of protests spread across the Middle East and one government after another toppled in front of 24/7 global media coverage, Bahrain became the “Arab revolution that was abandoned by the Arabs, forsaken by the West … forgotten by the world,” and largely ignored by the global media (Al-Jazeera English). Per capita the protests have been among the largest of the Arab Spring (Human Rights First) and the crackdown as brutal as elsewhere. International organizations have condemned the use of military courts to trial protestors, the detaining of medical staff who had treated the injured, and the use of torture, including the torture of children (Fisher). Bahraini and international human rights organizations have been systematically chronicling these violations of human rights, and posting on Websites distressing images of tortured bodies often with warnings about the graphic depictions viewers are about to see. It was in this context of brutal suppression, global media silence, and the reluctance of the international community to intervene, that the Bahraini-Danish human rights activist Abdulhad al-Khawaja launched his “death or freedom” hunger strike. Even this radical action initially failed to interest international editors who were more focused on Egypt, Libya, and Syria, but media attention rose in response to the Bahrain Formula 1 race in April 2012. Pro-democracy activists pledged “days of rage” to coincide with the race in order to highlight continuing human rights abuses in the kingdom (Turner). As Al Khawaja’s health deteriorated the Bahraini government resisted calls for his release (Article 19) from the Danish government who requested that Al Khawaja be extradited there on “humanitarian grounds” for hospital treatment (Fisk). This article does not explore the geo-politics of the Bahraini struggle or the possible reasons why the international community—in contrast to Syria and Egypt—has been largely silent and reluctant to debate the issues. Important as they are, those remain questions for Middle Eastern specialists to address. In this article I am concerned with the overlapping and interpenetration of two ecologies. The first ecology is the ethical framing of a prison hunger strike as a corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction intended to achieve political ends. The second ecology is the operation of global media where international inaction inadvertently foregrounds the political struggles that larger events and discourses surrounding Egypt, Libya, and Syria overshadow. What connects these two ecologies is the body of the hunger striker, turned into a spectacle and mediated via a politics of affect that invites a global public to empathise and so enter into his suffering. The connection between the two lies in the emaciated body of the hunger striker. An Ecological Humanities Approach This exploration of two ecologies draws on the ecological humanities and its central premise of connectivity. The ecological humanities critique the traditional binaries in Western thinking between nature and culture; the political and social; them and us; the collective and the individual; mind, body and emotion (Rose & Robin, Rieber). Such binaries create artificial hierarchies, divisions, and conflicts that ultimately impede the ability to respond to crises. Crises are major changes that are “out of control” driven—primarily but not exclusively—by social, political, and cultural forces that unleash “runaway systems with their own dynamics” (Rose & Robin 1). The ecological humanities response to crises is premised on the recognition of the all-inclusive connectivity of organisms, systems, and environments and an ethical commitment to action from within this entanglement. A founding premise of connectivity, first articulated by anthropologist and philosopher Gregory Bateson, is that the “unit of survival is not the individual or the species, but the organism-and-its-environment” (Rose & Robin 2). This highlights a dialectic in which an organism is shaped by and shapes the context in which it finds itself. Or, as Harries-Jones puts it, relations are recursive as “events continually enter into, become entangled with, and then re-enter the universe they describe” (3). This ensures constantly evolving ecosystems but it also means any organism that “deteriorates its environment commits suicide” (Rose & Robin 2) with implications for the others in the eco-system. Bateson’s central premise is that organisms are simultaneously independent, as separate beings, but also interdependent. Interactions are not seen purely as exchanges but as dynamic, dialectical, dialogical, and mutually constitutive. Thus, it is presumed that the destruction or protection of others has consequences for oneself. Another dimension of interactions is multi-modality, which implies that human communication cannot be reduced to a single mode such as words, actions, or images but needs to be understood in the complexity of inter-relations between these (see Rieber 16). Nor can dissemination be reduced to a single technological platform whether this is print, television, Internet, or other media (see Cottle). The final point is that interactions are “biologically grounded but not determined” in that the “cognitive, emotional and volitional processes” underpinning face-to-face or mediated communication are “essentially indivisible” and any attempt to separate them by privileging emotion at the expense of thought, or vice versa, is likely to be unhealthy (Rieber 17). This is most graphically demonstrated in a politically-motivated hunger strike where emotion and volition over-rides the survivalist instinct. The Ecology of a Prison Hunger Strike The radical nature of a hunger strike inevitably gives rise to medico-ethical debates. Hunger strikes entail the voluntary refusal of sustenance by an individual and, when prolonged, such deprivation sets off a chain reaction as the less important components in the internal body systems shut down to protect the brain until even that can no longer be protected (see Basoglu et al). This extreme form of protest—essentially an act of self-destruction—raises ethical issues over whether or not doctors or the state should intervene to save a life for humanitarian or political reasons. In 1975 and 1991, the World Medical Association (WMA) sought to negotiate this by distinguishing between, on the one hand, the mentally/psychological impaired individual who chooses a “voluntary fast” and, on the other hand, the hunger striker who chooses a form of protest action to secure an explicit political goal fully aware of fatal consequences of prolonged action (see Annas, Reyes). This binary enables the WMA to label the action of the mentally impaired suicide while claiming that to do so for political protesters would be a “misconception” because the “striker … does not want to die” but to “live better” by obtaining certain political goals for himself, his group or his country. “If necessary he is willing to sacrifice his life for his case, but the aim is certainly not suicide” (Reyes 11). In practice, the boundaries between suicide and political protest are likely to be much more blurred than this but the medico-ethical binary is important because it informs discourses about what form of intervention is ethically appropriate. In the case of the “suicidal” the WMA legitimises force-feeding by a doctor as a life-saving act. In the case of the political protestor, it is de-legitimised in discourses of an infringement of freedom of expression and an act of torture because of the pain involved (see Annas, Reyes). Philosopher Michel Foucault argued that prison is a key site where the embodied subject is explicitly governed and where the exercising of state power in the act of incarceration means the body of the imprisoned no longer solely belongs to the individual. It is also where the “body’s range of significations” is curtailed, “shaped and invested by the very forces that detain and imprison it” (Pugliese 2). Thus, prison creates the circumstances in which the incarcerated is denied the “usual forms of protest and judicial safeguards” available outside its confines. The consequence is that when presented with conditions that violate core beliefs he/she may view acts of self-destruction—such as hunger strikes or lip sewing—as one of the few “means of protesting against, or demanding attention” or achieving political ends still available to them (Reyes 11; Pugliese). The hunger strike implicates the state, which, in the act of imprisoning, has assumed a measure of power and responsibility for the body of the individual. If a protest action is labelled suicidal by medical professionals—for instance at Guantanamo—then the force-feeding of prisoners can be legitimised within the WMA guidelines (Annas). There is considerable political temptation to do so particularly when the hunger striker has become an icon of resistance to the state, the knowledge of his/her action has transcended prison confines, and the alienating conditions that prompted the action are being widely debated in the media. This poses a two-fold danger for the state. On the one hand, there is the possibility that the slow emaciation and death while imprisoned, if covered by the media, may become a spectacle able to mobilise further resistance that can destabilise the polity. On the other hand, there is the fear that in the act of dying, and the spectacle surrounding death, the hunger striker would have secured the public attention to the very cause they are championing. Central to this is whether or not the act of self-destruction is mediated. It is far from inevitable that the media will cover a hunger strike or do so in ways that enable the hunger striker’s appeal to the emotions of others. However, when it does, the international scrutiny and condemnation that follows may undermine the credibility of the state—as happened with the death of the IRA member Bobby Sands in Northern Ireland (Russell). The Media Ecology and the Bahrain Arab Spring The IRA’s use of an “ancient tactic ... to make a blunt appeal to sympathy and emotion” in the form of the Sands hunger strike was seen as “spectacularly successful in gaining worldwide publicity” (Willis 1). Media ecology has evolved dramatically since then. Over the past 20 years communication flows between the local and the global, traditional media formations (broadcast and print), and new communication media (Internet and mobile phones) have escalated. The interactions of the traditional media have historically shaped and been shaped by more “top-down” “politics of representation” in which the primary relationship is between journalists and competing public relations professionals servicing rival politicians, business or NGOs desire for media attention and framing issues in a way that is favourable or sympathetic to their cause. However, rapidly evolving new media platforms offer bottom up, user-generated content, a politics of connectivity, and mobilization of ordinary people (Cottle 31). However, this distinction has increasingly been seen as offering too rigid a binary to capture the complexity of the interactions between traditional and new media as well as the events they capture. The evolution of both meant their content increasingly overlaps and interpenetrates (see Bennett). New media technologies “add new communicative ingredients into the media ecology mix” (Cottle 31) as well as new forms of political protests and new ways of mobilizing dispersed networks of activists (Juris). Despite their pervasiveness, new media technologies are “unlikely to displace the necessity for coverage in mainstream media”; a feature noted by activist groups who have evolved their own “carnivalesque” tactics (Cottle 32) capable of creating the spectacle that meets television demands for action-driven visuals (Juris). New media provide these groups with the tools to publicise their actions pre- and post-event thereby increasing the possibility that mainstream media might cover their protests. However there is no guarantee that traditional and new media content will overlap and interpenetrate as initial coverage of the Bahrain Arab Spring highlights. Peaceful protests began in February 2011 but were violently quelled often by Saudi, Qatari and UAE militia on behalf of the Bahraini government. Mass arrests were made including that of children and medical personnel who had treated those wounded during the suppression of the protests. What followed were a long series of detentions without trial, military court rulings on civilians, and frequent use of torture in prisons (Human Rights Watch 2012). By the end of 2011, the country had the highest number of political prisoners per capita of any country in the world (Amiri) but received little coverage in the US. The Libyan uprising was afforded the most broadcast time (700 minutes) followed by Egypt (500 minutes), Syria (143), and Bahrain (34) (Lobe). Year-end round-ups of the Arab Spring on the American Broadcasting Corporation ignored Bahrain altogether or mentioned it once in a 21-page feature (Cavell). This was not due to a lack of information because a steady stream has flowed from mobile phones, Internet sites and Twitter as NGOs—Bahraini and international—chronicled in images and first-hand accounts the abuses. However, little of this coverage was picked up by the US-dominated global media. It was in this context that the Bahraini-Danish human rights activist Abdulhad Al Khawaja launched his “freedom or death” hunger strike in protest against the violent suppression of peaceful demonstrations, the treatment of prisoners, and the conduct of the trials. Even this radical action failed to persuade international editors to cover the Bahrain Arab Spring or Al Khawaja’s deteriorating health despite being “one of the most important stories to emerge over the Arab Spring” (Nallu). This began to change in April 2012 as a number of things converged. Formula 1 pressed ahead with the Bahrain Grand Prix, and pro-democracy activists pledged “days of rage” over human rights abuses. As these were violently suppressed, editors on global news desks increasingly questioned the government and Formula 1 “spin” that all was well in the kingdom (see BBC; Turner). Claims by the drivers—many of who were sponsored by the Bahraini government—that this was a sports event, not a political one, were met with derision and journalists more familiar with interviewing superstars were diverted into covering protests because their political counterparts had been denied entry to the country (Fisk). This combination of media events and responses created the attention, interest, and space in which Al Khawaja’s deteriorating condition could become a media spectacle. The Mediated Spectacle of Al Khawaja’s Hunger Strike Journalists who had previously struggled to interest editors in Bahrain and Al Khawaja’s plight found that in the weeks leading up to the Grand Prix and since “his condition rapidly deteriorated”’ and there were “daily updates with stories from CNN to the Hindustan Times” (Nulla). Much of this mainstream news was derived from interviews and tweets from Al Khawaja’s family after each visit or phone call. What emerged was an unprecedented composite—a diary of witnesses to a hunger strike interspersed with the family’s struggles with the authorities to get access to him and their almost tangible fear that the Bahraini government would not relent and he would die. As these fears intensified 48 human rights NGOs called for his release from prison (Article 19) and the Danish government formally requested his extradition for hospital treatment on “humanitarian grounds”. Both were rejected. As if to provide evidence of Al Khawaja’s tenuous hold on life, his family released an image of his emaciated body onto Twitter. This graphic depiction of the corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction was re-tweeted and posted on countless NGO and news Websites (see Al-Jazeera). It was also juxtaposed against images of multi-million dollar cars circling a race-track, funded by similarly large advertising deals and watched by millions of people around the world on satellite channels. Spectator sport had become a grotesque parody of one man’s struggle to speak of what was going on in Bahrain. In an attempt to silence the criticism the Bahraini government imposed a de facto news blackout denying all access to Al Khawaja in hospital where he had been sent after collapsing. The family’s tweets while he was held incommunicado speak of their raw pain, their desperation to find out if he was still alive, and their grief. They also provided a new source of information, and the refrain “where is alkhawaja,” reverberated on Twitter and in global news outlets (see for instance Der Spiegel, Al-Jazeera). In the days immediately after the race the Danish prime minister called for the release of Al Khawaja, saying he is in a “very critical condition” (Guardian), as did the UN’s Ban-Ki Moon (UN News and Media). The silencing of Al Khawaja had become a discourse of callousness and as global media pressure built Bahraini ministers felt compelled to challenge this on non-Arabic media, claiming Al Khawaja was “eating” and “well”. The Bahraini Prime Minister gave one of his first interviews to the Western media in years in which he denied “AlKhawaja’s health is ‘as bad’ as you say. According to the doctors attending to him on a daily basis, he takes liquids” (Der Spiegel Online). Then, after six days of silence, the family was allowed to visit. They tweeted that while incommunicado he had been restrained and force-fed against his will (Almousawi), a statement almost immediately denied by the military hospital (Lebanon Now). The discourses of silence and callousness were replaced with discourses of “torture” through force-feeding. A month later Al Khawaja’s wife announced he was ending his hunger strike because he was being force-fed by two doctors at the prison, family and friends had urged him to eat again, and he felt the strike had achieved its goal of drawing the world’s attention to Bahrain government’s response to pro-democracy protests (Ahlul Bayt News Agency). Conclusion This article has sought to explore two ecologies. The first is of medico-ethical discourses which construct a prison hunger strike as a corporeal-environmental act of (self) destruction to achieve particular political ends. The second is of shifting engagement within media ecology and the struggle to facilitate interpenetration of content and discourses between mainstream news formations and new media flows of information. I have argued that what connects the two is the body of the hunger striker turned into a spectacle, mediated via a politics of affect which invites empathy and anger to mobilise behind the cause of the hunger striker. The body of the hunger striker is thereby (re)produced as a feature of the twin ecologies of the media environment and the self-environment relationship. References Ahlul Bayt News Agency. “Bahrain: Abdulhadi Alkhawaja’s Statement about Ending his Hunger Strike.” (29 May 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://abna.ir/data.asp?lang=3&id=318439›. Al-Akhbar. “Family Concerned Al-Khawaja May Be Being Force Fed.” Al-Akhbar English. (27 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://english.al-akhbar.com/content/family-concerned-al-khawaja-may-be-being-force-fed›. Al-Jazeera. “Shouting in the Dark.” Al-Jazeera English. (3 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.aljazeera.com/programmes/2011/08/201184144547798162.html› ——-. “Bahrain Says Hunger Striker in Good Health.” Al-Jazeera English. (27 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/04/2012425182261808.html> Almousawi, Khadija. (@Tublani 2010). “Sad cus I had to listen to dear Hadi telling me how he was drugged, restrained, force fed and kept incommunicado for five days.” (30 April 2012). 3h. Tweet. 1 June 2012. Amiri, Ranni. “Bahrain by the Numbers.” CounterPunch. (December 30-31). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.counterpunch.org/2011/12/30/bahrain-by-the-numbers›. Annas, George. “Prison Hunger Strikes—Why the Motive Matters.” Hastings Centre Report. 12.6 (1982): 21-22. ——-. “Hunger Strikes at Guantanamo—Medical Ethics and Human Rights in a ‘Legal Black Hole.’” The New England Journal of Medicine 355 (2006): 1377-92. 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Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1982. Front Line Defenders. “Bahrain: Authorities Should Provide a ‘Proof of Live’ to Confirm that Abdulhadi Al-Khawaja on Day 78 of Hunger Strike is Still Alive.” (2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.frontlinedefenders.org/node/18153›. Guardian. “Denmark PM to Bahrain: Release Jailed Activist.” (11 April 2012). June 2012 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/feedarticle/10189057›. Hammond, Andrew. “Bahrain ‘Day of Rage’ Planned for Formula One Grand Prix.” Huffington Post. (18 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/18/bahrain-day-of-rage_n_1433861.html›. Hammond, Andrew, and Al-Jawahiry, Warda. “Game of Brinkmanship in Bahrain over Hunger Strike.” (19 April 2012). 1 June 2012 ‹http://www.trust.org/alertnet/news/game-of-brinkmanship-in-bahrain-over-hunger-strike›. Harries-Jones, Peter. A Recursive Vision: Ecological Understanding and Gregory Bateson. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1995. 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Molnar, Tamas. "Spectre of the Past, Vision of the Future – Ritual, Reflexivity and the Hope for Renewal in Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Climate Change Communication Film "Home"." M/C Journal 15, no. 3 (May 3, 2012). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.496.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
About half way through Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s film Home (2009) the narrator describes the fall of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people of the Easter Islands. The narrator posits that the Rapa Nui culture collapsed due to extensive environmental degradation brought about by large-scale deforestation. The Rapa Nui cut down their massive native forests to clear spaces for agriculture, to heat their dwellings, to build canoes and, most importantly, to move their enormous rock sculptures—the Moai. The disappearance of their forests led to island-wide soil erosion and the gradual disappearance of arable land. Caught in the vice of overpopulation but with rapidly dwindling basic resources and no trees to build canoes, they were trapped on the island and watched helplessly as their society fell into disarray. The sequence ends with the narrator’s biting remark: “The real mystery of the Easter Islands is not how its strange statues got there, we know now; it's why the Rapa Nui didn't react in time.” In their unrelenting desire for development, the Rapa Nui appear to have overlooked the role the environment plays in maintaining a society. The island’s Moai accompanying the sequence appear as memento mori, a lesson in the mortality of human cultures brought about by their own misguided and short-sighted practices. Arthus-Bertrand’s Home, a film composed almost entirely of aerial photographs, bears witness to present-day environmental degradation and climate change, constructing society as a fragile structure built upon and sustained by the environment. Home is a call to recognise how contemporary practices of post-industrial societies have come to shape the environment and how they may impact the habitability of Earth in the near future. Through reflexivity and a ritualised structure the text invites spectators to look at themselves in a new light and remake their self-image in the wake of global environmental risk by embracing new, alternative core practices based on balance and interconnectedness. Arthus-Bertrand frames climate change not as a burden, but as a moment of profound realisation of the potential for change and humans ability to create a desirable future through hope and our innate capacity for renewal. This article examines how Arthus-Bertrand’s ritualised construction of climate change aims to remake viewers’ perception of present-day environmental degradation and investigates Home’s place in contemporary climate change communication discourse. Climate change, in its capacity to affect us globally, is considered a world risk. The most recent peer-reviewed Synthesis Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change suggests that the concentration of atmospheric greenhouse gases has increased markedly since human industrialisation in the 18th century. Moreover, human activities, such as fossil fuel burning and agricultural practices, are “very likely” responsible for the resulting increase in temperature rise (IPPC 37). The increased global temperatures and the subsequent changing weather patterns have a direct and profound impact on the physical and biological systems of our planet, including shrinking glaciers, melting permafrost, coastal erosion, and changes in species distribution and reproduction patterns (Rosenzweig et al. 353). Studies of global security assert that these physiological changes are expected to increase the likelihood of humanitarian disasters, food and water supply shortages, and competition for resources thus resulting in a destabilisation of global safety (Boston et al. 1–2). Human behaviour and dominant practices of modernity are now on a path to materially impact the future habitability of our home, Earth. In contemporary post-industrial societies, however, climate change remains an elusive, intangible threat. Here, the Arctic-bound species forced to adapt to milder climates or the inhabitants of low-lying Pacific islands seeking refuge in mainland cities are removed from the everyday experience of the controlled and regulated environments of homes, offices, and shopping malls. Diverse research into the mediated and mediatised nature of the environment suggests that rather than from first-hand experiences and observations, the majority of our knowledge concerning the environment now comes from its representation in the mass media (Hamilton 4; Stamm et al. 220; Cox 2). Consequently the threat of climate change is communicated and constructed through the news media, entertainment and lifestyle programming, and various documentaries and fiction films. It is therefore the construction (the representation of the risk in various discourses) that shapes people’s perception and experience of the phenomenon, and ultimately influences behaviour and instigates social response (Beck 213). By drawing on and negotiating society’s dominant discourses, environmental mediation defines spectators’ perceptions of the human-nature relationship and subsequently their roles and responsibilities in the face of environmental risks. Maxwell Boykoff asserts that contemporary modern society’s mediatised representations of environmental degradation and climate change depict the phenomena as external to society’s primary social and economic concerns (449). Julia Corbett argues that this is partly because environmental protection and sustainable behaviour are often at odds with the dominant social paradigms of consumerism, economic growth, and materialism (175). Similarly, Rowan Howard-Williams suggests that most media texts, especially news, do not emphasise the link between social practices, such as consumerist behaviour, and their environmental consequences because they contradict dominant social paradigms (41). The demands contemporary post-industrial societies make on the environment to sustain economic growth, consumer culture, and citizens’ comfortable lives in air-conditioned homes and offices are often left unarticulated. While the media coverage of environmental risks may indeed have contributed to “critical misperceptions, misleading debates, and divergent understandings” (Boykoff 450) climate change possesses innate characteristics that amplify its perception in present-day post-industrial societies as a distant and impersonal threat. Climate change is characterised by temporal and spatial de-localisation. The gradual increase in global temperature and its physical and biological consequences are much less prominent than seasonal changes and hence difficult to observe on human time-scales. Moreover, while research points to the increased probability of extreme climatic events such as droughts, wild fires, and changes in weather patterns (IPCC 48), they take place over a wide range of geographical locations and no single event can be ultimately said to be the result of climate change (Maibach and Roser-Renouf 145). In addition to these observational obstacles, political partisanship, vested interests in the current status quo, and general resistance to profound change all play a part in keeping us one step removed from the phenomenon of climate change. The distant and impersonal nature of climate change coupled with the “uncertainty over consequences, diverse and multiple engaged interests, conflicting knowledge claims, and high stakes” (Lorenzoni et al. 65) often result in repression, rejection, and denial, removing the individual’s responsibility to act. Research suggests that, due to its unique observational obstacles in contemporary post-industrial societies, climate change is considered a psychologically distant event (Pawlik 559), one that is not personally salient due to the “perceived distance and remoteness [...] from one’s everyday experience” (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole 370). In an examination of the barriers to behaviour change in the face of psychologically distant events, Robert Gifford argues that changing individuals’ perceptions of the issue-domain is one of the challenges of countering environmental inertia—the lack of initiative for environmentally sustainable social action (5). To challenge the status quo a radically different construction of the environment and the human-nature relationship is required to transform our perception of global environmental risks and ultimately result in environmentally consequential social action. Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Home is a ritualised construction of contemporary environmental degradation and climate change which takes spectators on a rite of passage to a newfound understanding of the human-nature relationship. Transformation through re-imagining individuals’ roles, responsibilities, and practices is an intrinsic quality of rituals. A ritual charts a subjects path from one state of consciousness to the next, resulting in a meaningful change of attitudes (Deflem 8). Through a lifelong study of African rituals British cultural ethnographer Victor Turner refined his concept of rituals in a modern social context. Turner observed that rituals conform to a three-phased processural form (The Ritual Process 13–14). First, in the separation stage, the subjects are selected and removed from their fixed position in the social structure. Second, they enter an in-between and ambiguous liminal stage, characterised by a “partial or complete separation of the subject from everyday existence” (Deflem 8). Finally, imbued with a new perspective of the outside world borne out of the experience of reflexivity, liminality, and a cathartic cleansing, subjects are reintegrated into the social reality in a new, stable state. The three distinct stages make the ritual an emotionally charged, highly personal experience that “demarcates the passage from one phase to another in the individual’s life-cycle” (Turner, “Symbols” 488) and actively shapes human attitudes and behaviour. Adhering to the three-staged processural form of the ritual, Arthus-Bertrand guides spectators towards a newfound understanding of their roles and responsibilities in creating a desirable future. In the first stage—the separation—aerial photography of Home alienates viewers from their anthropocentric perspectives of the outside world. This establishes Earth as a body, and unearths spectators’ guilt and shame in relation to contemporary world risks. Aerial photography strips landscapes of their conventional qualities of horizon, scale, and human reference. As fine art photographer Emmet Gowin observes, “when one really sees an awesome, vast place, our sense of wholeness is reorganised [...] and the body seems always to diminish” (qtd. in Reynolds 4). Confronted with a seemingly infinite sublime landscape from above, the spectator’s “body diminishes” as they witness Earth’s body gradually taking shape. Home’s rushing rivers of Indonesia are akin to blood flowing through the veins and the Siberian permafrost seems like the texture of skin in extreme close-up. Arthus-Bertrand establishes a geocentric embodiment to force spectators to perceive and experience the environmental degradation brought about by the dominant social practices of contemporary post-industrial modernity. The film-maker visualises the maltreatment of the environment through suggested abuse of the Earth’s body. Images of industrial agricultural practices in the United States appear to leave scratches and scars on the landscape, and as a ship crosses the Arctic ice sheets of the Northwest Passage the boat glides like the surgeon’s knife cutting through the uppermost layer of the skin. But the deep blue water that’s revealed in the wake of the craft suggests a flesh and body now devoid of life, a suffering Earth in the wake of global climatic change. Arthus-Bertrand’s images become the sublime evidence of human intervention in the environment and the reflection of present-day industrialisation materially altering the face of Earth. The film-maker exploits spectators’ geocentric perspective and sensibility to prompt reflexivity, provide revelations about the self, and unearth the forgotten shame and guilt in having inadvertently caused excessive environmental degradation. Following the sequences establishing Earth as the body of the text Arthus-Bertrand returns spectators to their everyday “natural” environment—the city. Having witnessed and endured the pain and suffering of Earth, spectators now gaze at the skyscrapers standing bold and tall in the cityscape with disillusionment. The pinnacles of modern urban development become symbols of arrogance and exploitation: structures forced upon the landscape. Moreover, the images of contemporary cityscapes in Home serve as triggers for ritual reflexivity, allowing the spectator to “perceive the self [...] as a distanced ‘other’ and hence achieve a partial ‘self-transcendence’” (Beck, Comments 491). Arthus-Bertrand’s aerial photographs of Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo fold these distinct urban environments into one uniform fusion of glass, metal, and concrete devoid of life. The uniformity of these cultural landscapes prompts spectators to add the missing element: the human. Suddenly, the homes and offices of desolate cityscapes are populated by none other than us, looking at ourselves from a unique vantage point. The geocentric sensibility the film-maker invoked with the images of the suffering Earth now prompt a revelation about the self as spectators see their everyday urban environments in a new light. Their homes and offices become blemishes on the face of the Earth: its inhabitants, including the spectators themselves, complicit in the excessive mistreatment of the planet. The second stage of the ritual allows Arthus-Bertrand to challenge dominant social paradigms of present day post-industrial societies and introduce new, alternative moral directives to govern our habits and attitudes. Following the separation, ritual subjects enter an in-between, threshold stage, one unencumbered by the spatial, temporal, and social boundaries of everyday existence. Turner posits that a subjects passage through this liminal stage is necessary to attain psychic maturation and successful transition to a new, stable state at the end of the ritual (The Ritual Process 97). While this “betwixt and between” (Turner, The Ritual Process 95) state may be a fleeting moment of transition, it makes for a “lived experience [that] transforms human beings cognitively, emotionally, and morally.” (Horvath et al. 3) Through a change of perceptions liminality paves the way toward meaningful social action. Home places spectators in a state of liminality to contrast geocentric and anthropocentric views. Arthus-Bertrand contrasts natural and human-made environments in terms of diversity. The narrator’s description of the “miracle of life” is followed by images of trees seemingly defying gravity, snow-covered summits among mountain ranges, and a whale in the ocean. Grandeur and variety appear to be inherent qualities of biodiversity on Earth, qualities contrasted with images of the endless, uniform rectangular greenhouses of Almeria, Spain. This contrast emphasises the loss of variety in human achievements and the monotony mass-production brings to the landscape. With the image of a fire burning atop a factory chimney, Arthus-Bertrand critiques the change of pace and distortion of time inherent in anthropocentric views, and specifically in contemporary modernity. Here, the flames appear to instantly eat away at resources that have taken millions of years to form, bringing anthropocentric and geocentric temporality into sharp contrast. A sequence showing a night time metropolis underscores this distinction. The glittering cityscape is lit by hundreds of lights in skyscrapers in an effort, it appears, to mimic and surpass daylight and thus upturn the natural rhythm of life. As the narrator remarks, in our present-day environments, “days are now the pale reflections of nights.” Arthus-Bertrand also uses ritual liminality to mark the present as a transitory, threshold moment in human civilisation. The film-maker contrasts the spectre of our past with possible visions of the future to mark the moment of now as a time when humanity is on the threshold of two distinct states of mind. The narrator’s descriptions of contemporary post-industrial society’s reliance on non-renewable resources and lack of environmentally sustainable agricultural practices condemn the past and warn viewers of the consequences of continuing such practices into the future. Exploring the liminal present Arthus-Bertrand proposes distinctive futurescapes for humankind. On the one hand, the narrator’s description of California’s “concentration camp style cattle farming” suggests that humankind will live in a future that feeds from the past, falling back on frames of horrors and past mistakes. On the other hand, the example of Costa Rica, a nation that abolished its military and dedicated the budget to environmental conservation, is recognition of our ability to re-imagine our future in the face of global risk. Home introduces myths to imbue liminality with the alternative dominant social paradigm of ecology. By calling upon deep-seated structures myths “touch the heart of society’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual consciousness” (Killingsworth and Palmer 176) and help us understand and come to terms with complex social, economic, and scientific phenomena. With the capacity to “pattern thought, beliefs and practices,” (Maier 166) myths are ideal tools in communicating ritual liminality and challenging contemporary post-industrial society’s dominant social paradigms. The opening sequence of Home, where the crescent Earth is slowly revealed in the darkness of space, is an allusion to creation: the genesis myth. Accompanied only by a gentle hum our home emerges in brilliant blue, white, and green-brown encompassing most of the screen. It is as if darkness and chaos disintegrated and order, life, and the elements were created right before our eyes. Akin to the Earthrise image taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8, Home’s opening sequence underscores the notion that our home is a unique spot in the blackness of space and is defined and circumscribed by the elements. With the opening sequence Arthus-Bertrand wishes to impart the message of interdependence and reliance on elements—core concepts of ecology. Balance, another key theme in ecology, is introduced with an allusion to the Icarus myth in a sequence depicting Dubai. The story of Icarus’s fall from the sky after flying too close to the sun is a symbolic retelling of hubris—a violent pride and arrogance punishable by nemesis—destruction, which ultimately restores balance by forcing the individual back within the limits transgressed (Littleton 712). In Arthus-Bertrand’s portrayal of Dubai, the camera slowly tilts upwards on the Burj Khalifa tower, the tallest human-made structure ever built. The construction works on the tower explicitly frame humans against the bright blue sky in their attempt to reach ever further, transgressing their limitations much like the ill-fated Icarus. Arthus-Bertrand warns that contemporary modernity does not strive for balance or moderation, and with climate change we may have brought our nemesis upon ourselves. By suggesting new dominant paradigms and providing a critique of current maxims, Home’s retelling of myths ultimately sees spectators through to the final stage of the ritual. The last phase in the rite of passage “celebrates and commemorates transcendent powers,” (Deflem 8) marking subjects’ rebirth to a new status and distinctive perception of the outside world. It is at this stage that Arthus-Bertrand resolves the emotional distress uncovered in the separation phase. The film-maker uses humanity’s innate capacity for creation and renewal as a cathartic cleansing aimed at reconciling spectators’ guilt and shame in having inadvertently exacerbated global environmental degradation. Arthus-Bertrand identifies renewable resources as the key to redeeming technology, human intervention in the landscape, and finally humanity itself. Until now, the film-maker pictured modernity and technology, evidenced in his portrayal of Dubai, as synonymous with excess and disrespect for the interconnectedness and balance of elements on Earth. The final sequence shows a very different face of technology. Here, we see a mechanical sea-snake generating electricity by riding the waves off the coast of Scotland and solar panels turning towards the sun in the Sahara desert. Technology’s redemption is evidenced in its ability to imitate nature—a move towards geocentric consciousness (a lesson learned from the ritual’s liminal stage). Moreover, these human-made structures, unlike the skyscrapers earlier in the film, appear a lot less invasive in the landscape and speak of moderation and union with nature. With the above examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity can shed the greed that drove it to dig deeper and deeper into the Earth to acquire non-renewable resources such as oil and coal, what the narrator describes as “treasures buried deep.” The incorporation of principles of ecology, such as balance and interconnectedness, into humanity’s behaviour ushers in reconciliation and ritual cleansing in Home. Following the description of the move toward renewable resources, the narrator reveals that “worldwide four children out of five attend school, never has learning been given to so many human beings” marking education, innovation, and creativity as the true inexhaustible resources on Earth. Lastly, the description of Antarctica in Home is the essence of Arthus-Bertrand’s argument for our innate capacity to create, not simply exploit and destroy. Here, the narrator describes the continent as possessing “immense natural resources that no country can claim for itself, a natural reserve devoted to peace and science, a treaty signed by 49 nations has made it a treasure shared by all humanity.” Innovation appears to fuel humankind’s transcendence to a state where it is capable of compassion, unification, sharing, and finally creating treasures. With these examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity has an innate capacity for creative energy that awaits authentic expression and can turn humankind from destroyer to creator. In recent years various risk communication texts have explicitly addressed climate change, endeavouring to instigate environmentally consequential social action. Home breaks discursive ground among them through its ritualistic construction which seeks to transform spectators’ perception, and in turn roles and responsibilities, in the face of global environmental risks. Unlike recent climate change media texts such as An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The 11th Hour (2007), The Age of Stupid (2009), Carbon Nation (2010) and Earth: The Operator’s Manual (2011), Home eludes simple genre classification. On the threshold of photography and film, documentary and fiction, Arthus-Bertrand’s work is best classified as an advocacy film promoting public debate and engagement with a universal concern—the state of the environment. The film’s website, available in multiple languages, contains educational material, resources to organise public screenings, and a link to GoodPlanet.info: a website dedicated to environmentalism, including legal tools and initiatives to take action. The film-maker’s approach to using Home as a basis for education and raising awareness corresponds to Antonio Lopez’s critique of contemporary mass-media communications of global risks. Lopez rebukes traditional forms of mediatised communication that place emphasis on the imparting of knowledge and instead calls for a participatory, discussion-driven, organic media approach, akin to a communion or a ritual (106). Moreover, while texts often place a great emphasis on the messenger, for instance Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth, Leonardo DiCaprio in The 11th Hour, or geologist Dr. Richard Alley in Earth: The Operator’s Manual, Home’s messenger remains unseen—the narrator is only identified at the very end of the film among the credits. The film-maker’s decision to forego a central human character helps dissociate the message from the personality of the messenger which aids in establishing and maintaining the geocentric sensibility of the text. Finally, the ritual’s invocation and cathartic cleansing of emotional distress enables Home to at once acknowledge our environmentally destructive past habits and point to a hopeful, environmentally sustainable future. While The Age of Stupid mostly focuses on humanity’s present and past failures to respond to an imminent environmental catastrophe, Carbon Nation, with the tagline “A climate change solutions movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change,” only explores the potential future business opportunities in turning towards renewable resources and environmentally sustainable practices. The three-phased processural form of the ritual allows for a balance of backward and forward-looking, establishing the possibility of change and renewal in the face of world risk. The ritual is a transformative experience. As Turner states, rituals “interrupt the flow of social life and force a group to take cognizance of its behaviour in relation to its own values, and even question at times the value of those values” (“Dramatic Ritual” 82). Home, a ritualised media text, is an invitation to look at our world, its dominant social paradigms, and the key element within that world—ourselves—with new eyes. It makes explicit contemporary post-industrial society’s dependence on the environment, highlights our impact on Earth, and reveals our complicity in bringing about a contemporary world risk. The ritual structure and the self-reflexivity allow Arthus-Bertrand to transform climate change into a personally salient issue. This bestows upon the spectator the responsibility to act and to reconcile the spectre of the past with the vision of the future.Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Angi Buettner whose support, guidance, and supervision has been invaluable in preparing this article. 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Brien, Donna Lee. "Demon Monsters or Misunderstood Casualties?" M/C Journal 24, no. 5 (October 5, 2021). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2845.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Over the past century, many books for general readers have styled sharks as “monsters of the deep” (Steele). In recent decades, however, at least some writers have also turned to representing how sharks are seriously threatened by human activities. At a time when media coverage of shark sightings seems ever increasing in Australia, scholarship has begun to consider people’s attitudes to sharks and how these are formed, investigating the representation of sharks (Peschak; Ostrovski et al.) in films (Le Busque and Litchfield; Neff; Schwanebeck), newspaper reports (Muter et al.), and social media (Le Busque et al., “An Analysis”). My own research into representations of surfing and sharks in Australian writing (Brien) has, however, revealed that, although reporting of shark sightings and human-shark interactions are prominent in the news, and sharks function as vivid and commanding images and metaphors in art and writing (Ellis; Westbrook et al.), little scholarship has investigated their representation in Australian books published for a general readership. While recognising representations of sharks in other book-length narrative forms in Australia, including Australian fiction, poetry, and film (Ryan and Ellison), this enquiry is focussed on non-fiction books for general readers, to provide an initial review. Sampling holdings of non-fiction books in the National Library of Australia, crosschecked with Google Books, in early 2021, this investigation identified 50 Australian books for general readers that are principally about sharks, or that feature attitudes to them, published from 1911 to 2021. Although not seeking to capture all Australian non-fiction books for general readers that feature sharks, the sampling attempted to locate a wide range of representations and genres across the time frame from the earliest identified text until the time of the survey. The books located include works of natural and popular history, travel writing, memoir, biography, humour, and other long-form non-fiction for adult and younger readers, including hybrid works. A thematic analysis (Guest et al.) of the representation of sharks in these texts identified five themes that moved from understanding sharks as fishes to seeing them as monsters, then prey, and finally to endangered species needing conservation. Many books contained more than one theme, and not all examples identified have been quoted in the discussion of the themes below. Sharks as Part of the Natural Environment Drawing on oral histories passed through generations, two memoirs (Bradley et al.; Fossa) narrate Indigenous stories in which sharks play a central role. These reveal that sharks are part of both the world and a wider cosmology for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (Clua and Guiart). In these representations, sharks are integrated with, and integral to, Indigenous life, with one writer suggesting they are “creator beings, ancestors, totems. Their lifecycles reflect the seasons, the landscape and sea country. They are seen in the movement of the stars” (Allam). A series of natural history narratives focus on zoological studies of Australian sharks, describing shark species and their anatomy and physiology, as well as discussing shark genetics, behaviour, habitats, and distribution. A foundational and relatively early Australian example is Gilbert P. Whitley’s The Fishes of Australia: The Sharks, Rays, Devil-fish, and Other Primitive Fishes of Australia and New Zealand, published in 1940. Ichthyologist at the Australian Museum in Sydney from the early 1920s to 1964, Whitley authored several books which furthered scientific thought on sharks. Four editions of his Australian Sharks were published between 1983 and 1991 in English, and the book is still held in many libraries and other collections worldwide. In this text, Whitley described a wide variety of sharks, noting shared as well as individual features. Beautiful drawings contribute information on shape, colouring, markings, and other recognisable features to assist with correct identification. Although a scientist and a Fellow and then President of the Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales, Whitley recognised it was important to communicate with general readers and his books are accessible, the prose crisp and clear. Books published after this text (Aiken; Ayling; Last and Stevens; Tricas and Carwardine) share Whitley’s regard for the diversity of sharks as well as his desire to educate a general readership. By 2002, the CSIRO’s Field Guide to Australian Sharks & Rays (Daley et al.) also featured numerous striking photographs of these creatures. Titles such as Australia’s Amazing Sharks (Australian Geographic) emphasise sharks’ unique qualities, including their agility and speed in the water, sensitive sight and smell, and ability to detect changes in water pressure around them, heal rapidly, and replace their teeth. These books also emphasise the central role that sharks play in the marine ecosystem. There are also such field guides to sharks in specific parts of Australia (Allen). This attention to disseminating accurate zoological information about sharks is also evident in books written for younger readers including very young children (Berkes; Kear; Parker and Parker). In these and other similar books, sharks are imaged as a central and vital component of the ocean environment, and the narratives focus on their features and qualities as wondrous rather than monstrous. Sharks as Predatory Monsters A number of books for general readers do, however, image sharks as monsters. In 1911, in his travel narrative Peeps at Many Lands: Australia, Frank Fox describes sharks as “the most dangerous foes of man in Australia” (23) and many books have reinforced this view over the following century. This can be seen in titles that refer to sharks as dangerous predatory killers (Fox and Ruhen; Goadby; Reid; Riley; Sharpe; Taylor and Taylor). The covers of a large proportion of such books feature sharks emerging from the water, jaws wide open in explicit homage to the imaging of the monster shark in the film Jaws (Spielberg). Shark!: Killer Tales from the Dangerous Depths (Reid) is characteristic of books that portray encounters with sharks as terrifying and dramatic, using emotive language and stories that describe sharks as “the world’s most feared sea creature” (47) because they are such “highly efficient killing machines” (iv, see also 127, 129). This representation of sharks is also common in several books for younger readers (Moriarty; Rohr). Although the risk of being injured by an unprovoked shark is extremely low (Chapman; Fletcher et al.), fear of sharks is prevalent and real (Le Busque et al., “People’s Fear”) and described in a number of these texts. Several of the memoirs located describe surfers’ fear of sharks (Muirhead; Orgias), as do those of swimmers, divers, and other frequent users of the sea (Denness; de Gelder; McAloon), even if the author has never encountered a shark in the wild. In these texts, this fear of sharks is often traced to viewing Jaws, and especially to how the film’s huge, bloodthirsty great white shark persistently and determinedly attacks its human hunters. Pioneer Australian shark expert Valerie Taylor describes such great white sharks as “very big, powerful … and amazingly beautiful” but accurately notes that “revenge is not part of their thought process” (Kindle version). Two books explicitly seek to map and explain Australians’ fear of sharks. In Sharks: A History of Fear in Australia, Callum Denness charts this fear across time, beginning with his own “shark story”: a panicked, terror-filled evacuation from the sea, following the sighting of a shadow which turned out not to be a shark. Blake Chapman’s Shark Attacks: Myths, Misunderstandings and Human Fears explains commonly held fearful perceptions of sharks. Acknowledging that sharks are a “highly emotive topic”, the author of this text does not deny “the terror [that] they invoke in our psyche” but makes a case that this is “only a minor characteristic of what makes them such intriguing animals” (ix). In Death by Coconut: 50 Things More Dangerous than a Shark and Why You Shouldn’t Be Afraid of the Ocean, Ruby Ashby Orr utilises humour to educate younger readers about the real risk humans face from sharks and, as per the book’s title, why they should not be feared, listing champagne corks and falling coconuts among the many everyday activities more likely to lead to injury and death in Australia than encountering a shark. Taylor goes further in her memoir – not only describing her wonder at swimming with these creatures, but also her calm acceptance of the possibility of being injured by a shark: "if we are to be bitten, then we are to be bitten … . One must choose a life of adventure, and of mystery and discovery, but with that choice, one must also choose the attendant risks" (2019: Kindle version). Such an attitude is very rare in the books located, with even some of the most positive about these sea creatures still quite sensibly fearful of potentially dangerous encounters with them. Sharks as Prey There is a long history of sharks being fished in Australia (Clark). The killing of sharks for sport is detailed in An American Angler in Australia, which describes popular adventure writer Zane Grey’s visit to Australia and New Zealand in the 1930s to fish ‘big game’. This text includes many bloody accounts of killing sharks, which are justified with explanations about how sharks are dangerous. It is also illustrated with gruesome pictures of dead sharks. Australian fisher Alf Dean’s biography describes him as the “World’s Greatest Shark Hunter” (Thiele), this text similarly illustrated with photographs of some of the gigantic sharks he caught and killed in the second half of the twentieth century. Apart from being killed during pleasure and sport fishing, sharks are also hunted by spearfishers. Valerie Taylor and her late husband, Ron Taylor, are well known in Australia and internationally as shark experts, but they began their careers as spearfishers and shark hunters (Taylor, Ron Taylor’s), with the documentary Shark Hunters gruesomely detailing their killing of many sharks. The couple have produced several books that recount their close encounters with sharks (Taylor; Taylor, Taylor and Goadby; Taylor and Taylor), charting their movement from killers to conservationists as they learned more about the ocean and its inhabitants. Now a passionate campaigner against the past butchery she participated in, Taylor’s memoir describes her shift to a more respectful relationship with sharks, driven by her desire to understand and protect them. In Australia, the culling of sharks is supposedly carried out to ensure human safety in the ocean, although this practice has long been questioned. In 1983, for instance, Whitley noted the “indiscriminate” killing of grey nurse sharks, despite this species largely being very docile and of little threat to people (Australian Sharks, 10). This is repeated by Tony Ayling twenty-five years later who adds the information that the generally harmless grey nurse sharks have been killed to the point of extinction, as it was wrongly believed they preyed on surfers and swimmers. Shark researcher and conservationist Riley Elliott, author of Shark Man: One Kiwi Man’s Mission to Save Our Most Feared and Misunderstood Predator (2014), includes an extremely critical chapter on Western Australian shark ‘management’ through culling, summing up the problems associated with this approach: it seems to me that this cull involved no science or logic, just waste and politics. It’s sickening that the people behind this cull were the Fisheries department, which prior to this was the very department responsible for setting up the world’s best acoustic tagging system for sharks. (Kindle version, Chapter 7) Describing sharks as “misunderstood creatures”, Orr is also clear in her opposition to killing sharks to ‘protect’ swimmers noting that “each year only around 10 people are killed in shark attacks worldwide, while around 73 million sharks are killed by humans”. She adds the question and answer, “sounds unfair? Of course it is, but when an attack is all over the news and the people are baying for shark blood, it’s easy to lose perspective. But culling them? Seriously?” (back cover). The condemnation of culling is also evident in David Brooks’s recent essay on the topic in his collection of essays about animal welfare, conservation and the relationship between humans and other species, Animal Dreams. This disapproval is also evident in narratives by those who have been injured by sharks. Navy diver Paul de Gelder and surfer Glen Orgias were both bitten by sharks in Sydney in 2009 and both their memoirs detail their fear of sharks and the pain they suffered from these interactions and their lengthy recoveries. However, despite their undoubted suffering – both men lost limbs due to these encounters – they also attest to their ongoing respect for these creatures and specify a shared desire not to see them culled. Orgias, instead, charts the life story of the shark who bit him alongside his own story in his memoir, musing at the end of the book, not about himself or his injury, but about the fate of the shark he had encountered: great whites are portrayed … as pathological creatures, and as malevolent. That’s rubbish … they are graceful, mighty beasts. I respect them, and fear them … [but] the thought of them fighting, dying, in a net upsets me. I hope this great white shark doesn’t end up like that. (271–271) Several of the more recent books identified in this study acknowledge that, despite growing understanding of sharks, the popular press and many policy makers continue to advocate for shark culls, these calls especially vocal after a shark-related human death or injury (Peppin-Neff). The damage to shark species involved caused by their killing – either directly by fishing, spearing, finning, or otherwise hunting them, or inadvertently as they become caught in nets or affected by human pollution of the ocean – is discussed in many of the more recent books identified in this study. Sharks as Endangered Alongside fishing, finning, and hunting, human actions and their effects such as beach netting, pollution and habitat change are killing many sharks, to the point where many shark species are threatened. Several recent books follow Orr in noting that an estimated 100 million sharks are now killed annually across the globe and that this, as well as changes to their habitats, are driving many shark species to the status of vulnerable, threatened or towards extinction (Dulvy et al.). This is detailed in texts about biodiversity and climate change in Australia (Steffen et al.) as well as in many of the zoologically focussed books discussed above under the theme of “Sharks as part of the natural environment”. The CSIRO’s Field Guide to Australian Sharks & Rays (Daley et al.), for example, emphasises not only that several shark species are under threat (and protected) (8–9) but also that sharks are, as individuals, themselves very fragile creatures. Their skeletons are made from flexible, soft cartilage rather than bone, meaning that although they are “often thought of as being incredibly tough; in reality, they need to be handled carefully to maximise their chance of survival following capture” (9). Material on this theme is included in books for younger readers on Australia’s endangered animals (Bourke; Roc and Hawke). Shark Conservation By 1991, shark conservation in Australia and overseas was a topic of serious discussion in Sydney, with an international workshop on the subject held at Taronga Zoo and the proceedings published (Pepperell et al.). Since then, the movement to protect sharks has grown, with marine scientists, high-profile figures and other writers promoting shark conservation, especially through attempts to educate the general public about sharks. De Gelder’s memoir, for instance, describes how he now champions sharks, promoting shark conservation in his work as a public speaker. Peter Benchley, who (with Carl Gottlieb) recast his novel Jaws for the film’s screenplay, later attested to regretting his portrayal of sharks as aggressive and became a prominent spokesperson for shark conservation. In explaining his change of heart, he stated that when he wrote the novel, he was reflecting the general belief that sharks would both seek out human prey and attack boats, but he later discovered this to be untrue (Benchley, “Without Malice”). Many recent books about sharks for younger readers convey a conservation message, underscoring how, instead of fearing or killing sharks, or doing nothing, humans need to actively assist these vulnerable creatures to survive. In the children’s book series featuring Bindi Irwin and her “wildlife adventures”, there is a volume where Bindi and a friend are on a diving holiday when they find a dead shark whose fin has been removed. The book not only describes how shark finning is illegal, but also how Bindi and friend are “determined to bring the culprits to justice” (Browne). This narrative, like the other books in this series, has a dual focus; highlighting the beauty of wildlife and its value, but also how the creatures described need protection and assistance. Concluding Discussion This study was prompted by the understanding that the Earth is currently in the epoch known as the Anthropocene, a time in which humans have significantly altered, and continue to alter, the Earth by our activities (Myers), resulting in numerous species becoming threatened, endangered, or extinct. It acknowledges the pressing need for not only natural science research on these actions and their effects, but also for such scientists to publish their findings in more accessible ways (see, Paulin and Green). It specifically responds to demands for scholarship outside the relevant areas of science and conservation to encourage widespread thinking and action (Mascia et al.; Bennett et al.). As understanding public perceptions and overcoming widely held fear of sharks can facilitate their conservation (Panoch and Pearson), the way sharks are imaged is integral to their survival. The five themes identified in this study reveal vastly different ways of viewing and writing about sharks. These range from seeing sharks as nothing more than large fishes to be killed for pleasure, to viewing them as terrifying monsters, to finally understanding that they are amazing creatures who play an important role in the world’s environment and are in urgent need of conservation. This range of representation is important, for if sharks are understood as demon monsters which hunt humans, then it is much more ‘reasonable’ to not care about their future than if they are understood to be fascinating and fragile creatures suffering from their interactions with humans and our effect on the environment. Further research could conduct a textual analysis of these books. In this context, it is interesting to note that, although in 1949 C. Bede Maxwell suggested describing human deaths and injuries from sharks as “accidents” (182) and in 2013 Christopher Neff and Robert Hueter proposed using “sightings, encounters, bites, and the rare cases of fatal bites” (70) to accurately represent “the true risk posed by sharks” to humans (70), the majority of the books in this study, like mass media reports, continue to use the ubiquitous and more dramatic terminology of “shark attack”. The books identified in this analysis could also be compared with international texts to reveal and investigate global similarities and differences. While the focus of this discussion has been on non-fiction texts, a companion analysis of representation of sharks in Australian fiction, poetry, films, and other narratives could also be undertaken, in the hope that such investigations contribute to more nuanced understandings of these majestic sea creatures. References Aitken, Kelvin. Sharks & Rays of Australia. New Holland, 1998. Allam, Lorena. “Indigenous Cultural Views of the Shark.” Earshot, ABC Radio, 24 Sep. 2015. 1 Mar. 2021 <https://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/earshot/indigenous-cultural-views-of-the-shark/6798174>. Allen, Gerald R. Field Guide to Marine Fishes of Tropical Australia and South-East Asia. 4th ed. Welshpool: Western Australian Museum, 2009. Australian Geographic. Australia’s Amazing Sharks. Bauer Media, 2020. Ayling, Tony. Sharks & Rays. Steve Parish, 2008. Benchley, Peter. Jaws. New York: Doubleday, 1974. Benchley, Peter. “Without Malice: In Defence of the Shark.” The Guardian 9 Nov. 2000. 1 Mar. 2021 <https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2000/nov/09/features11.g22>. Bennett, Nathan J., Robin Roth, Sarah C. Klain, Kai M.A. Chan, Douglas A. Clark, Georgina Cullman, Graham Epstein, Michael Paul Nelson, Richard Stedman, Tara L. Teel, Rebecca E. W. Thomas, Carina Wyborn, Deborah Curran, Alison Greenberg, John Sandlos, and Diogo Veríssimo. “Mainstreaming the Social Sciences in Conservation.” Conservation Biology 31.1 (2017): 56–66. Berkes, Marianne. Over in Australia: Amazing Animals Down Under. Sourcebooks, 2011. Bourke, Jane. Endangered Species of Australia. Ready-Ed Publications, 2006. Bradley, John, and Yanyuwa Families. Singing Saltwater Country: Journey to the Songlines of Carpentaria. Allen & Unwin, 2010. Brien, Donna Lee. “Surfing with Sharks: A Survey of Australian Non-Fiction Writing about Surfing and Sharks.” TEXT: Journal of Writing and Writing Programs, forthcoming. Brooks, David. Animal Dreams. Sydney: Sydney University Press, 2021. Browne, Ellie. Island Ambush. Random House Australia, 2011. Chapman, Blake. Shark Attacks: Myths, Misunderstandings and Human Fears. CSIRO, 2017. Clark, Anna. The Catch: The Story of Fishing in Australia. National Library of Australia, 2017. Clua, Eric, and Jean Guiart. “Why the Kanak Don’t Fear Sharks: Myths as a Coherent but Dangerous Mirror of Nature.” Oceania 90 (2020): 151–166. Daley, R.K., J.D. Stevens, P.R. Last, and G.R. Yearsly. Field Guide to Australian Sharks & Rays. CSIRO Marine Research, 2002. De Gelder, Paul. No Time For Fear: How a Shark Attack Survivor Beat the Odds. Penguin, 2011. Denness, Callum. Sharks: A History of Fear in Australia. Affirm Press, 2019. Dulvy, Nicholas K., Sarah L. Fowler, John A. Musick, Rachel D. Cavanagh, Peter M. Kyne, Lucy R. Harrison, John K. Carlson, Lindsay N.K. Davidson, Sonja V. Fordham, Malcolm P. Francis, Caroline M. Pollock, Colin A. Simpfendorfer, George H. Burgess, Kent E. Carpenter, Leonard J.V. Compagno, David A. Ebert, Claudine Gibson, Michelle R. Heupel, Suzanne R. Livingstone, Jonnell C. Sanciangco, John D. Stevens, Sarah Valenti, and William T. White. “Extinction Risk and Conservation of the World’s Sharks and Rays.” eLife 3 (2014): e00590. DOI: 10.7554/eLife.00590. Elliott, Riley. Shark Man: One Kiwi Man’s Mission to Save Our Most Feared and Misunderstood Predator. Penguin Random House New Zealand, 2014. Ellis, Richard. Shark: A Visual History. New York: Lyons Press, 2012. Fletcher, Garth L., Erich Ritter, Raid Amin, Kevin Cahn, and Jonathan Lee. “Against Common Assumptions, the World’s Shark Bite Rates are Decreasing.” Journal of Marine Biology 2019: art ID 7184634. <https://doi.org/10.1155/2019/7184634>. Fossa, Ada. Stories, Laughter and Tears Through Bygone Years in Shark Bay. Morrisville, Lulu.com, 2017. Fox, Frank. Peeps at Many Lands: Australia. Adam and Charles Black, 1911. Fox, Rodney, and Olaf Ruhen. Shark Attacks and Adventures with Rodney Fox. O’Neill Wetsuits, 1975. Gerhardt, Karin. Indigenous Knowledge and Cultural Values of Hammerhead Sharks in Northern Australia. James Cook University, 2018. Goadby, Peter. Sharks and Other Predatory Fish of Australia. 2nd ed. Jacaranda Press, 1968. Grey, Zane. An American Angler in Australia. 1st ed. 1937. Derrydale Press, 2002. Guest, Greg, Kathleen M. MacQueen, and Emily E. Namey. Applied Thematic Analysis. Sage, 2012. Jaws. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Universal Pictures, 1975. Kear, Katie. Baby Shark: Adventure Down Under. North Sydney: Puffin/Penguin Random House, 2020. Last, Peter R., and John Donald Stevens. Sharks and Rays of Australia. CSIRO, 2009. Le Busque, Brianna, and Carla Litchfield. “Sharks on Film: An Analysis of How Shark-Human Interactions Are Portrayed in Films.” Human Dimensions of Wildlife (2021). DOI: 10.1080/10871209.2021.1951399. Le Busque, Brianna, Philip Roetman, Jillian Dorrian, and Carla Litchfield. “An Analysis of Australian News and Current Affair Program Coverage of Sharks on Facebook.” Conservation Science and Practice 1.11 (2019): e111. <https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.111>. Le Busque, Brianna, Philip Roetman, Jillian Dorrian, and Carl Litchfield. “People’s Fear of Sharks: A Qualitative Analysis.” Journal of Environmental Studies and Sciences 11 (2021): 258–265. Lucrezi, Serena, Suria Ellis, and Enrico Gennari. “A Test of Causative and Moderator Effects in Human Perceptions of Sharks, Their Control and Framing.” Marine Policy 109 (2019): art 103687. <https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2019.103687>. Mascia, Michael B., C. Anne Claus, and Robin Naidoo. “Impacts of Marine Protected Areas on Fishing Communities.” Conservation Biology 24.5 (2010): 1424–1429. Maxwell, C. Bede. Surf: Australians against the Sea. Angus and Robertson, 1949. McAloon, Brendan. Sharks Never Sleep: First-Hand Encounters with Killers of the Sea. Updated ed. Hardie Grant, 2018. Moriarty, Ros. Ten Scared Fish. Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 2012. Muirhead, Desmond. Surfing in Hawaii: A Personal Memoir. Northland, 1962. Muter, Bret A., Meredith L. Gore, Katie S. Gledhill, Christopher Lamont, and Charlie Huveneers. “Australian and U.S. News Media Portrayal of Sharks and Their Conservation.” Conservation Biology 27 (2012): 187–196. Myers, Joe. “What Is the Anthropocene? And Why Does It Matter?” World Economic Forum 31 Aug. 2016. 6 Aug. 2021 <https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2016/08/what-is-the-anthropocene-and-why-does-it-matter>. Neff, Christopher. “The Jaws Effect: How Movie Narratives Are Used to Influence Policy Responses to Shark Bites in Western Australia.” Australian Journal of Political Science 50.1 (2015): 114–127. Neff, Christopher, and Robert Hueter. “Science, Policy, and the Public Discourse of Shark 'Attack': A Proposal for Reclassifying Human–Shark Interactions.” Journal of Environmental Studies and Sciences 3 (2013): 65–73. Orgias, Glenn. Man in a Grey Suit: A Memoir of Surfing, Shark Attack and Survival. Penguin, 2012. Orr, Ruby Ashby. Death by Coconut: 50 Things More Dangerous than a Shark and Why You Shouldn’t Be Afraid of the Ocean. Affirm Press, 2015. Ostrovski, Raquel Lubambo, Guilherme Martins Violante, Mariana Reis de Brito, Jean Louis Valentin, and Marcelo Vianna. “The Media Paradox: Influence on Human Shark Perceptions and Potential Conservation Impacts.” Ethnobiology and Conservation 10.12 (2021): 1–15. Panoch, Rainera, and Elissa L. Pearson. “Humans and Sharks: Changing Public Perceptions and Overcoming Fear to Facilitate Shark Conservation.” Society & Animals 25.1 (2017): 57–76 Parker Steve, and Jane Parker. The Encyclopedia of Sharks. Universal International, 1999. Paulin, Mike, and David Green. “Mostly Harmless: Sharks We Have Met.” Junctures 19 (2018): 117–122. Pepin-Neff, Christopher L. Flaws: Shark Bites and Emotional Public Policymaking. Palgrave Macmilliam, 2019. Pepperell, Julian, John West, and Peter Woon, eds. Shark Conservation: Proceedings of an International Workshop on the Conservation of Elasmobranchs Held at Taronga Zoo, Sydney, Australia, 24 February 1991. Zoological Parks Board of New South Wales, 1993. Peschak, Thomas P. “Sharks and Shark Bites in the Media.” Finding a Balance: White Shark Conservation and Recreational Safety in the Inshore Waters of Cape Town, South Africa. Eds. Deon C. Nel and Thomas P. Peschak. Cape Town: World Wildlife Fund, 2006. 159–163. Reid, Robert. Shark!: Killer Tales from the Dangerous Depths. Allen & Unwin Kindle version, 2010. Riley, Kathy. Australia’s Most Dangerous Sharks. Australian Geographic, 2013. Roc, Margaret, and Kathleen Hawke. Australia’s Critically Endangered Animals. Heinemann Library, 2006. Rohr, Ian. Snappers, Stingers and Stabbers of Australia. Young Reed, 2006. Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales. “RZS NSW Fellows.” 2021. 6 Aug. 2021 <https://www.rzsnsw.org.au/about-us/rzs-nsw-fellows/rzs-nsw-fellows>. Ryan, Mark David, and Elizabeth Ellison. “Beaches in Australian Horror Films: Sites of Fear and Retreat.” Writing the Australian Beach Local Site, Global Idea. Eds. Elizabeth Ellison and Donna Lee Brien. Palgrave/Springer, 2020. 125–141. Schwanebeck, Wieland, ed. Der Weisse Hai revisited: Steven Spielberg’s Jaws und die Geburt eines amerikanischen Albtraums. Bertz & Fischer, 2015. Shark Hunters. Dirs. Ben Cropp and Ron Tayor. Sydney, 1962. Sharpe, Alan. Shark Down Under: The History Shark Attacks in Australian Waters. Dominion Publishing, 1976. Steele, Philip. Sharks and Other Monsters of the Deep. London: DK, 1998. Steffen, Will, Andrew A. Burbidge, Lesley Hughes, Roger Kitching, David Lindenmayer, Warren Musgrave, Mark Stafford Smith, and Patricia A. Werner. Australia’s Biodiversity and Climate Change. CSIRO Publishing, 2009. Taylor, Ron. Ron Taylor’s Shark Fighters: Underwater in Colour. John Harding Underwater Promotions, 1965. Taylor, Ron, and Valerie Taylor. Sharks: Silent Hunters of the Deep. Reader’s Digest, 1990. Taylor, Ron, Valerie Taylor, and Peter Goadby, eds. Great Shark Stories. Harper & Row, 1978. Repub. 1986 and 2000. Taylor, Valerie. Valerie Taylor: An Adventurous Life. Hachette Australia, 2019. Thiele, Colin. Maneater Man: Alf Dean, the World’s Greatest Shark Hunter. Rigby, 1979. Tricas, Timothy C., and Mark Carwardine. Sharks and Whales. Five Mile Press, 2002 Westbrook, Vivienne R., Shaun Collin, Dean Crawford, and Mark Nicholls. Sharks in the Arts: From Feared to Revered. Routledge, 2018. Whitley, Gilbert Percy. The Fishes of Australia: The Sharks, Rays, Devil-Fish, and other Primitive Fishes of Australia and New Zealand. Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales, 1940. Whitley, Gilbert Percy. Australian Sharks. Lloyd O’Neil, 1983.
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Khamis, Susie. "Jamming at Work." M/C Journal 6, no. 3 (June 1, 2003). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2186.
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In July 2001, New York couple Jason Black and Francis Schroeder opened bidding on the internet for corporate sponsorship of their newborn son. Naming rights started at $US5000 000. For Black, the logic was simple: given the inescapable prevalence of commercial sponsorship in contemporary life, this was a valid way of working with corporate America. Black and Schroeder already had two daughters and lived in a small two-bedroom apartment. In exchange for their son’s financial security, they risked branding him ‘Big Mac’ or ‘Nike’ – literally. If nothing else, the case exemplified the amazing reach of brand consciousness. The couple had internalised its values and rationale with such ease and comfort, the notion of forfeiting their child’s name was not abhorrent, but a lucrative marketing opportunity. Then again, the story was not without precedent. In 2000, teenagers Chris Barrett and Luke McCabe, both from New Jersey, became ‘spokesguys’ for First USA, one of America’s top credit-card companies. By sporting the company logo on their surfboards and all their clothes, the pair receives an annual $US40 000 each in tuition, board and books for their four-year university contract. They do not just advertise the brand; they are its living embodiment. For critics of consumer culture, such stories exemplify the extent to which corporatism has become a complete and closed system, with the panoramic presence of brands and logos and the commodification of life itself. They demonstrate the alarming readiness of some people to encode and enact the consumerist impulse. At its most malignant, this impulse appears as a crass consumerism that eats up every aspect of a culture, so much so that consumerism becomes the culture – all meaning is both anchored in and governed by the capitalist creed. For many, mass-produced contemporary culture provides a seemingly empty substitute, what Fredric Jameson (1991) termed “a new kind of flatness or depthlessness, a new kind of superficiality in the most literal sense” (9), for genuine experience and emotion. In turn, the contemporary consumer has been reduced to a mere imitation of mediated expectations, a functionary cog in the corporatist machine. As this sign system infects and invades more and more space, a certain cultural literacy is inevitably called for, an intimate knowledge of symbol and significance, logo and logic. However, like all living language, this one is open to some resistance, albeit a somewhat piecemeal one. Part appropriation, part antithesis, it is a resistance that hijacks form in order to subvert content. To explain how this type of activism might work, one could consider the highly effective activist operation, ®TMark (http://rtmark.com). ®TMark is an online centre that organizes and directs funding for the ‘information alteration’ of corporate products (otherwise known as ‘sabotage’). In 1993, ®TMark was involved in its first high-profile act of sabotage when it channelled $US 8000 to the Barbie Liberation Organization (BLO), a group that switched the voice boxes of 300 GI Joe and Barbie dolls. As befits a project affiliated with ®TMark, the critical content of BLO’s act was an alchemic stroke of humour and commentary. The protest lies within the ‘information alteration’ of commodities that usually rely on their supposed virtues. The BLO offensive drew attention to the questionable labour practices of Mattel, manufacturers of Barbie, thereby undermining the perceptions on which Barbie’s popularity rests. From the outset, ®TMark’s key feature is its corporate status. As a brokerage, ®TMark benefits from ‘limited liability’, just like any other corporation. It exploits this principle (that is, corporate protection, thereby bypassing legal responsibility) to sabotage other corporate products. Unlike other corporations, though, its bottom-line is cultural profit. As spokesperson Ray Thomas explains, the corporate model is both the object of ®TMark’s criticism, and the method by which that criticism is being facilitated: “Projects can be seen as stocks, and when you support a project you’re investing in it. When you contribute, say, $100 to a project that you would like to see accomplished, you are sort of investing in the accomplishment of the project. What you want to see out of that project is cultural dividends; you want to see a beneficial cultural event take place because of your money, as a reward. What you’re doing is investing in the improvement of the culture.” As with almost all ®TMark literature and material, the tone here is one of clipped civility, similar to the tense restraint characteristic of almost any corporation. Perhaps the closest the site gets to a ‘straightforward’ philosophy is in this piece of advice to dispirited students, fearful that, one day, they too will be sucked into the corporate void: “We believe that performing an ®TMark project can help you, psychologically at least, at such a difficult juncture; but more importantly, we urge you to at all costs remember that laws should defend human people, not corporate people like the one of which you will be a part. If you keep this in mind and work towards making it a reality, you may find your life much more bearable.” While this pseudo mission statement might be read as yet another appendage to ®TMark’s corporate veneer, it also points to some of the goals of the site. The depiction of ®TMark projects as morale boosters for disenchanted cynics goes some way in illustrating the ambitions and limits of the site. Rather than prescribe a far-reaching, holistic approach to social change (what might be termed a ‘revolutionary’ vision), ®TMark marshals ideas and initiatives a little more subtly. This is not to belittle or dispute its utility or significance; on the contrary, it is an approach that effectively (in)corporates a diverse range of people and programs. For example, rather than unifying its adherents to a common agenda, ®TMark operates as a coalition of interests. As such, the followings funds collectively serve the ®TMark project: the Labor Fund; the Frontier Fund (which challenges naïve visions of the ‘global village’); the Education Fund; the Health Fund; the Alternative Markets Fund (which considers overlooked demographics, such as poor gays); the Media Fund; the Intellectual Property Fund; the Biological Property Fund; the Corporate Law Fund; and the Environment Fund, among others. In turn, the ®TMark spectrum canvasses a plethora of pertinent, interconnected themes. This includes: the plight of workers in developing countries; censorship; institutionalised racism; the nominal triumph of consumer culture; techno-utopianism and the ‘digerati’; copyright law; and the increasing opacity of corporate activities. Underlying all these issues is ®TMark’s intention to publicise corporate abuses of democratic processes. Importantly, this multiplicity of interests is considered a suitable counterpart to the dispersed nature of corporate power. So, no one enemy is identified and targeted, since such reductionism belies the degree to which capitalism, corporatism and consumerism are irredeemably entwined in contemporary culture. In turn, these funds are often ‘managed’ by public figures whose association with certain causes lend their celebrity well to particular campaigns. For example, San Francisco band Negativeland manages the Intellectual Property Fund. This is most appropriate. Their 1991 legal battle with major label Island, on account of their ‘deceptive’ use of U2 material, cemented their place as champions of ‘creative appropriation’ and the right to create ‘with mirrors’ (as Negativeland describes it on their eponymous website). Similarly, the desire to create ‘with mirrors’ propels much of ®TMark’s work. It imbues all ®TMark projects with the same sense of calculated mischief. This suggests a mode of activism that is both opportunistic and ingenious, fashioning criticism from the very resources it is attacking. Financial reward aside (which, in any case, is negligible, at best) the real pay-off for ®TMark saboteurs comes via media coverage of their projects. As such, it straddles an interesting divide, between public infamy and necessary stealth. ®TMark requires media attention to render its projects effective, yet must maintain the critical distance necessary for any activist potency. Indeed, the need to bolster ®TMark’s profile was one of the reasons it went from being a dial-in system to a website in 1997. Within its first eight months the site had received almost 20 000 visits. In this schema, the activism in question is assigned a somewhat smaller purpose than has been hitherto associated with protest movements generally. Rather than provide a grand panacea for all the world’s ills, ®TMark’s scale is, by its own admission, modest: “The value of ®TMark is, and has always been, not in any real pressure it can possibly bear, but rather in its ability to quickly and cheaply attract widespread interest to important issues. ®TMark is thus essentially a public relations agency for anti-corporate activism”. In this way, ®TMark is firmly positioned within that strand of activism often referred to as ‘culture jamming’. This type of protest relies on a distinct degree of media and cultural literacy, one that is consonant with, and a product of, the Information Age. As Mark Dery explains, these activists “introduce noise into the signal as it passes from transmitter to receiver, encouraging idiosyncratic, unintended interpretations. Intruding on the intruders, they invest ads, newscasts, and other media artefacts with subversive meanings; simultaneously, they decrypt them, rendering their seductions impotent”(http://levity.com/markdery/culturejam.html). Culture jamming draws on (and contributes to) critiques of contemporary consumer capitalism. Its premise is that too much public space has already been ceded to Hollywood, Madison Avenue et al, and that activists must seize whatever opportunities allow this space to be reclaimed, however fleetingly. Trading on publicity and shock value, jammers manipulate those icons, slogans and trademarks that will register immediate recognition, thereby rendering their efforts meaningful. It constitutes a politicised refusal to submit to the cheerful passivity scripted by the corporate class. As jammers resist this role, reclaiming rather than forfeiting public space, they create what Naomi Klein (2000) calls “a climate of semiotic Robin Hoodism” (280). This term aptly captures the spirit of moralistic idealism that is, almost inevitably, a part of the milieu. This is not to dismiss or deride the progressive agenda of most culture jammers; if anything, it is a positive endorsement of their activism, and a response to those that would deem the postmodern zeitgeist politically barren or overwhelmingly cynical. What it reveals, then, is a somewhat unexpected distribution of power, as expressions of criticism and opposition emerge at seemingly incongruous junctures. They are at once engaged and complicit, finding cracks in ‘the system’ (that is, corporate society) and co-opting them, what Linda Hutcheon (1990) calls “subversion from within” (157). Eschewing ‘big picture’ solutions, culture jammers prioritise temporary connections and hybrid forms over ideological certainties and operational rigidity. Tactical thinking, and the malleability and mobility it relies on, clearly informs and animates ®TMark’s work. As Graham Meikle (2002) explains, “Different actions and campaigns use whichever media are most appropriate at any given time for any given purpose. An event might call for making a documentary, making a website, making an A4 newsletter, or making a phone call” (120). ®TMark stops short of overstating its purpose or exaggerating its success. There is no lofty manifesto or ironclad strategy; without departing too far from its anti-corporatist stance, ®TMark encourages an almost playful combination of comedy and critique, with a thick ironic overlay. At its most ambitious, then, ®TMark can hope to alter the everyday behaviour of ordinary citizens, making inroads at the expense of powerful corporations. At the very least, it can prompt bemused surfers to rethink certain things – such as Nike’s labour practices or Shell’s environmental record. In a sense, though, the degree to which such perceptual jolts can ‘make a difference’ is almost immaterial: the fact that the status quo has been questioned is a minor triumph. Where some commentators bemoan the virtual stupor they deem characteristic of contemporary Western politics, projects like ®TMark prove that there are spaces and opportunities left for meaningful debate and dissent. Works Cited Dery, Mark. “Culture Jamming: Hacking, Slashing and Sniping in the Empire of Signs”. (http://levity.com/markdery/culturejam.html). Hutcheon, Linda. The Politics of Postmodernity. London: Routledge, 1990. Jameson, Fredric. Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. Durham: Duke University Press, 1991. Klein, Naomi. No Logo. London: Flamingo, 2000. Meikle, Graham. Future Active: Media Activism and the Internet. New York and London: Routledge, and Annandale, Pluto Press, 2002. Rtmark. (http://rtmark.com). Links http://levity.com/markdery/culturejam.html http://rtmark.com Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Khamis, Susie. "Jamming at Work " M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/04-jamming.php>. APA Style Khamis, S. (2003, Jun 19). Jamming at Work . M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/04-jamming.php>
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Salter, Colin. "Our Cows and Whales." M/C Journal 21, no. 3 (August 15, 2018). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1410.
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IntroductionIn 2011, Four Corners — the flagship current affairs program of the Australian national broadcaster, ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) — aired an investigative report on the conditions in Indonesian slaughterhouses. Central to the report was a focus on how Australian cows were being killed for human consumption. Moral outrage ensued. The Federal Government responded with a temporary ban on the live export of cattle to Indonesia. In 2010 the Australian Government initiated legal action in the International Court of Justice (ICJ) opposing Japanese whaling in the Southern Ocean, following a sustained period of public opposition. This article pays close attention to expressions of public opposition to the killing of what have come to be referred to as our cows and our whales, and the response of the Federal Government.Australia’s recent history with the live export of farmed animals and its transformation into an anti-whaling nation provides us with a foundation to analyse these contemporary disputes. In contrast to a focus on “Australian cow making” (Fozdar and Spittles 76) during the live export controversy, this article investigates the processes through which the bodies of cows and whales became sites for the mapping of Australian identity and nationhood – in other words, a relational construction of Australianness that we can identify as a form of animal nationalism (Dalziell and Wadiwel). What is at stake are claims about desired national self-image. In what we might consider as part of a history of cows and whales is in many ways a ‘history of people with animals in it” (Davis 551). In other words, these disputes are not really about cows and whales.The Live Export IndustryAustralia is the largest exporter of live farmed animals, primarily sheep and cows, to the Middle East and Southeast Asia respectively (Phillips and Santurtun 309). The live export industry is promoted and supported by the Federal Government, with an explicit emphasis on the conditions experienced by these farmed animals. According to the Government, “Australia leads the world in animal welfare practices … [and] does not tolerate cruelty towards animals and will not compromise on animal welfare standards” (Department of Agriculture and Water Resources). These are strong and specific claims about Australia’s moral compass. What is being asserted is the level of care and concern about how Australia’s farmed animals are raised, transported and killed.There is an implicit relationality here. To be a ‘world leader’ or to claim world’s best practice, there must be some form of moral or ethical measure to judge these practices against. We can locate these more clearly and directly in the follow-up sentence on the above claim: “Our ongoing involvement in the livestock export trade provides an opportunity to influence animal welfare conditions in importing countries” (Department of Agriculture and Water Resources). The enthusiasm expressed in this statement manifests in explicitly seeking to position Australia as an exporter of moral progress (see Caulfield 76). These are cultural claims about us.In its current form the Australian live export industry dates back to the early 1960s, with concerns about the material conditions of farmed animals in destination countries raised from the outset (Caulfield 72; Villanueva Pain 100). In the early 1980s animal activists formed the Australian Federation of Animal Societies to put forward a national unified voice. Protests and political lobbying lead to the formation of a Senate Select Committee on Animal Welfare, reflecting what Gonzalo Villanueva has referred to as a social and political landscape that “appeared increasingly favourable to discussing animal welfare” (Transnational 89-91).The Select Committee’s first report focussed on live export and explicitly mentioned the treatment of Australian farmed animals in the abattoirs of destination countries. The conditions in these facilities were described as being of a lower “standard of animal welfare” to those in Australia (Senate Select Committee on Animal Welfare xiii). These findings directly mirror the expressions of concern in the wake of the 2011 controversy.“A Bloody Business”On 30 May 2011, Four Corners aired a report entitled ‘A Bloody Business’ on the conditions in Indonesian slaughterhouses. The investigation followed-up on footage provided by Animals Australia and Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA Australia). Members from these groups had travelled to Indonesia in order to document conditions in slaughterhouses and prepare briefing notes which were later shared with the ABC. Their aim was to increase public awareness of the conditions Australian farmed cattle faced in Indonesia, provide a broader indictment of the live export industry, and call for an end the practice. The nationwide broadcast which included graphic footage of our cows being killed, enabled broader Australia to participate from the comfort of their own homes (see Della Porta and Diani 177-8).The program generated significant media coverage and public moral outrage (Dalziell and Wadiwel 72). Dr Bidda Jones, Chief Scientist of RSPCA Australia, referred to “28,000 radio stories, 13,000 TV mentions and 3,000 press stories” making it one of the top five national issues in the media for five weeks. An online petition created by the activist organisation GetUp! collected more than 260,000 signatures over a period of three days and $300,000 was raised for campaign advertising (Jones 102). Together, these media reports and protest actions influenced the Federal Government to suspend live exports to Indonesia. A front-page story in The Age described the Federal Government as having “caved in to public and internal party pressure” (Willingham and Allard). In her first public statement about the controversy, Prime Minister Julia Gillard outlined the Government’s intent: “We will be working closely with Indonesia, and with the industry, to make sure we can bring about major change to the way cattle are handled in these slaughter houses” (Willingham and Allard).The Prime Minister’s statement directly echoed the claims made on the Department of Agriculture and Water Resources website introduced above. Implicit is these statements is a perceived ability to bring about “major change” and an assumption that we kill better. Both directly align with claims of leading the world in animal welfare practices and the findings of the 1985 Select Committee report. Further, the controversy itself was positioned as providing an “opportunity to influence animal welfare conditions in importing countries” (Department of Agriculture and Water Resources).Four Corners provided a nationwide platform to influence decision-makers (see Della Porta and Diani 168-9). White, Director of Strategy for Animals Australia, expressed this concisely:We should be killing the animals here under Australian conditions, under our control, and then they should only be shipped as meat products, not live animals. (Ferguson, Doyle, and Worthington)Jones provided more context, describing the suffering experienced by “Australian cattle” in Indonesia as “too much,” especially when “a clear, demonstrated and successful alternative to the live export of animals” was already available (“Broader”; Jones 188). Implicit in these calls for farmed cows to be killed in Australia was an inference to technical and moral progress, evoking Australia’s “national self-image” as “a modern, principled culture” (Dalziell and Wadiwel 84). The clean, efficient and modern processes undertaken in Australia were relationally positioned against the bloody practices conducted in the Indonesian facilities. In other words, we kill cows in a nicer, more humane and better way.Australia and WhalingAustralia has a long and dynamic history with whaling (Salter). A “fervently” pro-whaling nation, the “rapidly growing” local industry went through a modernisation process in the 1950s (Day 19; Kato 484). Operations became "clean and smooth,” and death became "instant, swift and painless”. As with the live export controversy, an inference of a nicer, more humane and better way of killing was central the Australian whaling industry (Kato 484-85). Enthusiastic support for an Australian whaling industry was superseded within three decades by what Charlotte Epstein describes as “a dramatic historical turnabout” (Power 150). In June 1977, the International Whaling Commission (IWC) came to Canberra, and protests were organised across Australia to coincide with the meeting.The IWJ meeting was seen as a political opportunity. An IWC meeting being held in the last English-as-first-language nation with a commercial whaling operation provided an ideal target for the growing anti-whaling movement (Epstein, Power 149). In parallel, the opportunity to make whaling an electoral issue was seen as a priority for locally based activists and organisations (Pash 31). The collective actions of those campaigning against the backdrop of the IWC meeting comprised an array of performances (Tarrow 29). Alongside lobbying delegates, protests were held outside the venue, including the first use of a full-sized replica inflatable sperm whale by anti-whaling activists. See Image 1. The symbol of the whale became a signifier synonymous for the environment movement for decades to follow (see Epstein, Power 110-11). The number of environmental organisations attending exceeded those of any prior IWC meeting, setting in place a practice that would continue for decades to follow (M’Gonigle 150; Pash 27-8).Image 1: Protest at Australia’s last whaling station August 28, 1977. Photo credit: Jonny Lewis Collection.Following the IWC meeting in Canberra, activists packed up their equipment and prepared for the long drive to Albany in Western Australia. Disruption was added to their repertoire (Tarrow 99). The target was the last commercial whaling operation in Australia. Two months later, on August 28, demonstrations were held at the gates of the Cheynes Beach Whaling Company. Two inflatable Zodiac boats were launched, with the aim of positioning themselves between the whales being hunted and the company’s harpoon vessels. Greenpeace was painted on the side — the first protest action in Australia under the organisation’s banner (Pash 93-94).In 1978, Prime Minister Fraser formally announced an Inquiry into the future of whaling in Australia, seeking to position Australia as being on the right side of history, “taking a decisive step forward in the human consciousness” (Epstein, World 313). Underpinning announcement was a (re)purposing of whales bodies as a site for the mapping of relational constructions of Australian identity and nationhood:Many thousands of Australians — and men, women and children throughout the world — have long felt deep concern about the activities of whalers… I abhor any such activity — particularly when it is directed against a species as special and intelligent as the whale.(Qtd. in Frost vii)The actions of those protesting against whaling and the language used by Fraser in announcing the Inquiry signalled Australia’s becoming as the first nation in which “ethical arguments about the intrinsic value of the whale” displaced “scientific considerations of levels of endangerment” (Epstein, Power 150). The idea of taking action for whales had become about more than just saving their lives, it was an ethical imperative for us.Standing Up for (Our) WhalesThe Inquiry into “whales and whaling” provided specific recommendations, which were adopted in full by Prime Minister Fraser:The Inquiry’s central conclusion is that Australian whaling should end, and that, internationally, Australia should pursue a policy of opposition whaling. (Frost 206)The inquiry found that the majority of Australians viewed whaling as “morally wrong” and as a nation we should stand up for whales internationally (Frost 183). There is a direct reference here to the moral values of a civilised community, what Arne Kalland describes as a claim to “social maturity” (130). By identifying itself as a nation on the right side of the issue, Australia was pursuing a position of moral leadership on the world stage. The Whale Protection Act (1980) replaced the Whaling Act (1960). Australia’s policy of opposition to whaling was “pursued both domestically and internationally though the IWC and other organizations” (Day 19).Public opposition to whaling increased with the commencement of Japan’s scientific research whaling program in the Southern Ocean, and the dramatic actions of Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. The Daily Telegraph which ran a series of articles under the banner of “our whales” in June 2005 (see, for example, Hossack; Rehn). The conservative Federal Government embraced the idea, with the Department of the Environment and Heritage website including a “Save Our Whales” page. Six months out from the 2007 federal election, opposition leader Kevin Rudd stated “It's time that Australia got serious when it comes to the slaughter of our whales” (Walters). As a “naturally more compassionate, more properly developed” people, we [Australians] had a duty to protect them (Dalziell and Wadiwel 84).Alongside oft-repeated claims of Australia’s status as a “world leader” and the priority placed on the protection of whales nationally and internationally, saveourwhales.gov.au wristbands were available for order from the government website — at no charge. By wearing one of these wristbands, all Australians could “show [their] support for the protection of whales and dolphins” (Department of the Environment and Heritage). In other words, the wearer could join together with other Australians in making a clear moral and ethical statement about both how much whales mean to us and that we all should stand up for them. The wristbands provided a means to individually and collectively express this is what we do in unobtrusive everyday way.Dramatic actions in the Southern Ocean during the 2008/09 whaling season received a broader audience with the airing of the first season of the reality TV series Whale Wars, which became Animal Planets most viewed program (Robé 94). As with A Bloody Business, Whale Wars provided an opportunity for a manifestly larger number of people to eyewitness the plight of whales (see Epstein, Power 142). Alongside the dramatised representation of the risky and personally sacrificial actions taken by the crew, the attitudes expressed reflected those of Prime Minister Fraser in 1977: protecting special and intelligent whales was the right and civilised thing to do.These sentiments were framed by the footage of activists in the series. For example, in episode four of season two, Lockhart McClean, Captain of the MV Gojira referred to Japanese whalers and their vessels as “evil” and “barbaric”, and their practices outdated. The drama of the series revolved around Sea Shepherd patrolling the Southern Ocean, their attempts to intervene against the Japanese fleet and protect our whales. The clear undercurrent here is a claim of moral progress, situated alongside an enthusiasm to export it. Such sentiments were clearly echoed by Bob Brown, a respected former member of federal parliament and spokesperson for Sea Shepherd: “It’s just a gruesome, bloody, medieval, scene which has no place in this modern world” (Japanese Whaling).On 31 May 2010 the Federal Government initiated proceedings against Japan in the ICJ. Four years later, the Court found in their favour (Nagtzaam, Young and Sullivan).Conclusion, Claims of Moral LeadershipHow the 2011 live export controversy and opposition to Japanese whaling in the Southern Ocean have unfolded provide us with an opportunity to explore a number of common themes. As Dalziell and Wadiwell noted with regard to the 2011 live export controversy, our “national self-image” was central (84). Both disputes encompass claims about us about how we want to be perceived. Whereas our cows and whales appear as key players, both disputes are effectively a ‘history of people with animals in it” (Davis 551). In other words, these disputes were not really about the lives of our farmed cows or whales.The Federal Government sought to reposition the 2011 live export controversy as providing (another) opportunity "to influence animal welfare conditions in importing countries,” drawing from our own claimed worlds-best practices (Department of Agriculture and Water Resources). The “solution” put forward by White and Jones solution was for Australian farmed cows to be killed here. Underpinning both was an implicit claim that we kill cows in a nicer, more humane and better way: "Australians are naturally more compassionate, more properly developed; more human” (Dalziell and Wadiwel 84).Similarly, the Federal Government’s pursuit of a position of world-leadership in opposing whaling was rooted in claims of our moral progress as a nation. Having formally recognised the specialness of whales in the 1970s, it was our duty to pursue their protection internationally. We could individually and collectively express national identity on our wrists, through wearing a government-provided saveourwhales.gov.au wristband. Collectively, we would not stand by and let the "gruesome, bloody, medieval” practice of Japanese whaling continue in our waters (“Japanese”). Legal action undertaken in the ICJ was the penultimate pronouncement.In short, expressions of concerns for our cows whales positioned their bodies as sites for the mapping of relational constructions of our identity and nationhood.Author’s NoteFor valuable comments on earlier drafts, I thank Talei Vulatha, Ben Hightower, Scott East and two anonymous referees.References“Broader Ban the Next Step: Animal Group.” Sydney Morning Herald, 8 June 2011. 11 July 2018 <https://www.smh.com.au/environment/conservation/broader-ban-the-next-step-animal-group-20110608-1frsr.html>.Caulfield, Malcolm. Handbook of Australian Animal Cruelty Law. North Melbourne: Animals Australia, 2009.Dalziell, Jacqueline, and Dinesh Joseph Wadiwel. “Live Exports, Animal Advocacy, Race and ‘Animal Nationalism’.” Meat Culture. Ed. Annie Potts. Brill Academic Pub., 2016. 73-89.Day, David. The Whale War. Random House, Inc., 1987.Della Porta, Donatella, and Mario Diani. Social Movements: An Introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006.Department of Agriculture and Water Resources. “Live Animal Export Trade.” Canberra: Australian Government, 2015. 15 May 2018 <http://www.agriculture.gov.au/animal/welfare/export-trade/>.Department of the Environment and Heritage. “Save Our Whales.” Canberra, Australian Government, 2007. 31 May 2017 <https://web.archive.org/web/20070205015403/http://www.environment.gov.au/coasts/species/cetaceans/intro.html>.Epstein, Charlotte. The Power of Words in International Relations: Birth of an Anti-Whaling Discourse. Cambridge, MA: MIT P, 2008.———. “WorldWideWhale. Globalisation/Dialogue of Cultures.” Cambridge Review of International Affairs 16.2 (2003): 309-22.Ferguson, Sarah, Michael Doyle, and Anne Worthington. “A Bloody Business Transcript.” Four Corners, 2011. 30 May 2018 <http://www.abc.net.au/4corners/4c-full-program-bloody-business/8961434>.Fozdar, Farida, and Brian Spittles. “Of Cows and Men: Nationalism and Australian Cow Making.” Australian Journal of Anthropology 25 (2014): 73-90.Frost, Sydney. Whales and Whaling. Vol. 1 Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1978.Hossack, James. “Japan Vow to Go It Alone on Culling — Save Our Whales.” Daily Telegraph, 2005: 4.“Japanese Whaling Fleet Kills Minke Whales in Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary, Sea Shepherd Says.” ABC News, 6 Jan. 2014. 16 May 2018 <http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-01-06/sea-shephard-says-japan-whaling-fleet-inside-sanctuary/5185942>.Jones, Bidda. Backlash: Australia’s Conflict of Values over Live Exports. Braidwood, NSW: Finlay Lloyd Publishers, 2016.Kalland, Arne. “Management by Totemization: Whale Symbolism and the Anti-Whaling Campaign.” Arctic 46.2 (1993): 124-33.Kato, Kumi. “Australia’s Whaling Discourse: Global Norm, Green Consciousness and Identity.” Journal of Australian Studies 39.4 (2015): 477-93.M’Gonigle, R. Michael. “The Economizing of Ecology: Why Big, Rare Whales Still Die.” Ecology Law Quarterly 9.1 (1980): 119-237.Nagtzaam, Gerry. “Righting the Ship?: Australia, New Zealand and Japan at the ICJ and the Barbed Issue of ‘Scientific Whaling’.” Australian Journal of Environmental Law 1.1 (2014): 71-92.Pash, Chris. The Last Whale. Fremantle P, 2008.Phillips, C.J., and E. Santurtun. “The Welfare of Livestock Transported by Ship.” Veterinary Journal 196.3 (2013): 309-14.Rehn, Alison. “Winning a Battle But Not the War — Save Our Whales.” Daily Telegraph, 2005: 4.———. “Children Help Sink Japanese — Save Our Whales.” Daily Telegraph, 2005: 4.———. “Japan’s Vow: You Won’t Stop Us Killing Your Whales — Save Our Whales.” Daily Telegraph, 2005: 1.———. “Another Blow for Japanese — IWC Rejects Coastal Hunts — Save Our Whales.” Daily Telegraph, 2005: 10.Robé, Christopher. “The Convergence of Eco-Activism, Neoliberalism, and Reality TV in Whale Wars.” Journal of Film and Video 67.3-4 (2015): 94-111.Salter, Colin. “Opposition to Japanese Whaling in the Southern Ocean.” Animal Activism: Perspectives from Australia and New Zealand. Ed. Gonzalo Villanueva. Sydney: Sydney UP, forthcoming.Senate Select Committee on Animal Welfare. Export of Live Sheep From Australia: Report By the Senate Select Committee on Animal Welfare. Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1985.Tarrow, Sidney G. Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics. New York: Cambridge UP, 2011.Villanueva, Gonzalo. “‘Pain for Animals. Profit for People’: The Campaign against Live Sheep Exports.” Animals Count: How Population Size Matters in Animal-Human Relations. Eds. Nancy Cushing and Jodi Frawley. Routledge, 2018. 99-109.———. "A Transnational History of the Australian Animal Movement 1970-2015." Palgrave Studies in the History of Social Movements. Eds. S. Berger and M. Boldorf. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018.Walters, Patrick. “Labor Plan to Board Whalers.” The Australian, 2007.Willingham, Richard, and Tom Allard. “Ban on Live Cattle Trade to Indonesia.” The Age, 2011: 1.Young, Margaret A., and Sebatisan Rioseco Sullivan. “Evolution through the Duty to Cooperate: Implications of the Whaling Case at the International Court of Justice”. Melbourne Journal of International Law 16.2 (2015): 1-33.
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Cushing, Nancy. "To Eat or Not to Eat Kangaroo: Bargaining over Food Choice in the Anthropocene." M/C Journal 22, no. 2 (April 24, 2019). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.1508.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Kangatarianism is the rather inelegant word coined in the first decade of the twenty-first century to describe an omnivorous diet in which the only meat consumed is that of the kangaroo. First published in the media in 2010 (Barone; Zukerman), the term circulated in Australian environmental and academic circles including the Global Animal conference at the University of Wollongong in July 2011 where I first heard it from members of the Think Tank for Kangaroos (THINKK) group. By June 2017, it had gained enough attention to be named the Oxford English Dictionary’s Australian word of the month (following on from May’s “smashed avo,” another Australian food innovation), but it took the Nine Network reality television series Love Island Australia to raise kangatarian to trending status on social media (Oxford UP). During the first episode, aired in late May 2018, Justin, a concreter and fashion model from Melbourne, declared himself to have previously been a kangatarian as he chatted with fellow contestant, Millie. Vet nurse and animal lover Millie appeared to be shocked by his revelation but was tentatively accepting when Justin explained what kangatarian meant, and justified his choice on the grounds that kangaroo are not farmed. In the social media response, it was clear that eating only the meat of kangaroos as an ethical choice was an entirely new concept to many viewers, with one tweet stating “Kangatarian isn’t a thing”, while others variously labelled the diet brutal, intriguing, or quintessentially Australian (see #kangatarian on Twitter).There is a well developed literature around the arguments for and against eating kangaroo, and why settler Australians tend to be so reluctant to do so (see for example, Probyn; Cawthorn and Hoffman). Here, I will concentrate on the role that ethics play in this food choice by examining how the adoption of kangatarianism can be understood as a bargain struck to help to manage grief in the Anthropocene, and the limitations of that bargain. As Lesley Head has argued, we are living in a time of loss and of grieving, when much that has been taken for granted is becoming unstable, and “we must imagine that drastic changes to everyday life are in the offing” (313). Applying the classic (and contested) model of five stages of grief, first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying in 1969, much of the population of the western world seems to be now experiencing denial, her first stage of loss, while those in the most vulnerable environments have moved on to anger with developed countries for destructive actions in the past and inaction in the present. The next stages (or states) of grieving—bargaining, depression, and acceptance—are likely to be manifested, although not in any predictable sequence, as the grief over current and future losses continues (Haslam).The great expansion of food restrictive diets in the Anthropocene can be interpreted as part of this bargaining state of grieving as individuals attempt to respond to the imperative to reduce their environmental impact but also to limit the degree of change to their own diet required to do so. Meat has long been identified as a key component of an individual’s environmental footprint. From Frances Moore Lappé’s 1971 Diet for a Small Planet through the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organisation’s 2006 report Livestock’s Long Shadow to the 2019 report of the EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems, the advice has been consistent: meat consumption should be minimised in, if not eradicated from, the human diet. The EAT–Lancet Commission Report quantified this to less than 28 grams (just under one ounce) of beef, lamb or pork per day (12, 25). For many this would be keenly felt, in terms of how meals are constructed, the sensory experiences associated with eating meat and perceptions of well-being but meat is offered up as a sacrifice to bring about the return of the beloved healthy planet.Rather than accept the advice to cut out meat entirely, those seeking to bargain with the Anthropocene also find other options. This has given rise to a suite of foodways based around restricting meat intake in volume or type. Reducing the amount of commercially produced beef, lamb and pork eaten is one approach, while substituting a meat the production of which has a smaller environmental footprint, most commonly chicken or fish, is another. For those willing to make deeper changes, the meat of free living animals, especially those which are killed accidentally on the roads or for deliberately for environmental management purposes, is another option. Further along this spectrum are the novel protein sources suggested in the Lancet report, including insects, blue-green algae and laboratory-cultured meats.Kangatarianism is another form of this bargain, and is backed by at least half a century of advocacy. The Australian Conservation Foundation made calls to reduce the numbers of other livestock and begin a sustainable harvest of kangaroo for food in 1970 when the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption was still illegal across the country (Conservation of Kangaroos). The idea was repeated by biologist Gordon Grigg in the late 1980s (Jackson and Vernes 173), and again in the Garnaut Climate Change Review in 2008 (547–48). Kangaroo meat is high in protein and iron, low in fat, and high in healthy polyunsaturated fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid, and, as these authors showed, has a smaller environmental footprint than beef, lamb, or pork. Kangaroo require less water than cattle, sheep or pigs, and no land is cleared to grow feed for them or give them space to graze. Their paws cause less erosion and compaction of soil than do the hooves of common livestock. They eat less fodder than ruminants and their digestive processes result in lower emissions of the powerful greenhouse gas methane and less solid waste.As Justin of Love Island was aware, kangaroo are not farmed in the sense of being deliberately bred, fed, confined, or treated with hormones, drugs or chemicals, which also adds to their lighter impact on the environment. However, some pastoralists argue that because they cannot prevent kangaroos from accessing the food, water, shelter, and protection from predators they provide for their livestock, they do effectively farm them, although they receive no income from sales of kangaroo meat. This type of light touch farming of kangaroos has a very long history in Australia going back to the continent’s first peopling some 60,000 years ago. Kangaroos were so important to Aboriginal people that a wide range of environments were manipulated to produce their favoured habitats of open grasslands edged by sheltering trees. As Bill Gammage demonstrated, fire was used as a tool to preserve and extend grassy areas, to encourage regrowth which would attract kangaroos and to drive the animals from one patch to another or towards hunters waiting with spears (passim, for example, 58, 72, 76, 93). Gammage and Bruce Pascoe agree that this was a form of animal husbandry in which the kangaroos were drawn to the areas prepared for them for the young grass or, more forcefully, physically directed using nets, brush fences or stone walls. Burnt ground served to contain the animals in place of fencing, and regular harvesting kept numbers from rising to levels which would place pressure on other species (Gammage 79, 281–86; Pascoe 42–43). Contemporary advocates of eating kangaroo have promoted the idea that they should be deliberately co-produced with other livestock instead of being killed to preserve feed and water for sheep and cattle (Ellicott; Wilson 39). Substituting kangaroo for the meat of more environmentally damaging animals would facilitate a reduction in the numbers of cattle and sheep, lessening the harm they do.Most proponents have assumed that their audience is current meat eaters who would substitute kangaroo for the meat of other more environmentally costly animals, but kangatarianism can also emerge from vegetarianism. Wendy Zukerman, who wrote about kangaroo hunting for New Scientist in 2010, was motivated to conduct the research because she was considering becoming an early adopter of kangatarianism as the least environmentally taxing way to counter the longterm anaemia she had developed as a vegetarian. In 2018, George Wilson, honorary professor in the Australian National University’s Fenner School of Environment and Society called for vegetarians to become kangatarians as a means of boosting overall consumption of kangaroo for environmental and economic benefits to rural Australia (39).Given these persuasive environmental arguments, it might be expected that many people would have perceived eating kangaroo instead of other meat as a favourable bargain and taken up the call to become kangatarian. Certainly, there has been widespread interest in trying kangaroo meat. In 1997, only five years after the sale of kangaroo meat for human consumption had been legalised in most states (South Australia did so in 1980), 51% of 500 people surveyed in five capital cities said they had tried kangaroo. However, it had not become a meat of choice with very few found to eat it more than three times a year (Des Purtell and Associates iv). Just over a decade later, a study by Ampt and Owen found an increase to 58% of 1599 Australians surveyed across the country who had tried kangaroo but just 4.7% eating it at least monthly (14). Bryce Appleby, in his study of kangaroo consumption in the home based on interviews with 28 residents of Wollongong in 2010, specifically noted the absence of kangatarians—then a very new concept. A study of 261 Sydney university students in 2014 found that half had tried kangaroo meat and 10% continued to eat it with any regularity. Only two respondents identified themselves as kangatarian (Grant 14–15). Kangaroo meat advocate Michael Archer declared in 2017 that “there’s an awful lot of very, very smart vegetarians [who] have opted for semi vegetarianism and they’re calling themselves ‘kangatarians’, as they’re quite happy to eat kangaroo meat”, but unless there had been a significant change in a few years, the surveys did not bear out his assertion (154).The ethical calculations around eating kangaroo are complicated by factors beyond the strictly environmental. One Tweeter advised Justin: “‘I’m a kangatarian’ isn’t a pickup line, mate”, and certainly the reception of his declaration could have been very cool, especially as it was delivered to a self declared animal warrior (N’Tash Aha). All of the studies of beliefs and practices around the eating of kangaroo have noted a significant minority of Australians who would not consider eating kangaroo based on issues of animal welfare and animal rights. The 1997 study found that 11% were opposed to the idea of eating kangaroo, while in Grant’s 2014 study, 15% were ethically opposed to eating kangaroo meat (Des Purtell and Associates iv; Grant 14–15). Animal ethics complicate the bargains calculated principally on environmental grounds.These ethical concerns work across several registers. One is around the flesh and blood kangaroo as a charismatic native animal unique to Australia and which Australians have an obligation to respect and nurture. Sheep, cattle and pigs have been subject to longterm propaganda campaigns which entrench the idea that they are unattractive and unintelligent, and veil their transition to meat behind euphemistic language and abattoir walls, making it easier to eat them. Kangaroos are still seen as resourceful and graceful animals, and no linguistic tricks shield consumers from the knowledge that it is a roo on their plate. A proposal in 2009 to market a “coat of arms” emu and kangaroo-flavoured potato chip brought complaints to the Advertising Standards Bureau that this was disrespectful to these native animals, although the flavours were to be simulated and the product vegetarian (Black). Coexisting with this high regard to kangaroos is its antithesis. That is, a valuation of them informed by their designation as a pest in the pastoral industry, and the use of the carcasses of those killed to feed dogs and other companion animals. Appleby identified a visceral, disgust response to the idea of eating kangaroo in many of his informants, including both vegetarians who would not consider eating kangaroo because of their commitment to a plant-based diet, and at least one omnivore who would prefer to give up all meat rather than eat kangaroo. While diametrically opposed, the end point of both positions is that kangaroo meat should not be eaten.A second animal ethics stance relates to the imagined kangaroo, a cultural construct which for most urban Australians is much more present in their lives and likely to shape their actions than the living animals. It is behind the rejection of eating an animal which holds such an iconic place in Australian culture: to the dexter on the 1912 national coat of arms; hopping through the Hundred Acre Wood as Kanga and Roo in A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh children’s books from the 1920s and the Disney movies later made from them; as a boy’s best friend as Skippy the Bush Kangaroo in a fondly remembered 1970s television series; and high in the sky on QANTAS planes. The anthropomorphising of kangaroos permitted the spectacle of the boxing kangaroo from the late nineteenth century. By framing natural kangaroo behaviours as boxing, these exhibitions encouraged an ambiguous understanding of kangaroos as human-like, moving them further from the category of food (Golder and Kirkby). Australian government bodies used this idea of the kangaroo to support food exports to Britain, with kangaroos as cooks or diners rather than ingredients. The Kangaroo Kookery Book of 1932 (see fig. 1 below) portrayed kangaroos as a nuclear family in a suburban kitchen and another official campaign supporting sales of Australian produce in Britain in the 1950s featured a Disney-inspired kangaroo eating apples and chops washed down with wine (“Kangaroo to Be ‘Food Salesman’”). This imagining of kangaroos as human-like has persisted, leading to the opinion expressed in a 2008 focus group, that consuming kangaroo amounted to “‘eating an icon’ … Although they are pests they are still human nature … these are native animals, people and I believe that is a form of cannibalism!” (Ampt and Owen 26). Figure 1: Rather than promoting the eating of kangaroos, the portrayal of kangaroos as a modern suburban family in the Kangaroo Kookery Book (1932) made it unthinkable. (Source: Kangaroo Kookery Book, Director of Australian Trade Publicity, Australia House, London, 1932.)The third layer of ethical objection on the ground of animal welfare is more specific, being directed to the method of killing the kangaroos which become food. Kangaroos are perhaps the only native animals for which state governments set quotas for commercial harvest, on the grounds that they compete with livestock for pasturage and water. In most jurisdictions, commercially harvested kangaroo carcasses can be processed for human consumption, and they are the ones which ultimately appear in supermarket display cases.Kangaroos are killed by professional shooters at night using swivelling spotlights mounted on their vehicles to locate and daze the animals. While clean head shots are the ideal and regulations state that animals should be killed when at rest and without causing “undue agonal struggle”, this is not always achieved and some animals do suffer prolonged deaths (NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption). By regulation, the young of any female kangaroo must be killed along with her. While averting a slow death by neglect, this is considered cruel and wasteful. The hunt has drawn international criticism, including from Greenpeace which organised campaigns against the sale of kangaroo meat in Europe in the 1980s, and Viva! which was successful in securing the withdrawal of kangaroo from sale in British supermarkets (“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised”). These arguments circulate and influence opinion within Australia.A final animal ethics issue is that what is actually behind the push for greater use of kangaroo meat is not concern for the environment or animal welfare but the quest to turn a profit from these animals. The Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia, formed in 1970 to represent those who dealt in the marsupials’ meat, fur and skins, has been a vocal advocate of eating kangaroo and a sponsor of market research into how it can be made more appealing to the market. The Association argued in 1971 that commercial harvest was part of the intelligent conservation of the kangaroo. They sought minimum size regulations to prevent overharvesting and protect their livelihoods (“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation”). The Association’s current website makes the claim that wild harvested “Australian kangaroo meat is among the healthiest, tastiest and most sustainable red meats in the world” (Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia). That this is intended to initiate a new and less controlled branch of the meat industry for the benefit of hunters and processors, rather than foster a shift from sheep or cattle to kangaroos which might serve farmers and the environment, is the opinion of Dr. Louise Boronyak, of the Centre for Compassionate Conservation at the University of Technology Sydney (Boyle 19).Concerns such as these have meant that kangaroo is most consumed where it is least familiar, with most of the meat for human consumption recovered from culled animals being exported to Europe and Asia. Russia has been the largest export market. There, kangaroo meat is made less strange by blending it with other meats and traditional spices to make processed meats, avoiding objections to its appearance and uncertainty around preparation. With only a low profile as a novelty animal in Russia, there are fewer sentimental concerns about consuming kangaroo, although the additional food miles undermine its environmental credentials. The variable acceptability of kangaroo in more distant markets speaks to the role of culture in determining how patterns of eating are formed and can be shifted, or, as Elspeth Probyn phrased it “how natural entities are transformed into commodities within a context of globalisation and local communities”, underlining the impossibility of any straightforward ethics of eating kangaroo (33, 35).Kangatarianism is a neologism which makes the eating of kangaroo meat something it has not been in the past, a voluntary restriction based on environmental ethics. These environmental benefits are well founded and eating kangaroo can be understood as an Anthropocenic bargain struck to allow the continuation of the consumption of red meat while reducing one’s environmental footprint. Although superficially attractive, the numbers entering into this bargain remain small because environmental ethics cannot be disentangled from animal ethics. The anthropomorphising of the kangaroo and its use as a national symbol coexist with its categorisation as a pest and use of its meat as food for companion animals. Both understandings of kangaroos made their meat uneatable for many Australians. Paired with concerns over how kangaroos are killed and the commercialisation of a native species, kangaroo meat has a very mixed reception despite decades of advocacy for eating its meat in favour of that of more harmed and more harmful introduced species. Given these constraints, kangatarianism is unlikely to become widespread and indeed it should be viewed as at best a temporary exigency. As the climate warms and rainfall becomes more erratic, even animals which have evolved to suit Australian conditions will come under increasing pressure, and humans will need to reach Kübler-Ross’ final state of grief: acceptance. In this case, this would mean acceptance that our needs cannot be placed ahead of those of other animals.ReferencesAmpt, Peter, and Kate Owen. Consumer Attitudes to Kangaroo Meat Products. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 2008.Appleby, Bryce. “Skippy the ‘Green’ Kangaroo: Identifying Resistances to Eating Kangaroo in the Home in a Context of Climate Change.” BSc Hons, U of Wollongong, 2010 <http://ro.uow.edu.au/thsci/103>.Archer, Michael. “Zoology on the Table: Plenary Session 4.” Australian Zoologist 39, 1 (2017): 154–60.“Assn. Backs Kangaroo Conservation.” The Beverley Times 26 Feb. 1971: 3. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article202738733>.Barone, Tayissa. “Kangatarians Jump the Divide.” Sydney Morning Herald 9 Feb. 2010. 13 Apr. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/kangatarians-jump-the-divide-20100209-gdtvd8.html>.Black, Rosemary. “Some Australians Angry over Idea for Kangaroo and Emu-Flavored Potato Chips.” New York Daily News 4 Dec. 2009. 5 Feb. 2019 <https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/eats/australians-angry-idea-kangaroo-emu-flavored-potato-chips-article-1.431865>.Boyle, Rhianna. “Eating Skippy.” Big Issue Australia 578 11-24 Jan. 2019: 16–19.Cawthorn, Donna-Mareè, and Louwrens C. Hoffman. “Controversial Cuisine: A Global Account of the Demand, Supply and Acceptance of ‘Unconventional’ and ‘Exotic’ Meats.” Meat Science 120 (2016): 26–7.Conservation of Kangaroos. Melbourne: Australian Conservation Foundation, 1970.Des Purtell and Associates. Improving Consumer Perceptions of Kangaroo Products: A Survey and Report. Canberra: Rural Industries Research and Development Corporation, 1997.Ellicott, John. “Little Pay Incentive for Shooters to Join Kangaroo Meat Industry.” The Land 15 Mar. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.theland.com.au/story/5285265/top-roo-shooter-says-harvesting-is-a-low-paid-job/>.Garnaut, Ross. Garnaut Climate Change Review. 2008. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.garnautreview.org.au/index.htm>.Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2012.Golder, Hilary, and Diane Kirkby. “Mrs. Mayne and Her Boxing Kangaroo: A Married Woman Tests Her Property Rights in Colonial New South Wales.” Law and History Review 21.3 (2003): 585–605.Grant, Elisabeth. “Sustainable Kangaroo Harvesting: Perceptions and Consumption of Kangaroo Meat among University Students in New South Wales.” Independent Study Project (ISP). U of NSW, 2014. <https://digitalcollections.sit.edu/isp_collection/1755>.Haslam, Nick. “The Five Stages of Grief Don’t Come in Fixed Steps – Everyone Feels Differently.” The Conversation 22 Oct. 2018. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://theconversation.com/the-five-stages-of-grief-dont-come-in-fixed-steps-everyone-feels-differently-96111>.Head, Lesley. “The Anthropoceans.” Geographical Research 53.3 (2015): 313–20.Kangaroo Industries Association of Australia. Kangaroo Meat. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://www.kangarooindustry.com/products/meat/>.“Kangaroo Meat Sales Criticised.” The Canberra Times 13 Sep. 1984: 14. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article136915919>.“Kangaroo to Be Food ‘Salesman.’” Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners’ Advocate, 2 Dec. 1954. 22 Feb 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article134089767>.Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Death and Dying: What the Dying Have to Teach Doctors, Nurses, Clergy, and their own Families. New York: Touchstone, 1997.Jackson, Stephen, and Karl Vernes. Kangaroo: Portrait of an Extraordinary Marsupial. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2010.Lappé, Frances Moore. Diet for a Small Planet. New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.N’Tash Aha (@Nsvasey). “‘I’m a Kangatarian’ isn’t a Pickup Line, Mate. #LoveIslandAU.” Twitter post. 27 May 2018. 5 Apr. 2019 <https://twitter.com/Nsvasey/status/1000697124122644480>.“NSW Code of Practice for Kangaroo Meat for Human Consumption.” Government Gazette of the State of New South Wales 24 Mar. 1993. 22 Feb. 2019 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page14638033>.Oxford University Press, Australia and New Zealand. Word of the Month. June 2017. <https://www.oup.com.au/dictionaries/word-of-the-month>.Pascoe, Bruce. Dark Emu, Black Seeds: Agriculture or Accident? Broome: Magabala Books, 2014.Probyn, Elspeth. “Eating Roo: Of Things That Become Food.” New Formations 74.1 (2011): 33–45.Steinfeld, Henning, Pierre Gerber, Tom Wassenaar, Vicent Castel, Mauricio Rosales, and Cees d Haan. Livestock’s Long Shadow: Environmental Issues and Options. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, 2006.Trust Nature. Essence of Kangaroo Capsules. 26 Feb. 2019 <http://ncpro.com.au/products/all-products/item/88139-essence-of-kangaroo-35000>.Victoria Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning. Kangaroo Pet Food Trial. 28 Mar. 2019 <https://www.wildlife.vic.gov.au/managing-wildlife/wildlife-management-and-control-authorisations/kangaroo-pet-food-trial>.Willett, Walter, et al. “Food in the Anthropocene: The EAT–Lancet Commission on Healthy Diets from Sustainable Food Systems.” The Lancet 16 Jan. 2019. 26 Feb. 2019 <https://www.thelancet.com/commissions/EAT>.Wilson, George. “Kangaroos Can Be an Asset Rather than a Pest.” Australasian Science 39.1 (2018): 39.Zukerman, Wendy. “Eating Skippy: The Future of Kangaroo Meat.” New Scientist 208.2781 (2010): 42–5.
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Pavlidis, Adele, and David Rowe. "The Sporting Bubble as Gilded Cage." M/C Journal 24, no. 1 (March 15, 2021). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2736.
Повний текст джерелаАнотація:
Introduction: Bubbles and Sport The ephemeral materiality of bubbles – beautiful, spectacular, and distracting but ultimately fragile – when applied to protect or conserve in the interests of sport-media profit, creates conditions that exacerbate existing inequalities in sport and society. Bubbles are usually something to watch, admire, and chase after in their brief yet shiny lives. There is supposed to be, technically, nothing inside them other than one or more gasses, and yet we constantly refer to people and objects being inside bubbles. The metaphor of the bubble has been used to describe the life of celebrities, politicians in purpose-built capital cities like Canberra, and even leftist, environmentally activist urban dwellers. The metaphorical and material qualities of bubbles are aligned—they cannot be easily captured and are liable to change at any time. In this article we address the metaphorical sporting bubble, which is often evoked in describing life in professional sport. This is a vernacular term used to capture and condemn the conditions of life of elite sportspeople (usually men), most commonly after there has been a sport-related scandal, especially of a sexual nature (Rowe). It is frequently paired with connotatively loaded adjectives like pampered and indulged. The sporting bubble is rarely interrogated in academic literature, the concept largely being left to the media and moral entrepreneurs. It is represented as involving a highly privileged but also pressurised life for those who live inside it. A sporting bubble is a world constructed for its most prized inhabitants that enables them to be protected from insurgents and to set the terms of their encounters with others, especially sport fans and disciplinary agents of the state. The Covid-19 pandemic both reinforced and reconfigured the operational concept of the bubble, re-arranging tensions between safety (protecting athletes) and fragility (short careers, risks of injury, etc.) for those within, while safeguarding those without from bubble contagion. Privilege and Precarity Bubble-induced social isolation, critics argue, encourages a loss of perspective among those under its protection, an entitled disconnection from the usual rules and responsibilities of everyday life. For this reason, the denizens of the sporting bubble are seen as being at risk to themselves and, more troublingly, to those allowed temporarily to penetrate it, especially young women who are first exploited by and then ejected from it (Benedict). There are many well-documented cases of professional male athletes “behaving badly” and trying to rely on institutional status and various versions of the sporting bubble for shelter (Flood and Dyson; Reel and Crouch; Wade). In the age of mobile and social media, it is increasingly difficult to keep misbehaviour in-house, resulting in a slew of media stories about, for example, drunkenness and sexual misconduct, such as when then-Sydney Roosters co-captain Mitchell Pearce was suspended and fined in 2016 after being filmed trying to force an unwanted kiss on a woman and then simulating a lewd act with her dog while drunk. There is contestation between those who condemn such behaviour as aberrant and those who regard it as the conventional expression of youthful masculinity as part of the familiar “boys will be boys” dictum. The latter naturalise an inequitable gender order, frequently treating sportsmen as victims of predatory women, and ignoring asymmetries of power between men and women, especially in homosocial environments (Toffoletti). For those in the sporting bubble (predominantly elite sportsmen and highly paid executives, also mostly men, with an array of service staff of both sexes moving in and out of it), life is reflected for those being protected via an array of screens (small screens in homes and indoor places of entertainment, and even smaller screens on theirs and others’ phones, as well as huge screens at sport events). These male sport stars are paid handsomely to use their skill and strength to perform for the sporting codes, their every facial expression and bodily action watched by the media and relayed to audiences. This is often a precarious existence, the usually brief career of an athlete worker being dependent on health, luck, age, successful competition with rivals, networks, and club and coach preferences. There is a large, aspirational reserve army of athletes vying to play at the elite level, despite risks of injury and invasive, life-changing medical interventions. Responsibility for avoiding performance and image enhancing drugs (PIEDs) also weighs heavily on their shoulders (Connor). Professional sportspeople, in their more reflective moments, know that their time in the limelight will soon be up, meaning that getting a ticket to the sporting bubble, even for a short time, can make all the difference to their post-sport lives and those of their families. The most vulnerable of the small minority of participants in sport who make a good, short-term living from it are those for whom, in the absence of quality education and prior social status, it is their sole likely means of upward social mobility (Spaaij). Elite sport performers are surrounded by minders, doctors, fitness instructors, therapists, coaches, advisors and other service personnel, all supporting athletes to stay focussed on and maximise performance quality to satisfy co-present crowds, broadcasters, sponsors, sports bodies and mass media audiences. The shield offered by the sporting bubble supports the teleological win-at-all-costs mentality of professional sport. The stakes are high, with athlete and executive salaries, sponsorships and broadcasting deals entangled in a complex web of investments in keeping the “talent” pivotal to the “attention economy” (Davenport and Beck)—the players that provide the content for sale—in top form. Yet, the bubble cannot be entirely secured and poor behaviour or performance can have devastating effects, including permanent injury or disability, mental illness and loss of reputation (Rowe, “Scandals and Sport”). Given this fragile materiality of the sporting bubble, it is striking that, in response to the sudden shutdown following the economic and health crisis caused by the 2020 global pandemic, the leaders of professional sport decided to create more of them and seek to seal the metaphorical and material space with unprecedented efficiency. The outcome was a multi-sided tale of mobility, confinement, capital, labour, and the gendering of sport and society. The Covid-19 Gilded Cage Sociologists such as Zygmunt Bauman and John Urry have analysed the socio-politics of mobilities, whereby some people in the world, such as tourists, can traverse the globe at their leisure, while others remain fixed in geographical space because they lack the means to be mobile or, in contrast, are involuntarily displaced by war, so-called “ethnic cleansing”, famine, poverty or environmental degradation. The Covid-19 global pandemic re-framed these matters of mobilities (Rowe, “Subjecting Pandemic Sport”), with conventional moving around—between houses, businesses, cities, regions and countries—suddenly subjected to the imperative to be static and, in perniciously unreflective technocratic discourse, “socially distanced” (when what was actually meant was to be “physically distanced”). The late-twentieth century analysis of the “risk society” by Ulrich Beck, in which the mysterious consequences of humans’ predation on their environment are visited upon them with terrifying force, was dramatically realised with the coming of Covid-19. In another iteration of the metaphor, it burst the bubble of twenty-first century global sport. What we today call sport was formed through the process of sportisation (Maguire), whereby hyper-local, folk physical play was reconfigured as multi-spatial industrialised sport in modernity, becoming increasingly reliant on individual athletes and teams travelling across the landscape and well over the horizon. Co-present crowds were, in turn, overshadowed in the sport economy when sport events were taken to much larger, dispersed audiences via the media, especially in broadcast mode (Nicholson, Kerr, and Sherwood). This lucrative mediation of professional sport, though, came with an unforgiving obligation to generate an uninterrupted supply of spectacular live sport content. The pandemic closed down most sports events and those that did take place lacked the crucial participation of the co-present crowd to provide the requisite event atmosphere demanded by those viewers accustomed to a sense of occasion. Instead, they received a strange spectacle of sport performers operating in empty “cathedrals”, often with a “faked” crowd presence. The mediated sport spectacle under the pandemic involved cardboard cut-out and sex doll spectators, Zoom images of fans on large screens, and sampled sounds of the crowd recycled from sport video games. Confected co-presence produced simulacra of the “real” as Baudrillardian visions came to life. The sporting bubble had become even more remote. For elite sportspeople routinely isolated from the “common people”, the live sport encounter offered some sensory experience of the social – the sounds, sights and even smells of the crowd. Now the sporting bubble closed in on an already insulated and insular existence. It exposed the irony of the bubble as a sign of both privileged mobility and incarcerated athlete work, both refuge and prison. Its logic of contagion also turned a structure intended to protect those inside from those outside into, as already observed, a mechanism to manage the threat of insiders to outsiders. In Australia, as in many other countries, the populace was enjoined by governments and health authorities to help prevent the spread of Covid-19 through isolation and immobility. There were various exceptions, principally those classified as essential workers, a heterogeneous cohort ranging from supermarket shelf stackers to pharmacists. People in the cultural, leisure and sports industries, including musicians, actors, and athletes, were not counted among this crucial labour force. Indeed, the performing arts (including dance, theatre and music) were put on ice with quite devastating effects on the livelihoods and wellbeing of those involved. So, with all major sports shut down (the exception being horse racing, which received the benefit both of government subsidies and expanding online gambling revenue), sport organisations began to represent themselves as essential services that could help sustain collective mental and even spiritual wellbeing. This case was made most aggressively by Australian Rugby League Commission Chairman, Peter V’landys, in contending that “an Australia without rugby league is not Australia”. In similar vein, prominent sport and media figure Phil Gould insisted, when describing rugby league fans in Western Sydney’s Penrith, “they’re lost, because the football’s not on … . It holds their families together. People don’t understand that … . Their life begins in the second week of March, and it ends in October”. Despite misgivings about public safety and equality before the pandemic regime, sporting bubbles were allowed to form, re-form and circulate. The indefinite shutdown of the National Rugby League (NRL) on 23 March 2020 was followed after negotiation between multiple entities by its reopening on 28 May 2020. The competition included a team from another nation-state (the Warriors from Aotearoa/New Zealand) in creating an international sporting bubble on the Central Coast of New South Wales, separating them from their families and friends across the Tasman Sea. Appeals to the mental health of fans and the importance of the NRL to myths of “Australianness” notwithstanding, the league had not prudently maintained a financial reserve and so could not afford to shut down for long. Significant gambling revenue for leagues like the NRL and Australian Football League (AFL) also influenced the push to return to sport business as usual. Sport contests were needed in order to exploit the gambling opportunities – especially online and mobile – stimulated by home “confinement”. During the coronavirus lockdowns, Australians’ weekly spending on gambling went up by 142 per cent, and the NRL earned significantly more than usual from gambling revenue—potentially $10 million above forecasts for 2020. Despite the clear financial imperative at play, including heavy reliance on gambling, sporting bubble-making involved special licence. The state of Queensland, which had pursued a hard-line approach by closing its borders for most of those wishing to cross them for biographical landmark events like family funerals and even for medical treatment in border communities, became “the nation's sporting hub”. Queensland became the home of most teams of the men’s AFL (notably the women’s AFLW season having been cancelled) following a large Covid-19 second wave in Melbourne. The women’s National Netball League was based exclusively in Queensland. This state, which for the first time hosted the AFL Grand Final, deployed sport as a tool in both national sports tourism marketing and internal pre-election politics, sponsoring a documentary, The Sporting Bubble 2020, via its Tourism and Events arm. While Queensland became the larger bubble incorporating many other sporting bubbles, both the AFL and the NRL had versions of the “fly in, fly out” labour rhythms conventionally associated with the mining industry in remote and regional areas. In this instance, though, the bubble experience did not involve long stays in miners’ camps or even the one-night hotel stopovers familiar to the popular music and sport industries. Here, the bubble moved, usually by plane, to fulfil the requirements of a live sport “gig”, whereupon it was immediately returned to its more solid bubble hub or to domestic self-isolation. In the space created between disciplined expectation and deplored non-compliance, the sporting bubble inevitably became the scrutinised object and subject of scandal. Sporting Bubble Scandals While people with a very low risk of spreading Covid-19 (coming from areas with no active cases) were denied entry to Queensland for even the most serious of reasons (for example, the death of a child), images of AFL players and their families socialising and enjoying swimming at the Royal Pines Resort sporting bubble crossed our screens. Yet, despite their (players’, officials’ and families’) relative privilege and freedom of movement under the AFL Covid-Safe Plan, some players and others inside the bubble were involved in “scandals”. Most notable was the case of a drunken brawl outside a Gold Coast strip club which led to two Richmond players being “banished”, suspended for 10 matches, and the club fined $100,000. But it was not only players who breached Covid-19 bubble protocols: Collingwood coaches Nathan Buckley and Brenton Sanderson paid the $50,000 fine imposed on the club for playing tennis in Perth outside their bubble, while Richmond was fined $45,000 after Brooke Cotchin, wife of team captain Trent, posted an image to Instagram of a Gold Coast day spa that she had visited outside the “hub” (the institutionally preferred term for bubble). She was subsequently distressed after being trolled. Also of concern was the lack of physical distancing, and the range of people allowed into the sporting bubble, including babysitters, grandparents, and swimming coaches (for children). There were other cases of players being caught leaving the bubble to attend parties and sharing videos of their “antics” on social media. Biosecurity breaches of bubbles by players occurred relatively frequently, with stern words from both the AFL and NRL leaders (and their clubs) and fines accumulating in the thousands of dollars. Some people were also caught sneaking into bubbles, with Lekahni Pearce, the girlfriend of Swans player Elijah Taylor, stating that it was easy in Perth, “no security, I didn’t see a security guard” (in Barron, Stevens, and Zaczek) (a month later, outside the bubble, they had broken up and he pled guilty to unlawfully assaulting her; Ramsey). Flouting the rules, despite stern threats from government, did not lead to any bubble being popped. The sport-media machine powering sporting bubbles continued to run, the attendant emotional or health risks accepted in the name of national cultural therapy, while sponsorship, advertising and gambling revenue continued to accumulate mostly for the benefit of men. Gendering Sporting Bubbles Designed as biosecurity structures to maintain the supply of media-sport content, keep players and other vital cogs of the machine running smoothly, and to exclude Covid-19, sporting bubbles were, in their most advanced form, exclusive luxury camps that illuminated the elevated socio-cultural status of sportsmen. The ongoing inequalities between men’s and women’s sport in Australia and around the world were clearly in evidence, as well as the politics of gender whereby women are obliged to “care” and men are enabled to be “careless” – or at least to manage carefully their “duty of care”. In Australia, the only sport for women that continued during the height of the Covid-19 lockdown was netball, which operated in a bubble that was one of sacrifice rather than privilege. With minimum salaries of only $30,000 – significantly less than the lowest-paid “rookies” in the AFL – and some being mothers of small children and/or with professional jobs juggled alongside their netball careers, these elite sportswomen wanted to continue to play despite the personal inconvenience or cost (Pavlidis). Not one breach of the netballers out of the bubble was reported, indicating that they took their responsibilities with appropriate seriousness and, perhaps, were subjected to less scrutiny than the sportsmen accustomed to attracting front-page headlines. National Netball League (also known after its Queensland-based naming rights sponsor as Suncorp Super Netball) players could be regarded as fortunate to have the opportunity to be in a bubble and to participate in their competition. The NRL Women’s (NRLW) Premiership season was also completed, but only involved four teams subject to fly in, fly out and bubble arrangements, and being played in so-called curtain-raiser games for the NRL. As noted earlier, the AFLW season was truncated, despite all the prior training and sacrifice required of its players. Similarly, because of their resource advantages, the UK men’s and boy’s top six tiers of association football were allowed to continue during lockdown, compared to only two for women and girls. In the United States, inequalities between men’s and women’s sports were clearly demonstrated by the conditions afforded to those elite sportswomen inside the Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) sport bubble in the IMG Academy in Florida. Players shared photos of rodent traps in their rooms, insect traps under their mattresses, inedible food and blocked plumbing in their bubble accommodation. These conditions were a far cry from the luxury usually afforded elite sportsmen, including in Florida’s Walt Disney World for the men’s NBA, and is just one of the many instances of how gendered inequality was both reproduced and exacerbated by Covid-19. Bursting the Bubble As we have seen, governments and corporate leaders in sport were able to create material and metaphorical bubbles during the Covid-19 lockdown in order to transmit stadium sport contests into home spaces. The rationale was the importance of sport to national identity, belonging and the routines and rhythms of life. But for whom? Many women, who still carry the major responsibilities of “care”, found that Covid-19 intensified the affective relations and gendered inequities of “home” as a leisure site (Fullagar and Pavlidis). Rates of domestic violence surged, and many women experienced significant anxiety and depression related to the stress of home confinement and home schooling. During the pandemic, women were also more likely to experience the stress and trauma of being first responders, witnessing virus-related sickness and death as the majority of nurses and care workers. They also bore the brunt of much of the economic and employment loss during this time. Also, as noted above, livelihoods in the arts and cultural sector did not receive the benefits of the “bubble”, despite having a comparable claim to sport in contributing significantly to societal wellbeing. This sector’s workforce is substantially female, although men dominate its senior roles. Despite these inequalities, after the late March to May hiatus, many elite male sportsmen – and some sportswomen - operated in a bubble. Moving in and out of them was not easy. Life inside could be mentally stressful (especially in long stays of up to 150 days in sports like cricket), and tabloid and social media troll punishment awaited those who were caught going “over the fence”. But, life in the sporting bubble was generally preferable to the daily realities of those afflicted by the trauma arising from forced home confinement, and for whom watching moving sports images was scant compensation for compulsory immobility. The ethical foundation of the sparkly, ephemeral fantasy of the sporting bubble is questionable when it is placed in the service of a voracious “media sports cultural complex” (Rowe, Global Media Sport) that consumes sport labour power and rolls back progress in gender relations as a default response to a global pandemic. Covid-19 dramatically highlighted social inequalities in many areas of life, including medical care, work, and sport. For the small minority of people involved in sport who are elite professionals, the only thing worse than being in a sporting bubble during the pandemic was not being in one, as being outside precluded their participation. Being inside the bubble was a privilege, albeit a dubious one. But, as in wider society, not all sporting bubbles are created equal. Some are more opulent than others, and the experiences of the supporting and the supported can be very different. The surface of the sporting bubble may be impermanent, but when its interior is opened up to scrutiny, it reveals some very durable structures of inequality. Bubbles are made to burst. They are, by nature, temporary, translucent structures created as spectacles. As a form of luminosity, bubbles “allow a thing or object to exist only as a flash, sparkle or shimmer” (Deleuze, 52). In echoing Deleuze, Angela McRobbie (54) argues that luminosity “softens and disguises the regulative dynamics of neoliberal society”. The sporting bubble was designed to discharge that function for those millions rendered immobile by home confinement legislation in Australia and around the world, who were having to deal with the associated trauma, risk and disadvantage. 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Chavdarov, Anatoliy V. "Special Issue No. – 10, June, 2020 Journal > Special Issue > Special Issue No. – 10, June, 2020 > Page 5 “Quantative Methods in Modern Science” organized by Academic Paper Ltd, Russia MORPHOLOGICAL AND ANATOMICAL FEATURES OF THE GENUS GAGEA SALISB., GROWING IN THE EAST KAZAKHSTAN REGION Authors: Zhamal T. Igissinova,Almash A. Kitapbayeva,Anargul S. Sharipkhanova,Alexander L. Vorobyev,Svetlana F. Kolosova,Zhanat K. Idrisheva, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00041 Abstract: Due to ecological preferences among species of the genus GageaSalisb, many plants are qualified as rare and/or endangered. Therefore, the problem of rational use of natural resources, in particular protection of early spring plant species is very important. However, literary sources analysis only reveals data on the biology of species of this genus. The present research,conducted in the spring of 2017-2019, focuses on anatomical and morphological features of two Altai species: Gagealutea and Gagea minima; these features were studied, clarified and confirmed by drawings and photographs. The anatomical structure of the stem and leaf blade was studied in detail. The obtained research results will prove useful for studies of medicinal raw materials and honey plants. The aforementioned species are similar in morphological features, yet G. minima issmaller in size, and its shoots appear earlier than those of other species Keywords: Flora,gageas,Altai species,vegetative organs., Refference: I. Atlas of areas and resources of medicinal plants of Kazakhstan.Almaty, 2008. II. Baitenov M.S. Flora of Kazakhstan.Almaty: Ġylym, 2001. III. DanilevichV. G. ThegenusGageaSalisb. of WesternTienShan. PhD Thesis, St. Petersburg,1996. IV. EgeubaevaR.A., GemedzhievaN.G. The current state of stocks of medicinal plants in some mountain ecosystems of Kazakhstan.Proceedings of the international scientific conference ‘”Results and prospects for the development of botanical science in Kazakhstan’, 2002. V. Kotukhov Yu.A. New species of the genus Gagea (Liliaceae) from Southern Altai. Bot. Journal.1989;74(11). VI. KotukhovYu.A. ListofvascularplantsofKazakhstanAltai. Botan. Researches ofSiberiaandKazakhstan.2005;11. VII. KotukhovYu. The current state of populations of rare and endangered plants in Eastern Kazakhstan. Almaty: AST, 2009. VIII. Kotukhov Yu.A., DanilovaA.N., AnufrievaO.A. Synopsisoftheonions (AlliumL.) oftheKazakhstanAltai, Sauro-ManrakandtheZaisandepression. BotanicalstudiesofSiberiaandKazakhstan. 2011;17: 3-33. IX. Kotukhov, Yu.A., Baytulin, I.O. Rareandendangered, endemicandrelictelementsofthefloraofKazakhstanAltai. MaterialsoftheIntern. scientific-practical. conf. ‘Sustainablemanagementofprotectedareas’.Almaty: Ridder, 2010. X. Krasnoborov I.M. et al. The determinant of plants of the Republic of Altai. Novosibirsk: SB RAS, 2012. XI. Levichev I.G. On the species status of Gagea Rubicunda. Botanical Journal.1997;6:71-76. XII. Levichev I.G. A new species of the genus Gagea (Liliaceae). Botanical Journal. 2000;7: 186-189. XIII. Levichev I.G., Jangb Chang-gee, Seung Hwan Ohc, Lazkovd G.A.A new species of genus GageaSalisb.(Liliaceae) from Kyrgyz Republic (Western Tian Shan, Chatkal Range, Sary-Chelek Nature Reserve). Journal of Asia-Pacific Biodiversity.2019; 12: 341-343. XIV. Peterson A., Levichev I.G., Peterson J. Systematics of Gagea and Lloydia (Liliaceae) and infrageneric classification of Gagea based on molecular and morphological data. Molecular Phylogenetics and Evolution.2008; 46. XV. Peruzzi L., Peterson A., Tison J.-M., Peterson J. Phylogenetic relationships of GageaSalisb.(Liliaceae) in Italy, inferred from molecular and morphological data matrices. Plant Systematics and Evolution; 2008: 276. XVI. Rib R.D. Honey plants of Kazakhstan. Advertising Digest, 2013. XVII. Scherbakova L.I., Shirshikova N.A. Flora of medicinal plants in the vicinity of Ust-Kamenogorsk. Collection of materials of the scientific-practical conference ‘Unity of Education, Science and Innovation’. Ust-Kamenogorsk: EKSU, 2011. XVIII. syganovA.P. PrimrosesofEastKazakhstan. Ust-Kamenogorsk: EKSU, 2001. XIX. Tsyganov A.P. Flora and vegetation of the South Altai Tarbagatay. Berlin: LAP LAMBERT,2014. XX. Utyasheva, T.R., Berezovikov, N.N., Zinchenko, Yu.K. ProceedingsoftheMarkakolskStateNatureReserve. Ust-Kamenogorsk, 2009. XXI. Xinqi C, Turland NJ. Gagea. Flora of China.2000;24: 117-121. XXII. Zarrei M., Zarre S., Wilkin P., Rix E.M. Systematic revision of the genus GageaSalisb. (Liliaceae) in Iran.BotJourn Linn Soc.2007;154. XXIII. Zarrei M., Wilkin P., Ingroille M.J., Chase M.W. A revised infrageneric classification for GageaSalisb. (Tulipeae; Liliaceae): insights from DNA sequence and morphological data.Phytotaxa.2011:5. View | Download INFLUENCE OF SUCCESSION CROPPING ON ECONOMIC EFFICIENCY OF NO-TILL CROP ROTATIONS Authors: Victor K. Dridiger,Roman S. Stukalov,Rasul G. Gadzhiumarov,Anastasiya A. Voropaeva,Viktoriay A. Kolomytseva, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00042 Abstract: This study was aimed at examining the influence of succession cropping on the economic efficiency of no-till field crop rotations on the black earth in the zone of unstable moistening of the Stavropol krai. A long-term stationary experiment was conducted to examine for the purpose nine field crop rotation patterns different in the number of fields (four to six), set of crops, and their succession in crop rotation. The respective shares of legumes, oilseeds, and cereals in the cropping pattern were 17 to 33, 17 to 40, and 50 to 67 %. It has been established that in case of no-till field crop cultivation the economic efficiency of plant production depends on the set of crops and their succession in rotation. The most economically efficient type of crop rotation is the soya-winter wheat-peas-winter wheat-sunflower-corn six-field rotation with two fields of legumes: in this rotation 1 ha of crop rotation area yields 3 850 grain units per ha at a grain unit prime cost of 5.46 roubles; the plant production output return and profitability were 20,888 roubles per ha and 113 %, respectively. The high production profitabilities provided by the soya-winter wheat-sunflower four-field and the soya-winter-wheat-sunflower-corn-winter wheat five-field crop rotation are 108.7 and 106.2 %, respectively. The inclusion of winter wheat in crop rotation for two years in a row reduces the second winter wheat crop yield by 80 to 100 %, which means a certain reduction in the grain unit harvesting rate to 3.48-3.57 thousands per ha of rotation area and cuts the production profitability down to 84.4-92.3 %. This is why, no-till cropping should not include winter wheat for a second time Keywords: No-till technology,crop rotation,predecessor,yield,return,profitability, Refference: I Badakhova G. Kh. and Knutas A. V., Stavropol Krai: Modern Climate Conditions [Stavropol’skiykray: sovremennyyeklimaticheskiyeusloviya]. Stavropol: SUE Krai Communication Networks, 2007. II Cherkasov G. N. and Akimenko A. S. Scientific Basis of Modernization of Crop Rotations and Formation of Their Systems according to the Specializations of Farms in the Central Chernozem Region [Osnovy moderniz atsiisevooborotoviformirovaniyaikh sistem v sootvetstvii so spetsi-alizatsiyeykhozyaystvTsentral’nogoChernozem’ya]. Zemledelie. 2017; 4: 3-5. III Decree 330 of July 6, 2017 the Ministry of Agriculture of Russia “On Approving Coefficients of Converting to Agricultural Crops to Grain Units [Ob utverzhdeniikoeffitsiyentovperevoda v zernovyyee dinitsysel’s kokhozyaystvennykhkul’tur]. IV Dridiger V. K., About Methods of Research of No-Till Technology [O metodikeissledovaniytekhnologii No-till]//Achievements of Science and Technology of AIC (Dostizheniyanaukiitekhniki APK). 2016; 30 (4): 30-32. V Dridiger V. K. and Gadzhiumarov R. G. Growth, Development, and Productivity of Soya Beans Cultivated On No-Till Technology in the Zone of Unstable Moistening of Stavropol Region [Rost, razvitiyeiproduktivnost’ soiprivozdelyvaniipotekhnologii No-till v zone ne-ustoychivog ouvlazhneniyaStavropol’skogokraya]//Oil Crops RTBVNIIMK (Maslichnyyekul’turyNTBVNIIMK). 2018; 3 (175): 52–57. VI Dridiger V. K., Godunova E. I., Eroshenko F. V., Stukalov R. S., Gadzhiumarov, R. G., Effekt of No-till Technology on erosion resistance, the population of earthworms and humus content in soil (Vliyaniyetekhnologii No-till naprotivoerozionnuyuustoychivost’, populyatsiyudozhdevykhcherveyisoderzhaniyegumusa v pochve)//Research Journal of Pharmaceutical, Biological and Chemical Sciences. 2018; 9 (2): 766-770. VII Karabutov A. P., Solovichenko V. D., Nikitin V. V. et al., Reproduction of Soil Fertility, Productivity and Energy Efficiency of Crop Rotations [Vosproizvodstvoplodorodiyapochv, produktivnost’ ienergeticheskayaeffektivnost’ sevooborotov]. Zemledelie. 2019; 2: 3-7. VIII Kulintsev V. V., Dridiger V. K., Godunova E. I., Kovtun V. I., Zhukova M. P., Effekt of No-till Technology on The Available Moisture Content and Soil Density in The Crop Rotation [Vliyaniyetekhnologii No-till nasoderzhaniyedostupnoyvlagiiplotnost’ pochvy v sevoob-orote]// Research Journal of Pharmaceutical, Biological and Chemical Sciences. 2017; 8 (6): 795-99. IX Kulintsev V. V., Godunova E. I., Zhelnakova L. I. et al., Next-Gen Agriculture System for Stavropol Krai: Monograph [SistemazemledeliyanovogopokoleniyaStavropol’skogokraya: Monogtafiya]. Stavropol: AGRUS Publishers, Stavropol State Agrarian University, 2013. X Lessiter Frank, 29 reasons why many growers are harvesting higher no-till yields in their fields than some university scientists find in research plots//No-till Farmer. 2015; 44 (2): 8. XI Rodionova O. A. Reproduction and Exchange-Distributive Relations in Farming Entities [Vosproizvodstvoiobmenno-raspredelitel’nyyeotnosheniya v sel’skokhozyaystvennykhorganizatsiyakh]//Economy, Labour, and Control in Agriculture (Ekonomika, trud, upravleniye v sel’skomkhozyaystve). 2010; 1 (2): 24-27. XII Sandu I. S., Svobodin V. A., Nechaev V. I., Kosolapova M. V., and Fedorenko V. F., Agricultural Production Efficiency: Recommended Practices [Effektivnost’ sel’skokhozyaystvennogoproizvodstva (metodicheskiyerekomendatsii)]. Moscow: Rosinforagrotech, 2013. XIII Sotchenko V. S. Modern Corn Cultivation Technologies [Sovremennayatekhnologiyavozdelyvaniya]. Moscow: Rosagrokhim, 2009. View | Download DEVELOPMENT AND TESTING OF AUTONOMOUS PORTABLE SEISMOMETER DESIGNED FOR USE AT ULTRALOW TEMPERATURES IN ARCTIC ENVIRONMENT Authors: Mikhail A. Abaturov,Yuriy V. Sirotinskiy, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00043 Abstract: This paper is concerned with solving one of the issues of the general problem of designing geophysical equipment for the natural climatic environment of the Arctic. The relevance of the topic has to do with an increased global interest in this region. The paper is aimed at considering the basic principles of developing and the procedure of testing seismic instruments for use at ultralow climatic temperatures. In this paper the indicated issue is considered through the example of a seismic module designed for petroleum and gas exploration by passive seismoacoustic methods. The seismic module is a direct-burial portable unit of around 5 kg in weight, designed to continuously measure and record microseismic triaxial orthogonal (ZNE) noise in a range from 0.1 to 45 Hz during several days in autonomous mode. The functional chart of designing the seismic module was considered, and concrete conclusions were made for choosing the necessary components to meet the ultralow-temperature operational requirements. The conclusions made served for developing appropriate seismic module. In this case, the components and tools used included a SAFT MP 176065 xc low-temperature lithium cell, industrial-spec electronic component parts, a Zhaofeng Geophysical ZF-4.5 Chinese primary electrodynamic seismic sensor, housing seal parts made of frost-resistant silicone materials, and finely dispersed silica gel used as water-retaining sorbent to avoid condensation in the housing. The paper also describes a procedure of low-temperature collation tests at the lab using a New Brunswick Scientific freezing plant. The test results proved the operability of the developed equipment at ultralow temperatures down to -55°C. In addition, tests were conducted at low microseismic noises in the actual Arctic environment. The possibility to detect signals in a range from 1 to 10 Hz at the level close to the NLNM limit (the Peterson model) has been confirmed, which allows monitoring and exploring petroleum and gas deposits by passive methods. As revealed by this study, the suggested approaches are efficient in developing high-precision mobile seismic instruments for use at ultralow climatic temperatures. The solution of the considered instrumentation and methodical issues is of great practical significance as a constituent of the generic problem of Arctic exploration. Keywords: Seismic instrumentation,microseismic monitoring,Peterson model,geological exploration,temperature ratings,cooling test, Refference: I. AD797: Ultralow Distortion, Ultralow Noise Op Amp, Analog Devices, Inc., Data Sheet (Rev. K). Analog Devices, Inc. URL: https://www.analog.com/media/en/technical-documentation/data-sheets/AD797.pdf(Date of access September 2, 2019). II. Agafonov, V. M., Egorov, I. V., and Shabalina, A. S. Operating Principles and Technical Characteristics of a Small-Sized Molecular–Electronic Seismic Sensor with Negative Feedback [Printsipyraboty I tekhnicheskiyekharakteristikimalogabaritnogomolekulyarno-elektronnogoseysmodatchika s otritsatel’noyobratnoysvyaz’yu]. SeysmicheskiyePribory (Seismic Instruments). 2014; 50 (1): 1–8. DOI: 10.3103/S0747923914010022. III. Antonovskaya, G., Konechnaya, Ya.,Kremenetskaya, E., Asming, V., Kvaema, T., Schweitzer, J., Ringdal, F. Enhanced Earthquake Monitoring in the European Arctic. Polar Science. 2015; 1 (9): 158-167. 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View | Download COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF RESULTS OF TREATMENT OF PATIENTS WITH FOOT PATHOLOGY WHO UNDERWENT WEIL OPEN OSTEOTOMY BY CLASSICAL METHOD AND WITHOUT STEOSYNTHESIS Authors: Yuriy V. Lartsev,Dmitrii A. Rasputin,Sergey D. Zuev-Ratnikov,Pavel V.Ryzhov,Dmitry S. Kudashev,Anton A. Bogdanov, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00044 Abstract: The article considers the problem of surgical correction of the second metatarsal bone length. The article analyzes the results of treatment of patients with excess length of the second metatarsal bones that underwent osteotomy with and without osteosynthesis. The results of treatment of patients who underwent metatarsal shortening due to classical Weil-osteotomy with and without osteosynthesis were analyzed. The first group consisted of 34 patients. They underwent classical Weil osteotomy. The second group included 44 patients in whomosteotomy of the second metatarsal bone were not by the screw. When studying the results of the treatment in the immediate postoperative period, weeks 6, 12, slightly better results were observed in patients of the first group, while one year after surgical treatment the results in both groups were comparable. One year after surgical treatment, there were 2.9% (1 patient) of unsatisfactory results in the first group and 4.5% (2 patients) in the second group. Considering the comparability of the results of treatment in remote postoperative period, the choice of concrete method remains with the operating surgeon. Keywords: Flat feet,hallux valgus,corrective osteotomy,metatarsal bones, Refference: I. A novel modification of the Stainsby procedure: surgical technique and clinical outcome [Text] / E. Concannon, R. MacNiocaill, R. Flavin [et al.] // Foot Ankle Surg. – 2014. – Dec., Vol. 20(4). – P. 262–267. II. Accurate determination of relative metatarsal protrusion with a small intermetatarsal angle: a novel simplified method [Text] / L. Osher, M.M. Blazer, S. Buck [et al.] // J. Foot Ankle Surg. – 2014. – Sep.-Oct., Vol. 53(5). – P. 548–556. III. Argerakis, N.G. The radiographic effects of the scarf bunionectomy on rearfoot alignment [Text] / N.G. Argerakis, L.Jr. Weil, L.S. Sr. Weil // Foot Ankle Spec. – 2015. – Apr., Vol. 8(2). – P. 89–94. IV. Bauer, T. Percutaneous forefoot surgery [Text] / T. Bauer // Orthop. Traumatol. Surg. Res. – 2014. – Feb., Vol. 100(1 Suppl.). – P. S191–S204. V. Biomechanical Evaluation of Custom Foot Orthoses for Hallux Valgus Deformity [Text] // J. Foot Ankle Surg. – 2015. – Sep.-Oct., Vol.54(5). – P. 852–855. VI. Chopra, S. Characterization of gait in female patients with moderate to severe hallux valgus deformity [Text] / S. Chopra, K. Moerenhout, X. Crevoisier // Clin. Biomech. (Bristol, Avon). – 2015. – Jul., Vol. 30(6). – P. 629–635. VII. Computer assisted planning and custom-made surgical guide for malunited pronation deformity after first metatarsophalangeal joint arthrodesis in rheumatoid arthritis: a case report [Text] / M. Hirao, S. Ikemoto, H. Tsuboi [et al.] // Comput. Aided Surg. – 2014. – Vol. 19(1-3). – P. 13–19. VIII. Correlation between static radiographic measurements and intersegmental angular measurements during gait using a multisegment foot model [Text] / D.Y. Lee, S.G. Seo, E.J. Kim [et al.] // Foot Ankle Int. – 2015. – Jan., Vol.36(1). – P. 1–10. IX. Correlative study between length of first metatarsal and transfer metatarsalgia after osteotomy of first metatarsal [Text]: [Article in Chinese] / F.Q. Zhang, B.Y. Pei, S.T. Wei [et al.] // Zhonghua Yi XueZaZhi. – 2013. – Nov. 19, Vol. 93(43). – P. 3441–3444. X. Dave, M.H. Forefoot Deformity in Rheumatoid Arthritis: A Comparison of Shod and Unshod Populations [Text] / M.H. Dave, L.W. Mason, K. Hariharan // Foot Ankle Spec. – 2015. – Oct., Vol. 8(5). – P. 378–383. XI. Does arthrodesis of the first metatarsophalangeal joint correct the intermetatarsal M1M2 angle? Analysis of a continuous series of 208 arthrodeses fixed with plates [Text] / F. Dalat, F. Cottalorda, M.H. Fessy [et al.] // Orthop. Traumatol. Surg. Res. – 2015. – Oct., Vol. 101(6). – P. 709–714. XII. Dynamic plantar pressure distribution after percutaneous hallux valgus correction using the Reverdin-Isham osteotomy [Text]: [Article in Spanish] / G. Rodríguez-Reyes, E. López-Gavito, A.I. Pérez-Sanpablo [et al.] // Rev. Invest. Clin. – 2014. – Jul., Vol. 66, Suppl. 1. – P. S79-S84. XIII. Efficacy of Bilateral Simultaneous Hallux Valgus Correction Compared to Unilateral [Text] / A.V. Boychenko, L.N. Solomin, S.G. Parfeyev [et al.] // Foot Ankle Int. – 2015. – Nov., Vol. 36(11). – P. 1339–1343. XIV. Endolog technique for correction of hallux valgus: a prospective study of 30 patients with 4-year follow-up [Text] / C. Biz, M. Corradin, I. Petretta [et al.] // J. OrthopSurg Res. – 2015. – Jul. 2, № 10. – P. 102. XV. First metatarsal proximal opening wedge osteotomy for correction of hallux valgus deformity: comparison of straight versus oblique osteotomy [Text] / S.H. Han, E.H. Park, J. Jo [et al.] // Yonsei Med. J. – 2015. – May, Vol. 56(3). – P. 744–752. XVI. Long-term outcome of joint-preserving surgery by combination metatarsal osteotomies for shortening for forefoot deformity in patients with rheumatoid arthritis [Text] / H. Niki, T. Hirano, Y. Akiyama [et al.] // Mod. Rheumatol. – 2015. – Sep., Vol. 25(5). – P. 683–638. XVII. Maceira, E. Transfer metatarsalgia post hallux valgus surgery [Text] / E. Maceira, M. Monteagudo // Foot Ankle Clin. – 2014. – Jun., Vol. 19(2). – P.285–307. XVIII. Nielson, D.L. Absorbable fixation in forefoot surgery: a viable alternative to metallic hardware [Text] / D.L. Nielson, N.J. Young, C.M. Zelen // Clin. Podiatr. Med. Surg. – 2013. – Jul., Vol. 30(3). – P. 283–293 XIX. Patient’s satisfaction after outpatient forefoot surgery: Study of 619 cases [Text] / A. Mouton, V. Le Strat, D. Medevielle [et al.] // Orthop. Traumatol. Surg. Res. – 2015. – Oct., Vol. 101(6 Suppl.). – P. S217–S220. XX. Preference of surgical procedure for the forefoot deformity in the rheumatoid arthritis patients–A prospective, randomized, internal controlled study [Text] / M. Tada, T. Koike, T. Okano [et al.] // Mod. Rheumatol. – 2015. – May., Vol. 25(3). – P.362–366. XXI. Redfern, D. Percutaneous Surgery of the Forefoot [Text] / D. Redfern, J. Vernois, B.P. Legré // Clin. Podiatr. Med. Surg. – 2015. – Jul., Vol. 32(3). – P. 291–332. XXII. Singh, D. Bullous pemphigoid after bilateral forefoot surgery [Text] / D. Singh, A. Swann // Foot Ankle Spec. – 2015. – Feb., Vol. 8(1). – P. 68–72. XXIII. Treatment of moderate hallux valgus by percutaneous, extra-articular reverse-L Chevron (PERC) osteotomy [Text] / J. Lucas y Hernandez, P. Golanó, S. Roshan-Zamir [et al.] // Bone Joint J. – 2016. – Mar., Vol. 98-B(3). – P. 365–373. XXIV. Weil, L.Jr. Scarf osteotomy for correction of hallux abducto valgus deformity [Text] / L.Jr. Weil, M. Bowen // Clin. Podiatr. Med. Surg. – 2014. – Apr., Vol.31(2). – P. 233–246. View | Download QUANTITATIVE ULTRASONOGRAPHY OF THE STOMACH AND SMALL INTESTINE IN HEALTHYDOGS Authors: Roman A. Tcygansky,Irina I. Nekrasova,Angelina N. Shulunova,Alexander I.Sidelnikov, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00045 Abstract: Purpose.To determine the quantitative echogenicity indicators (and their ratio) of the layers of stomach and small intestine wall in healthy dogs. Methods. A prospective 3-year study of 86 healthy dogs (aged 1-7 yrs) of different breeds and of both sexes. Echo homogeneity and echogenicity of the stomach and intestines wall were determined by the method of Silina, T.L., et al. (2010) in absolute values of average brightness levels of ultrasound image pixels using the 8-bit scale with 256 shades of gray. Results. Quantitative echogenicity indicators of the stomach and the small intestine wall in dogs were determined. Based on the numerical values characterizing echogenicity distribution in each layer of a separate structure of the digestive system, the coefficient of gastric echogenicity is determined as 1:2.4:1.1 (mucosa/submucosa/muscle layers, respectively), the coefficient of duodenum and jejunum echogenicity is determined as 1:3.5:2 and that of ileum is 1:1.8:1. Clinical significance. The echogenicity coefficient of the wall of the digestive system allows an objective assessment of the stomach and intestines wall and can serve as the basis for a quantitative assessment of echogenicity changes for various pathologies of the digestive system Keywords: Ultrasound (US),echogenicity,echogenicity coefficient,digestive system,dogs,stomach,intestines, Refference: I. Agut, A. Ultrasound examination of the small intestine in small animals // Veterinary focus. 2009.Vol. 19. No. 1. P. 20-29. II. Bull. 4.RF patent 2398513, IPC51A61B8 / 00 A61B8 / 14 (2006.01) A method for determining the homoechogeneity and the degree of echogenicity of an ultrasound image / T. Silina, S. S. Golubkov. – No. 2008149311/14; declared 12/16/2008; publ. 09/10/2010 III. Choi, M., Seo, M., Jung, J., Lee, K., Yoon, J., Chang, D., Park, RD. Evaluation of canine gastric motility with ultrasonography // J. of Veterinary Medical Science. – 2002. Vol. 64. – № 1. – P. 17-21. IV. Delaney, F., O’Brien, R.T., Waller, K.Ultrasound evaluation of small bowel thickness compared to weight in normal dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2003 Vol. 44, № 5. Р 577-580. V. Diana, A., Specchi, S., Toaldo, M.B., Chiocchetti, R., Laghi, A., Cipone, M. Contrast-enhanced ultrasonography of the small bowel in healthy cats // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. – 2011. – Vol. 52, № 5. – Р. 555-559. VI. Garcia, D.A.A., Froes, T.R. Errors in abdominal ultrasonography in dogs and cats // J. of Small Animal Practice. – 2012. Vol. 53. – № 9. – P. 514-519. VII. Garcia, D.A.A., Froes, T.R. Importance of fasting in preparing dogs for abdominal ultrasound examination of specific organs // J. of Small Animal Practice. – 2014. Vol. 55. – № 12. – P. 630-634. VIII. Gaschen, L., Granger, L.A., Oubre, O., Shannon, D., Kearney, M., Gaschen, F. The effects of food intake and its fat composition on intestinal echogenicity in healthy dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2016. Vol. 57. № 5. P. 546-550 IX. Gaschen, L., Kircher, P., Stussi, A., Allenspach, K., Gaschen, F., Doherr, M., Grone, A. Comparison of ultrasonographic findings with clinical activity index (CIBDAI) and diagnosis in dogs with chronic enteropathies // Veterinary radiology and ultrasound. – 2008. – Vol. 49. – № 1. – Р. 56-64. X. Gil, E.M.U. Garcia, D.A.A. Froes, T.R. In utero development of the fetal intestine: Sonographic evaluation and correlation with gestational age and fetal maturity in dogs // Theriogenology. 2015. Vol. 84, №5. Р. 681-686. XI. Gladwin, N.E. Penninck, D.G., Webster, C.R.L. Ultrasonographic evaluation of the thickness of the wall layers in the intestinal tract of dogs // American Journal of Veterinary Research. 2014. Vol. 75, №4. Р. 349-353. XII. Gory, G., Rault, D.N., Gatel, L, Dally, C., Belli, P., Couturier, L., Cauvin, E. Ultrasonographic characteristics of the abdominal esophagus and cardia in dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2014. Vol. 55, № 5. P. 552-560. XIII. Günther, C.S. Lautenschläger, I.E., Scholz, V.B. Assessment of the inter- and intraobserver variability for sonographical measurement of intestinal wall thickness in dogs without gastrointestinal diseases | [Inter-und Intraobserver-Variabilitätbei der sonographischenBestimmung der Darmwanddicke von HundenohnegastrointestinaleErkrankungen] // Tierarztliche Praxis Ausgabe K: Kleintiere – Heimtiere. 2014. Vol. 42 №2. Р. 71-78. XIV. Hanazono, K., Fukumoto, S., Hirayama, K., Takashima, K., Yamane, Y., Natsuhori, M., Kadosawa, T., Uchide, T. Predicting Metastatic Potential of gastrointestinal stromal tumors in dog by ultrasonography // J. of Veterinary Medical Science. – 2012. Vol. 74. – № 11. – P. 1477-1482. XV. Heng, H.G., Lim, Ch.K., Miller, M.A., Broman, M.M.Prevalence and significance of an ultrasonographic colonic muscularishyperechoic band paralleling the serosal layer in dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2015. Vol. 56 № 6. P. 666-669. XVI. Ivančić, M., Mai, W. Qualitative and quantitative comparison of renal vs. hepatic ultrasonographic intensity in healthy dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2008. Vol. 49. № 4. Р. 368-373. XVII. Lamb, C.R., Mantis, P. Ultrasonographic features of intestinal intussusception in 10 dogs // J. of Small Animal Practice. – 2008. Vol. 39. – № 9. – P. 437-441. XVIII. Le Roux, A. B., Granger, L.A., Wakamatsu, N, Kearney, M.T., Gaschen, L.Ex vivo correlation of ultrasonographic small intestinal wall layering with histology in dogs // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound.2016. Vol. 57. № 5. P. 534-545. XIX. Nielsen, T. High-frequency ultrasound of Peyer’s patches in the small intestine of young cats / T. Nielsen [et al.] // Journal of Feline Medicine and Surgery. – 2015. – Vol. 18, № 4. – Р. 303-309. XX. PenninckD.G. Gastrointestinal tract. In Nyland T.G., Mattoon J.S. (eds): Small Animal Diagnostic Ultrasound. Philadelphia: WB Saunders. 2002, 2nd ed. Р. 207-230. XXI. PenninckD.G. Gastrointestinal tract. In: PenninckD.G.,d´Anjou M.A. Atlas of Small Animal Ultrasonography. Blackwell Publishing, Iowa. 2008. Р. 281-318. XXII. Penninck, D.G., Nyland, T.G., Kerr, L.Y., Fisher, P.E. Ultrasonographic evaluation of gastrointestinal diseases in small animals // Veterinary Radiology. 1990. Vol. 31. №3. P. 134-141. XXIII. Penninck, D.G.,Webster, C.R.L.,Keating, J.H. The sonographic appearance of intestinal mucosal fibrosis in cats // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. – 2010. – Vol. 51, № 4. – Р. 458-461. XXIV. Pollard, R.E.,Johnson, E.G., Pesavento, P.A., Baker, T.W., Cannon, A.B., Kass, P.H., Marks, S.L. Effects of corn oil administered orally on conspicuity of ultrasonographic small intestinal lesions in dogs with lymphangiectasia // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2013. Vol. 54. № 4. P. 390-397. XXV. Rault, D.N., Besso, J.G., Boulouha, L., Begon, D., Ruel, Y. Significance of a common extended mucosal interface observed in transverse small intestine sonograms // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. 2004. Vol. 45. №2. Р. 177-179. XXVI. Sutherland-Smith, J., Penninck, D.G., Keating, J.H., Webster, C.R.L. Ultrasonographic intestinal hyperechoic mucosal striations in dogs are associated with lacteal dilation // Veterinary Radiology and Ultrasound. – 2007. Vol. 48. – № 1. – P. 51-57. View | Download EVALUATION OF ADAPTIVE POTENTIAL IN MEDICAL STUDENTS IN THE CONTEXT OF SEASONAL DYNAMICS Authors: Larisa A. Merdenova,Elena A. Takoeva,Marina I. Nartikoeva,Victoria A. Belyayeva,Fatima S. Datieva,Larisa R. Datieva, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00046 Abstract: The aim of this work was to assess the functional reserves of the body to quantify individual health; adaptation, psychophysiological characteristics of the health quality of medical students in different seasons of the year. When studying the temporal organization of physiological functions, the rhythm parameters of physiological functions were determined, followed by processing the results using the Cosinor Analysis program, which reveals rhythms with an unknown period for unequal observations, evaluates 5 parameters of sinusoidal rhythms (mesor, amplitude, acrophase, period, reliability). The essence of desynchronization is the mismatch of circadian rhythms among themselves or destruction of the rhythms architectonics (instability of acrophases or their disappearance). Desynchronization with respect to the rhythmic structure of the body is of a disregulatory nature, most pronounced in pathological desynchronization. High neurotism, increased anxiety reinforces the tendency to internal desynchronization, which increases with stress. During examination stress, students experience a decrease in the stability of the temporary organization of the biosystem and the tension of adaptive mechanisms develops, which affects attention, mental performance and the quality of adaptation to the educational process. Time is shortened and the amplitude of the “initial minute” decreases, personal and situational anxiety develops, and the level of psychophysiological adaptation decreases. The results of the work are priority because they can be used in assessing quality and level of health. Keywords: Desynchronosis,biorhythms,psycho-emotional stress,mesor,acrophase,amplitude,individual minute, Refference: I. Arendt, J., Middleton, B. Human seasonal and circadian studies in Antarctica (Halley, 75_S) – General and Comparative Endocrinology. 2017: 250-259. (http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ygcen.2017.05.010). II. BalandinYu.P. A brief methodological guide on the use of the agro-industrial complex “Health Sources” / Yu.P. Balandin, V.S. Generalov, V.F. Shishlov. Ryazan, 2007. III. Buslovskaya L.K. Adaptation reactions in students at exam stress/ L.K. Buslovskaya, Yu.P. Ryzhkova. Scientific bulletin of Belgorod State University. Series: Natural Sciences. 2011;17(21):46-52. IV. Chutko L. S. Sindromjemocionalnogovygoranija – Klinicheskie I psihologicheskieaspekty./ L.S Chutko. Moscow: MEDpress-inform, 2013. V. Eroshina K., Paul Wilkinson, Martin Mackey. The role of environmental and social factors in the occurrence of diseases of the respiratory tract in children of primary school age in Moscow. Medicine. 2013:57-71. VI. Fagrell B. “Microcirculation of the Skin”. The physiology and pharmacology of the microcirculation. 2013:423. VII. Gurova O.A. Change in blood microcirculation in students throughout the day. New research. 2013; 2 (35):66-71. VIII. Khetagurova L.G. – Stress/Ed. L.G. Khetagurov. Vladikavkaz: Project-Press Publishing House, 2010. IX. Khetagurova L.G., Urumova L.T. et al. Stress (chronomedical aspects). International Journal of Experimental Education 2010; 12: 30-31. X. Khetagurova L.G., Salbiev K.D., Belyaev S.D., Datieva F.S., Kataeva M.R., Tagaeva I.R. Chronopathology (experimental and clinical aspects/ Ed. L.G. Khetagurov, K.D. Salbiev, S.D.Belyaev, F.S. Datiev, M.R. Kataev, I.R. Tagaev. Moscow: Science, 2004. XI. KlassinaS.Ya. Self-regulatory reactions in the microvasculature of the nail bed of fingers in person with psycho-emotional stress. Bulletin of new medical technologies, 2013; 2 (XX):408-412. XII. Kovtun O.P., Anufrieva E.V., Polushina L.G. Gender-age characteristics of the component composition of the body in overweight and obese schoolchildren. Medical Science and Education of the Urals. 2019; 3:139-145. XIII. Kuchieva M.B., Chaplygina E.V., Vartanova O.T., Aksenova O.A., Evtushenko A.V., Nor-Arevyan K.A., Elizarova E.S., Efremova E.N. A comparative analysis of the constitutional features of various generations of healthy young men and women in the Rostov Region. Modern problems of science and education. 2017; 5:50-59. XIV. Mathias Adamsson1, ThorbjörnLaike, Takeshi Morita – Annual variation in daily light expo-sure and circadian change of melatonin and cortisol consent rations at a northern latitude with large seasonal differences in photoperiod length – Journal of Physiological Anthropology. 2017; 36: 6 – 15. XV. Merdenova L.A., Tagaeva I.R., Takoeva E.A. Features of the study of biological rhythms in children. The results of fundamental and applied research in the field of natural and technical sciences. Materials of the International Scientific and Practical Conference. Belgorod, 2017, pp. 119-123. XVI. Ogarysheva N.V. The dynamics of mental performance as a criterion for adapting to the teaching load. Bulletin of the Samara Scientific Center of the Russian Academy of Sciences. 2014;16:5 (1): S.636-638. XVII. Pekmezovi T. Gene-environment interaction: A genetic-epidemiological approach. Journal of Medical Biochemistry. 2010;29:131-134. XVIII. Rapoport S.I., Chibisov S.M. Chronobiology and chronomedicine: history and prospects/Ed. S.M. Chibisov, S.I. Rapoport ,, M.L. Blagonravova. Chronobiology and Chronomedicine: Peoples’ Friendship University of Russia (RUDN) Press. Moscow, 2018. XIX. Roustit M., Cracowski J.L. “Non-invasive assessment of skin microvascular function in humans: an insight into methods” – Microcirculation 2012; 19 (1): 47-64. XX. Rud V.O., FisunYu.O. – References of the circadian desinchronosis in students. Ukrainian Bulletin of Psychoneurology. 2010; 18(2) (63): 74-77. XXI. Takoeva Z. A., Medoeva N. O., Berezova D. T., Merdenova L. A. et al. Long-term analysis of the results of chronomonitoring of the health of the population of North Ossetia; Vladikavkaz Medical and Biological Bulletin. 2011; 12(12,19): 32-38. XXII. Urumova L.T., Tagaeva I.R., Takoeva E.A., Datieva L.R. – The study of some health indicators of medical students in different periods of the year. Health and education in the XXI century. 2016; 18(4): 94-97. XXIII. Westman J. – Complex diseases. In: Medical genetics for the modern clinician. USA: Lippincott Williams & Wilkins, 2006. XXIV. Yadrischenskaya T.V. Circadian biorhythms of students and their importance in educational activities. Problems of higher education. Pacific State University Press. 2016; 2:176-178. View | Download TRIADIC COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS Authors: Stanislav A.Kudzh,Victor Ya. Tsvetkov, DOI: https://doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00047 Abstract: The present study of comparison methods based on the triadic model introduces the following concepts: the relation of comparability and the relation of comparison, and object comparison and attributive comparison. The difference between active and passive qualitative comparison is shown, two triadic models of passive and active comparison and models for comparing two and three objects are described. Triadic comparison models are proposed as an alternative to dyadic comparison models. Comparison allows finding the common and the different; this approach is proposed for the analysis of the nomothetic and ideographic method of obtaining knowledge. The nomothetic method identifies and evaluates the general, while the ideographic method searches for unique in parameters and in combinations of parameters. Triadic comparison is used in systems and methods of argumentation, as well as in the analysis of consistency/inconsistency. Keywords: Comparative analysis,dyad,triad,triadic model,comparability relation,object comparison,attributive comparison,nomothetic method,ideographic method, Refference: I. AltafS., Aslam.M.Paired comparison analysis of the van Baarenmodel using Bayesian approach with noninformativeprior.Pakistan Journal of Statistics and Operation Research 8(2) (2012) 259{270. II. AmooreJ. E., VenstromD Correlations between stereochemical assessments and organoleptic analysis of odorous compounds. Olfaction and Taste (2016) 3{17. III. BarnesJ., KlingerR. Embedding projection for targeted cross-lingual sentiment: model comparisons and a real-world study. Journal of Artificial Intelligence Research 66 (2019) 691{742. doi.org/10.1613/jair.1.11561 IV. Castro-SchiloL., FerrerE.Comparison of nomothetic versus idiographic-oriented methods for making predictions about distal outcomes from time series data. Multivariate Behavioral Research 48(2) (2013) 175{207. V. De BonaG.et al. Classifying inconsistency measures using graphs. Journal of Artificial Intelligence Research 66 (2019) 937{987. VI. FideliR. La comparazione. Milano: Angeli, 1998. VII. GordonT. F., PrakkenH., WaltonD. The Carneades model of argument and burden of proof. Artificial Intelligence 10(15) (2007) 875{896. VIII. GrenzS.J. The social god and the relational self: A Triad theology of the imago Dei. Westminster: John Knox Press, 2001. IX. HermansH.J. M.On the integration of nomothetic and idiographic research methods in the study of personal meaning.Journal of Personality 56(4) (1988) 785{812. X. JamiesonK. G., NowakR. Active ranking using pairwise comparisons.Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems (2011) 2240{2248. XI. JongsmaC.Poythress’s triad logic: a review essay. Pro Rege 42(4) (2014) 6{15. XII. KärkkäinenV.M. Trinity and Religious Pluralism: The Doctrine of the Trinity in Christian Theology of Religions. London: Routledge, 2017. XIII. KudzhS. A., TsvetkovV.Ya. Triadic systems. Russian Technology Magazine 7(6) (2019) 74{882. XIV. NelsonK.E.Some observations from the perspective of the rare event cognitive comparison theory of language acquisition.Children’s Language 6 (1987) 289{331. XV. NiskanenA., WallnerJ., JärvisaloM.Synthesizing argumentation frameworks from examples. Journal of Artificial Intelligence Research 66 (2019) 503{554. XVI. PührerJ.Realizability of three-valued semantics for abstract dialectical frameworks.Artificial Intelligence 278 (2020) 103{198. XVII. SwansonG.Frameworks for comparative research: structural anthropology and the theory of action. In: Vallier, Ivan (Ed.). Comparative methods in sociology: essays on trends and applications.Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971 141{202. XVIII. TsvetkovV.Ya.Worldview model as the result of education.World Applied Sciences Journal 31(2) (2014) 211{215. XIX. TsvetkovV. Ya. Logical analysis and variable scales. Slavic Forum 4(22) (2018) 103{109. XX. Wang S. et al. Transit traffic analysis zone delineating method based on Thiessen polygon. Sustainability 6(4) (2014) 1821{1832. View | Download DEVELOPING TECHNOLOGY OF CREATING WEAR-RESISTANT CERAMIC COATING FOR ICE CYLINDER". JOURNAL OF MECHANICS OF CONTINUA AND MATHEMATICAL SCIENCES spl10, № 1 (28 червня 2020). http://dx.doi.org/10.26782/jmcms.spl.10/2020.06.00048.
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