Статті в журналах з теми "McArthur Group"

The stratigraphy of the Proterozoic in the McArthur River area of Northern Territory consists of the basal, non-economic Tawallah Group, overlain unconformably by dolomitic carbonates and clastics of the McArthur Group, in turn overlain disconformably by Roper Group clastics. Several shows of tarry to brittle bitumen have been reported in sandstones of the Roper Group and in dolomites of the McArthur Group.In thin sections, the bitumen commonly displays shrinkage cracks, apparently associated with the loss of volatiles. Secondary minerals are observed infilling some of the cracks, indicating those phases of diagenesis which occurred subsequent to breaching of the hydrocarbon bearing reservoir. Additionally, the contact relationships of bitumen with the secondary minerals indicate a relatively early migration of hydrocarbons into the reservoir rocks.The inferred sequence for the McArthur Group dolomites is: early dolomitization and silicification, formation of vuggy (vadose) porosity, authigenic deposition of chalcedony at shallow burial depth, cementation by quartz at deep burial depth, migration of hydrocarbons (contemporaneous with sulphide formation), breaching of the reservoir, degradation of hydrocarbons, and deposition of sparry dolomite cement. The inferred sequence of diagenesis for Roper Group clastic reservoirs in this area is: authigenic deposition of minor quartz and illite cement, migration of hydrocarbon, breaching of the reservoir, major authigenic deposition of quartz and illite, degradation of hydrocarbon, and cementation by dolomite, hematite, and kaolinite.

Mature, rich, potential source beds and adjacent potential reservoir beds exist in the Middle Proterozoic sequence (1400-1800 Ma) of the McArthur Basin. The McArthur and Nathan Groups consist mainly of evaporitic and stromatolitic cherty dolostones interbedded with dolomitic siltstone and shale. They were deposited in interfingering marginal marine, lacustrine and fluvial environments. Lacustrine dolomitic siltstones form potential source beds, while potential reservoirs include vuggy brecciated carbonates associated with penecontemporaneous faulting and rare coarse-grained clastics. In contrast, the younger Roper Group consists of quartz arenite, siltstone and shale that occur in more uniform facies deposited in a stable marine setting. Both source and reservoir units are laterally extensive (over 200 km).Five potential source rocks at various stages of maturity have been discovered. Two of these source rocks, the lacustrine Barney Creek Formation in the McArthur Group and the marine Velkerri Formation in the Roper Group, compare favourably in thickness and potential with rich demonstrated source rocks in major oil-producing provinces. There is abundant evidence of migration of hydrocarbons at many stratigraphic levels. The geology and reservoir characteristics of the sediments in combination with the distribution of potential source beds, timing of hydrocarbon generation, evidence for migration and chances of preservation have been used to rank the prospectivity of the various stratigraphic units in different parts of the basin.

This study assesses the prospectivity of the world’s oldest known stacked petroleum systems from the Proterozoic greater McArthur Basin (Northern Territory, Australia), which has immense potential to host both conventional natural gas and oil, in addition to shale-gas accumulations. The Mesoproterozoic succession of the Beetaloo Sub-basin and surrounding region hosts the Territory’s premier shale-gas play and is at an advanced stage of exploration for shale hydrocarbon plays. However, there is also potential for natural gas in older sedimentary packages, with flows and shows reported in underlying Paleoproterozoic successions. At the continent-scale, four regional petroleum supersystems are identified and described in order to provide a platform for consistent nomenclature at the sedimentary package and group level; in ascending stratigraphic order; these are the Paleoproterozoic Redbank and McArthur supersystems, the Paleoproterozoic–Mesoproterozoic Lawn Supersystem, and the Mesoproterozoic Beetaloo Supersystem. The Redbank and Lawn supersystems are newly named and defined, and the Beetaloo Supersystem is renamed from the former Urapungan Supersystem. Eight possible conventional natural gas plays and six shale-gas plays are documented within the McArthur Supersystem, which incorporates Glyde Package successions of the McArthur Basin and the Birrindudu Basin. Petroleum play concepts are also described from this supersystem to assist with assessing the potential for gas resources. A better understanding of the petroleum systems of the greater McArthur Basin is critical to the targeting of areas for geoscience data acquisition in order to facilitate the reduction of exploration search space; and it enables a more rigorous assessment of the potential for conventional and unconventional hydrocarbon resources at local (play) and regional scales.

Drawing on McArthur and Baron's (1983) ecological theory of social perception, the present research examined younger and older children's ability to differentiate male and female adults who varied in the babyishness of their facial appearance. Children's perceptions of the targets' dominance and warmth were also assessed. Systematic effects were found on all measures and were qualified by targets' sex and children's age group.

Topographic features of the sub-Athabasca unconformity surface, such as paleovalleys, topographic highs, and fault scarps, have been documented locally in the eastern Athabasca Basin, and available data indicate that they are spatially associated with mineralization. However, the mechanisms by which such topographic features were generated, their size and distribution at the regional scale, as well as their relationship to mineralization, are still not completely understood. A 100 by 60 square kilometre area of the southeastern Athabasca Basin, encompassing the McArthur River, Phoenix, and Key Lake deposits, was selected to study the relationship between these topographic features and U mineralization. In this region three dominant sets of sub-vertical faults were identified on the basis of aeromagnetic data: northeast-trending, north–northwest-trending, and northwest-trending. A detailed three-dimensional (3-D) model of this part of the basin was constructed using data from more than 1200 drill holes. This model reveals numerous dominantly northeast-trending ridges and valleys in the unconformity surface. Among these, a prominent northeast-trending ridge is situated close to the McArthur River – Key Lake deposits trend. Structural interpretation and cross-sections illustrate that the topographic features that have been documented in previous studies are a function of three principal factors: (i) pre-Athabasca group ductile-brittle faulting and alteration; (ii) differential weathering and erosion; and (iii) syn- to post-Athabasca ductile-brittle reactivation of pre-existing graphite-rich ductile shear zones. The topographic features and associated faults may have acted as conduits and barriers to fluid flow and thus controlled alteration patterns and uranium mineralization.

Age data are presented for major Athabasca Basin uranium deposits at Cigar Lake, Cluff Lake, Collins Bay, Dawn Lake, Eagle Point, McArthur River, Midwest, and Rabbit Lake, as well as for several minor or undeveloped deposits, including Hughes Lake and Nisto. The best constrained data indicate that almost all the deposits formed in a restricted time interval between about 1330 and 1380 Ma. This range of ages is believed to be real and not the result of uncertainties in the calculation of ages based on discordant data. The one major exception is the recently discovered NiAs-free deposit at McArthur River, for which a well-determined age of 1514 ± 18 Ma (2σ) has been obtained. Even this deposit yields an age in the1330–1380 Ma range for some material. Periods of reworking–redeposition occurred at ~1280, ~1000, ~575, and ~225 Ma. These may be basin-wide, affecting to some degree all the deposits that we have studied. Other times of redeposition are less well determined, but may be present as well. No ages that approach the ~1700 Ma age of the Athabasca Group have been found to date for unconformity-related deposits, and the Athabasca Basin mineralization is unrelated to the ~1750 Ma pitchblende vein deposits in the Beaverlodge Lake area.

ABSTRACT The McArthur River unconformity-related uranium deposit, located in the Athabasca Basin of Saskatchewan, Canada, is structurally hosted near the unconformity between Archean to Paleoproterozoic metasedimentary basement and the Proterozoic Athabasca Group sandstones. In this study, the mineralogy and geochemistry of fracture materials within the entire ca. 550 m thickness of the Athabasca Group sandstones and the metasedimentary (host) rocks from the McArthur River area were used to determine the paragenetic sequence and origin of minerals in and near the fractures. Our work sought to determine if the host minerals record elements associated with the uranium deposit at depth and if they could be used to guide exploration (vectoring). Fracture orientations indicate that most are moderately dipping (<50°) and provided permeable pathways for fluid movement within the basin, from below, and through the overlying sedimentary rocks. Many of the fractures and adjacent wall rocks record evidence of multiple distinct fluid events. Seven types of fracture fillings were identified from drill core intersecting the Athabasca Basin and present distinct colors, mineralogy, and chemical features. Brown (Type 1) and pink (Type 7) fractures host paragenetically late botryoidal goethite, Mn oxide minerals, and poorly crystallized kaolinite that formed from relatively recent low-temperature meteoric fluids, as indicated by poor crystallinity and low δ2H values of –198 to –115‰. These minerals variably replaced higher temperature minerals that are rarely preserved on the fractures or in wall rock near the fractures. Hydrothermal alteration associated with the mineralizing system at ca. 200 °C is recorded in assemblages of dickite, well-crystallized kaolinite, and spherulitic dravite in some white and yellow (Type 2) and white (Type 3) fractures, as reflected by the crystal habits and variable δ2H values of –85 to –44‰. Fibrous goethite in white and yellow (Type 2) and black and orange (Type 5) fractures and microfibrous Mn oxy-hydroxide minerals in black (Type 4) fractures also crystallized from hydrothermal fluids, but at temperatures less than 200 °C. White and yellow fractures (Type 2) containing fibrous goethite reflect fracture networks indicative of hydrothermal fluids associated with the mineralizing system during primary dispersion of pathfinder elements and therefore extend the deposit footprint. Brown (Type 1) and pink (Type 7) fractures have low δ2H values in botryoidal goethite and poorly crystallized kaolinite and are indicative of the movement of meteoric waters. Secondary dispersion of elements from the deposit to the surface on some fractures is evidence that fractures are pathways for element migration from the deposit to the surface, over distances exceeding ∼500 m.

As attention to unconventional oil and gas resources increases, historical oil and gas flows in shale reservoirs across the world are being given renewed attention. Such is the case of the shaly and carbonate deposits of the McArthur and Nathan groups in the Northern Territory. The Batten Trough is a Proterozoic depocenter with potential for a shale gas play in the Barney Creek Shale and potential for conventional gas accumulations in the underlying Coxco Dolomite. This Barney Creek Shale gas play is evidenced by a number of mineral exploration drill holes that encountered live oil and gas shows within the McArthur Group. The most prominent was a mineral exploration hole drilled at the Glyde River prospect by Amoco in 1979. This well reportedly flowed gas and condensates at 140 psi for six months before it was sealed at the surface, which certainly shows permeability values greater than micro-darcies reported for many North American shale plays; thus, an exploration program of this prospective area has been planned by Armour Energy in EP 171 on several targets adjacent to the Emu Fault Zone near both Glyde and Caranbirini, along with other anticline related targets adjacent to the Abner Range. This extended abstract details how the targets were identified, the plan for data acquisition (e.g. seismic, drilling, logging and testing), and the proposed completion strategy to test this highly prospective target.

Recent exploration studies on the stratigraphic framework, depositional environment and tectonic setting of the Mesoproterozoic Roper Group in the McArthur Basin, have led to an improved understanding of the highly prospective organic-rich shales of the Velkerri and Kyalla Formations. From a review of open-file drill core and well logs, several major regressive–transgressive (R–T) cycles have been identified along with four key facies associations within the Roper Group. The R–T cycles show sedimentary features typical of deposition within a clastic-dominated marine deltaic setting and show marked lateral variation in facies and thicknesses. The lateral thickness variations are particularly noticeable across regional 2D seismic lines. Seismic interpretation and well correlation confirm the extensive and relatively undeformed nature of the Velkerri and Kyalla Formations in the subsurface, they appear thickest in the south-east of the Beetaloo Sub-Basin.

The Glyde–1 and Glyde Sidetrack–1 wells were drilled by Armour Energy in the Glyde Sub-basin of the McArthur Basin, NT, Australia in August 2012. This program was to evaluate the unconventional hydrocarbon potential of the Barney Creek Shale source rock and the conventional potential of the Coxco Dolomite of the McArthur Group. The Glyde wells discovered gas in both formations. Transtensional faults in this region allowed to form a series of fault-bounded depocentres. The target gas source of the Glyde discovery is located in 1640 Ma organic-rich black shales of the Barney Creek Formation. Weatherford was contracted to acquire both vertical and lateral advanced log suites and perform subsequent log interpretation to constrain the in situ minimum and maximum horizontal stress regimes to assist with maximising gas production from future lateral placement pilot programs in the Coxco Hydrothermal Dolomite (HTD) Play. Two stratigraphic and structural domains were defined by the observed features in the image log data; a dolostone dominated, fractured strata below an erosional surface. Above this stratigraphic timeline is a monotonous package of laminated, lower-energy Barney Creek Formation sediments. Observed changes in azimuths and dips of the measured beddings suggest a phase of compression after deposition of the Barney Creek Formation, resulting in gentle folding of the formations. The porous gas-charged HTD play is drilled in top of the anticline, which is further characterised by a significant number of conductive fractures, likely indicative of open fractures.

ABSTRACTThis study compares parental pause and utterance duration in conversations with Swedish speaking children at age 1;6 who have either a large, typical, or small expressive vocabulary, as measured by the Swedish version of the McArthur-Bates CDI. The adjustments that parents do when they speak to children are similar across all three vocabulary groups; they use longer utterances than when speaking to adults, and respond faster to children than they do to other adults. However, overall pause duration varies with the vocabulary size of the children, and as a result durational aspects of the language environment to which the children are exposed differ between groups. Parents of children in the large vocabulary size group respond faster to child utterances than do parents of children in the typical vocabulary size group, who in turn respond faster to child utterances than do parents of children in the small vocabulary size group.

Maturation parameters based on aromatic hydrocarbons, and particularly the methyl-phenanthrene index (MPI-1), are powerful indicators which can be used to define the oil window in Proterozoic and Early Palaeozoic petroleum source rocks and to compare maturities and detect migration in very old oils . The conventional vitrinite reflectance yardstick for maturity is not readily translated to these ancient sediments because they predate the evolution of the land plant precursors to vitrinite. While whole-rock geochemical tools such as Rock-Eval and TOC are useful for evaluation of petroleum potential, they can be imprecise when applied to maturity assessments.In this study, we carried out a range of detailed geochemical analyses on McArthur Basin boreholes penetrating the Roper Group source rocks. We determined the depth profiles for hydrocarbon generation based on Rock-Eval analysis of whole-rock, solvent-extracted rock, kerogen elemental H/C ratio and pyrolysis GC. Although we found that Hydrogen Index (HI) and the Tmax parameter were strongly correlated with other maturation indicators, they were not sufficiently sensitive nor were they universally applicable. Maturation measurements based on saturated biomarkers were not useful either because of the low abundance of these compounds in most Roper Group bitumens and oils.

Organic rich shale units ranging up to 350 m in thickness with total organic carbon (TOC) values generally between one and ten per cent are present at several stratigraphic levels in the upper part of the Carpentarian Roper Group. Considerable variation in depositional environment is suggested by large differences in carbon:sulphur ratios and trace metal contents at different stratigraphic levels, but all of the preserved organic matter appears to be algal-sourced and hydrogen-rich. Conventional Rock-Eval pyrolysis indicates that a type I-II kerogen is present throughout.The elemental chemistry of this kerogen, shows a unique chemical evolution pathway on the ternary C:H:ONS diagram which differs from standard pathways followed by younger kerogens, suggesting that the maturation histories of Proterozoic basins may differ significantly from those of younger oil and gas producing basins. Extractable organic matter (EOM) from Roper Group source rocks shows a chemical evolution from polar rich to saturate rich with increasing maturity. Alginite reflectance increases in stepwise fashion through the zone of oil and gas generation, and then increases rapidly at higher levels of maturation. The increase in alginite reflectance with depth or proximity to sill contacts is lognormal.The area explored by Pacific Oil and Gas includes a northern area where the Velkerri Formation is within the zone of peak oil generation and the Kyalla Member is immature, and a southern area, the Beetaloo sub-basin, where the zone of peak oil generation is within the Kyalla Member. Most oil generation within the basin followed significant folding and faulting of the Roper Group.

The authors describe the application of various approaches to the assessment of child language development reviewing the methods most widely used in research and clinical practice. The review outlines the benefits and some limitations of longitudinal method of assessment using language recordings, language corpus analysis and transcripts of speech samples. Technical aspects of the linguistic environment recordings using LENA technology, which allows to achieve ecologic validity in the assessment of children’s language environment, are considered. Analysis of the corpus data through the transcription of the dialogues between children and adults are discussed, as well as the study of linguistic parameters of child speech in comparison to a normative group of peers. The authors offer a review of the most widely known parent reports, questionnaires, and maximum performance testing of children’s language development. Among the assessment tools available for Russian-speaking populations McArthur-Bates CDI and PLS-5 are reviewed. The authors note an importance of integration of Russian research into the international scientific knowledgebase through the adaptation of methods for assessment of language development in children.

Exploration over Roper Group outcrop in the McArthur Basin prompted Pacific Oil & Gas to investigate the petroleum potential of the Beetaloo Sub-basin, a 15 000 km2 Proterozoic depression concealed beneath Phanerozoic cover. Since 1989 drilling and seismic has identified a broadly flat-lying sequence with uplifted, eroded margins. A 3 500 m composite Proterozoic section consisting of three sandstone-to-mudstone sequences has been drilled. The lower two sequences comprise conformable units of the Mesoproterozoic upper Roper Group and unconformably overlying them is a previously unknown sequence comprising the informally labelled 'Jamison Sandstone' and 'Hayfield Mudstone', probably of Neoproterozoic age.Organic-rich intervals in the Roper Group mudstones range one to three per cent TOC in the Kyalla Member, and two to seven per cent TOC in the 'Middle' Velkerri Formation. Across most of the sub-basin the oil window lies within the Kyalla Member around 900–1350 m, while the 'Middle' Velkerri Formation is around 2 500 m and well into overmaturity, but may still have potential for gas. Potential reservoirs in the Bessie Creek, Moroak and 'Jamison' Sandstones, and in sandy units within the mudstones, are compromised by diagenesis, but porosities of up to 20 per cent and permeabilities of tens and rarely hundreds of millidarcies have been measured. Encouraging shows were observed in many of these intervals, and small quantities of oil and gas have been recovered in drill stem tests. With only a few targets drilled to date, this frontier area requires more exploration before its hydrocarbon potential can be adequately assessed.

Vocabulary is a main part of English language teaching because without sufficient vocabulary students cannot understand others or express their own thoughts. “A repeating inquiry in the historical backdrop of language teaching research has been that of how vocabulary can be best organized for learning “(see McArthur 1998; Howatt and Widdowson 2004 for historical reviews). The present study investigated a group of Iranian EFL students’ knowledge for vocabulary learning and their vocabulary size. This study aimed at investigating the role of native-like writing in enhancing learners' writing ability by sensitizing them to select more native-like terms and expressions through improving their vocabulary knowledge. For this purpose the researcher used native models in two revisions of story in four-stage writing task that consisted of output, comparison, and two revisions. The question that researchers asked was whether giving native models later turns into better performance. At the end it is concluded that the 4-satge native model of writing helps L2 learners to write a well-formed English narrative and make use of better terms and expressions as well as helping teachers understand the formulation problems of EFL writers and what the students notice. That is, the gap between the way that they write and the native models to which they compare themselves.

The Lawn Hill Platform (LHP) is a sedimentary province in north-eastern Northern Territory and north-western Queensland that hosts a significant Paleoproterozoic–Mesoproterozoic sequence, often referred to as 'the ‘Isa Superbasin’, and includes the overlying South Nicholson Group. Shale gas resources and base-metals mineralisation are known in north-west Queensland, but the larger basin is underexplored. The Australian Government’s Exploring for the Future (EFTF) 2016−2020 program aims to boost resource exploration in northern Australia. New precompetitive geochemical data obtained in this program includes source rock geochemistry, kerogen kinetics, bitumen reflectance, biomarker and δ13C n-alkanes for understanding the petroleum potential, organic geochemistry of source rocks and fluids, stratigraphic correlations and mineralogy to determine the brittleness of shales. All data and derived reports are accessible on the EFTF portal (www.eftf.ga.gov.au), providing a central location for informed decision making. The results in this study demonstrate fair to excellent source rocks in multiple supersequences that are brittle and favourable to hydraulic stimulation. A comparison to the greater McArthur Basin demonstrates, that although there are many similarities in bulk geochemistry, LHP mudstones are largely heterogeneous, reflecting local variations that may be inherited from variations in contributing biomass, microbial reworking, depositional environment, sediment input and paleoredox conditions.

Abstract An operational inner-shelf wave forecasting system was implemented for the Oregon and southwest Washington coast in the U.S. Pacific Northwest (PNW). High-resolution wave forecasts are useful for navigational planning, identifying wave energy resources, providing information for site-specific coastal flood models, and having an informed recreational beach user group, among other things. This forecasting model is run once a day at 1200 UTC producing 84-h forecasts. A series of nested grids with increasing resolution shoreward are implemented to achieve a 30-arc-second resolution at the shelf level. This resolution is significantly higher than what the current operational models produce, thus improving the ability to quantify the alongshore variations of wave conditions on the PNW coast. Normalized root-mean-squared errors in significant wave height and mean wave period range from 0.13 to 0.24 and from 0.13 to 0.26, respectively. Visualization of the forecasts is made available online and is presently being used by recreational beach users and the scientific community. A series of simulations, taking advantage of having a validated shelf-scale numerical wave model, suggests that neither dissipation due to bottom friction nor wind generation is important in the region at this scale for wave forecasting and hindcasting when considering bulk parameters as opposed to the processes of refraction and shoaling. The Astoria and McArthur Canyons; the Stonewall, Perpetua, and Heceta Banks; and Cape Blanco are significant bathymetric features that are shown to be capable of producing alongshore variability of wave heights on the shelf.

ABSTRACT Proterozoic continental sedimentary basins contain a unique record of the evolving Earth in their sedimentology and stratigraphy and in the large-scale, redox-sensitive mineral deposits they host. The Paleoproterozoic (Stratherian) Kombolgie Basin, located on the Arnhem Land Plateau, Northern Territory, is an exceptionally well preserved, early part of the larger McArthur Basin in northern Australia. This intracratonic basin is filled with 1 to 2 km-thick, relatively undeformed, nearly flat-lying, siliciclastic rocks of the Kombolgie Subgroup. Numerous drill cores and outcrop exposures from across the basin allow sedimentary fabrics, structures, and stratigraphic relationships to be studied in great detail, providing an extensive stratigraphic framework and record of basin development and evolution. Tectonic events controlled the internal stratigraphic architecture of the basin and led to the formation of three unconformity-bounded sequences that are punctuated by volcanic events. The first sequence records the onset of basin formation and is comprised of coarse-grained sandstone and polymict lithic conglomerate deposited in proximal braided rivers that transported sediment away from basin margins and intra-basin paleohighs associated with major uranium mineralization. Paleo-currents in the upper half of this lower sequence, as well as those of overlying sequences, are directed southward and indicate that the major intra-basin topographic highs no longer existed. The middle sequence has a similar pattern of coarse-grained fluvial facies, followed by distal fluvial facies, and finally interbedded marine and eolian facies. An interval marked by mud-rich, fine-grained sandstones and mud-cracked siltstones representing tidal deposition tops this sequence. The uppermost sequence is dominated by distal fluvial and marine facies that contain halite casts, gypsum nodules, stromatolites, phosphate, and “glauconite” (a blue-green mica group mineral), indicating a marine transgression. The repeating pattern of stratigraphic sequences initiated by regional tectonic events produced well-defined coarse-grained diagenetic aquifers capped by intensely cemented distal fluvial, shoreface, eolian, and even volcanic units, and led to a well-defined heterogenous hydrostratigraphy. Basinal brines migrated within this hydrostratigraphy and, combined with paleotopography, dolerite intrusion, faulting, and intense burial diagenesis, led to the economically important uranium deposits the Kombolgie Basin hosts. Proterozoic sedimentary basins host many of Earth's largest high-grade iron and uranium deposits that formed in response to the initial oxygenation of the hydrosphere and atmosphere following the Great Oxygenation Event. Unconformity-related uranium mineralization like that found in the Kombolgie Basin highlights the interconnected role that oxygenation of the Earth, sedimentology, stratigraphy, and diagenesis played in creating these deposits.

Abstract Background: Balixafortide (B), a synthetic cyclic peptide, is a potent selective CXCR4 antagonist with high affinity for the human CXCR4 receptor in pre-clinical studies and is currently being investigated in metastatic breast cancer (mBC). Encouraging safety and efficacy data were previously published from a Phase 1 trial investigating B + eribulin (E) in patients (pts) with human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 negative (HER2-) mBC. Methods: In this multicenter, open-label trial, pts were randomized 1:1 to receive B (5.5 mg/kg) + E (1.4 mg/m2) or E alone. Eligible pts had HER2- locally advanced or mBC and had previously received 1−4 lines of chemotherapy in the advanced setting. Pts with hormonal receptor positive (HR+) disease must have received ≥1 line of endocrine therapy. The primary efficacy endpoints included objective response rate (ORR) and progression free survival (PFS) in the ≥3rd line population and PFS in the overall population. Overall survival (OS) was a key secondary endpoint. Results: 432 pts (aged 29-82 years) were enrolled with 348 treated in the ≥3rd line setting. Most pts (66.4%) were treated in the 3rd or 4th line, 96.1% had an Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group (ECOG) performance status of 0 or 1, and 35.6% had triple negative breast cancer. ORR and clinical benefit rate (CBR) data for the ≥3rd line population are presented in the table below. PFS and OS were not improved in the 3rd line population [mPFS 3.5 months (m) vs 4.0 m; hazard ratio 1.07 (96% CI: 0.81, 1.41); interim mOS 11.0 m vs 11.2 m hazard ratio 1.08 (99.9% CI: 0.66, 1.77)]. Results were consistent in the overall population and per investigator assessment.For the overall safety population, serious treatment-emergent adverse events (STEAEs) (28% versus 26.5%), treatment-emergent adverse events (TEAEs) leading to death (6.9% versus 6.4%) and TEAEs ≥Grade 3 (68.3% versus 64.2%) were broadly similar between the two arms. Infusion Related Reactions (IRR) were reported in 43.6% of patients treated with B + E. Conclusions: In this Phase 3 randomized trial, no differences in ORR, CBR, mPFS, or mOS were observed for B + E compared to E alone in any population of HER2-mBC patients. Efficacy parameters for E alone were similar to those reported previously. The combination was B + E was well-tolerated overall. ≥3rd Line Population(N=330)B + E(N=162)E(N=168)Objective Response Rate (95% CI)Per Independent Review Committee13.0% (8.2, 19.1)13.7% (8.9, 19.8)Per Investigator13.6% (8.7, 19.8)13.1% (8.4, 19.2)Clinical Benefit Rate (95% CI)Per Independent Review Committee16.7% (11.3, 23.3)19.6% (13.9, 26.5)Per Investigator21.6% (15.5, 28.7)21.4% (15.5, 28.4) Citation Format: Peter Kaufman, Miguel Martin, Ingrid Mayer, Linda Vahdat, Sonia Pernas, Peter Schmid, Heather McArthur, Rebecca Dent, Hope S Rugo, Carlos Barrios, Alexandra Bobirca, Francois Ringeisen, Daniela Schmitter, Javier Cortes. Balixafortide (a CXCR4 antagonist)+eribulin versus eribulin alone in patients with HER2 negative, locally recurrent or metastatic breast cancer: An international, randomized, phase 3 trial (FORTRESS) [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the 2021 San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium; 2021 Dec 7-10; San Antonio, TX. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2022;82(4 Suppl):Abstract nr PD13-01.

Abstract Background Hydroxyurea (HU), a chemotherapeutic agent and an approved therapy for sickle cell disease (SCD), increases cGMP levels and thereby increases fetal hemoglobin (HbF) levels in RBC, which generally correlates with decreased hemolysis and reduced disease severity in subjects with SCD. In addition, increased cGMP levels are anti-inflammatory and reduce the adhesion of WBC to the vascular endothelium. However, potential adverse effects of HU such as infertility, susceptibility to infections, or teratogenic effect have been the subject of concerns. Phosphodiesterase-9 inhibitors (PDE9i) may provide an alternative to HU because of their ability to inhibit the degradation of cGMP and increase cellular cGMP levels. Previously described PDE9i were developed to inhibit neuronal PDE9 for neurologic diseases, like Alzheimer's. A PDE9i with low brain penetrance may be preferable for the chronic treatment of SCD adults and children. IMR-687 is a safe, potent, PDE9i being developed specifically for SCD without these liabilities of HU or the high brain penetrance of other PDE9is. Hypothesis We hypothesized that PDE9i's will increase cellular cGMP levels in hematopoietic cells, increase HbF in red blood cells (RBC), inhibit RBC sickling, decrease inflammation (leukocytosis), and inhibit vaso-occlusion in murine models of SCD. Results & Methods IMR-687, is a potent inhibitor of PDE9A (IC50 <10 nM) and demonstrates >100-fold higher IC50 with other phosphodiesterases. To determine the ability of IMR-687 to induce cGMP, K562 erythroid cells were exposed to increasing concentrations of IMR-687 or HU and cGMP assessed at 6 hours. IMR-687, at much lower drug concentrations, induced higher levels of cGMP than HU at 6 hours (Fig. Left Panel). We next tested IMR-687 in the Berkeley (Berk) mouse model of SCD. Groups of 7-8 Berk SCD mice were dosed by gavage with either vehicle, 30 mg/kg/day of IMR-687, or 100 mg/kg/day of HU. After 30 days of treatment, both IMR-687 and HU resulted in statistically significant decreases in the percentage of sickled RBCs (Fig. Center Left Panel) and increases in the percentage of HbF positive RBCs relative to controls. In addition, both compounds led to statistically significant decreases in total bilirubin, spleen weight and total leucocyte counts (Fig. Center Right Panel). The ability of IMR-687 to reduce microvascular stasis (% non-flowing venules) was assessed in HbSS-Townes transgenic sickle mice after transient hypoxia and re-oxygenation. Groups of 3 mice/group were dosed orally via drinking water with IMR-687 (30 mg/kg/day), HU (100 mg/kg/day) or vehicle for 10 days. After 10 days of treatment, the mice were exposed to transient hypoxia. Compared with controls, 30 mg/kg/day IMR-687 and 100 mg/kg HU produced statistically significant reductions in microvascular stasis at both 1-hour (Fig. Center Right Panel) and 4-hour time points post-hypoxia. In addition, IMR-687 significantly reduced the proportion of sickled RBCs, increased the number of HbF positive red cells, and reduced the white count. Lastly, low brain penetration of IMR-687 was confirmed after IV dosing in the rat, with brain concentrations >20 times lower than those in the plasma at all time points assessed. Consistent with this, treatment of C57Bl/6J mice with 10 mg/kg/day IMR-687 for 5 days displayed no effect on locomotor activity or classical fear conditioning (an animal model of learning and memory). In contrast, treatment with a brain penetrant PDE9i, developed for the treatment of neurologic diseases, significantly increased conditioned fear responses in these mice. Conclusions IMR-687 increases HbF levels, and reduces red cell sickling, leukocytosis and microvascular stasis, without the observed toxicities of HU. IMR-687 may offer a once a day, oral, safe replacement for HU in the treatment of SCD. Figure Figure. Disclosures McArthur: Imara: Equity Ownership, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Patents & Royalties: Patent; Cydan Development: Employment, Equity Ownership. Maciel:Imara: Research Funding. Chen:Imara: Research Funding. Fricot:Imara: Research Funding. Kobayashi:Imara: Equity Ownership; Cydan Development: Employment. Nguyen:Imara: Research Funding. Parachova:Imara: Patents & Royalties. Abdulla:Imara: Research Funding. Vercellotti:Imara: Research Funding. Svenstrup:Imara: Consultancy, Patents & Royalties. Belcher:Imara: Research Funding; CSL-Behring: Research Funding.

Abstract Background: KEYNOTE-522 (NCT03036488) is a phase 3 study of neoadjuvant pembro + chemo vs placebo + chemo, followed by adjuvant pembro vs placebo in patients with early-stage TNBC. The primary analysis showed a statistically significant and clinically meaningful improvement in event-free survival (EFS) with pembro + chemo followed by pembro. To assess the robustness and consistency of the primary EFS result, prespecified sensitivity and subgroup analyses for EFS were performed. Methods: Patients with previously untreated, non-metastatic, centrally confirmed TNBC (stage T1c N1-2 or T2-4 N0-2 per AJCC) were randomized 2:1 to pembro 200 mg Q3W or placebo, both given with 4 cycles of paclitaxel + carboplatin, then with 4 cycles of doxorubicin or epirubicin + cyclophosphamide (neoadjuvant phase). After definitive surgery, patients received pembro or placebo for 9 cycles or until recurrence or unacceptable toxicity (adjuvant phase). Patients were stratified by nodal status (positive or negative), tumor size (T1/T2 or T3/T4), and carboplatin schedule (Q3W or QW). Dual primary endpoints are pCR rate and EFS. Five prespecified sensitivity analyses for EFS were performed, including 2 that assessed the impact of different censoring rules and 3 that assessed the impact of different event definitions. Treatment effects on EFS were examined in prespecified patient subgroups defined by nodal involvement (positive or negative), disease stage (II or III), menopausal status (pre-menopausal or post-menopausal), HER2 status (2+ by IHC but FISH- or 0-1+ by IHC), and LDH (&gt;ULN or ≤ULN). Results: Among 1174 patients randomized, 784 were randomly assigned to the pembro + chemo group and 390 were randomly assigned to the placebo + chemo group. Median follow-up was 39.1 months at the time of the March 23, 2021 data cutoff. The benefit of neoadjuvant pembro + chemo followed by adjuvant pembro vs neoadjuvant chemo alone was generally consistent with the primary EFS results for all five sensitivity analyses and in each subgroup evaluated (Table). Conclusion: EFS sensitivity analyses show a robust treatment benefit of neoadjuvant pembro + chemo followed by adjuvant pembro for previously untreated non-metastatic TNBC. This benefit was generally consistent across a broad selection of patient subgroups. Table. EFS Sensitivity and Subgroup Analyses in KEYNOTE-522EFS Analyses (ITT Population)Pembro + Chemo n/N (%)*Placebo + Chemo n/N (%)*HR (95% CI)†Primary Analysis‡123/784 (15.7)93/390 (23.8)0.63 (0.48 - 0.82)Sensitivity Analyses1. Alternate censoring rules§112/784 (14.3)84/390 (21.5)0.64 (0.48 - 0.84)2. “New anticancer therapy for metastatic disease” considered an EFS event123/784 (15.7)93/390 (23.8)0.63 (0.48 - 0.82)3. “Positive margin at last surgery” removed from EFS definition122/784 (15.6)90/390 (23.1)0.65 (0.50 - 0.85)4. “Positive margin at last surgery” and “second primary malignancy” removed from EFS definition116/784 (14.8)88/390 (22.6)0.63 (0.48 - 0.84)5. “Second breast malignancy” included in EFS definition126/784 (16.1)95/390 (24.4)0.63 (0.48 - 0.82)Subgroup AnalysesNodal involvement‖Positive80/408 (19.6)57/196 (29.1)0.65 (0.46 - 0.91)Negative43/376 (11.4)36/194 (18.6)0.58 (0.37 - 0.91)Overall disease stageII69/590 (11.7)54/291 (18.6)0.60 (0.42 - 0.86)III54/194 (27.8)39/98 (39.8)0.68 (0.45 - 1.03)Menopausal statusPre-menopausal60/438 (13.7)47/221 (21.3)0.62 (0.42 - 0.91)Post-menopausal63/345 (18.3)46/169 (27.2)0.64 (0.44 - 0.93)HER2 status2+ by IHC (but FISH-)32/188 (17.0)24/104 (23.1)0.73 (0.43 - 1.24)0-1+ by IHC91/595 (15.3)69/286 (24.1)0.60 (0.44 - 0.82)LDH&gt;ULN29/149 (19.5)23/80 (28.8)0.65 (0.37 - 1.12)≤ULN93/631 (14.7)69/309 (22.3)0.63 (0.46 - 0.86)*Number of events/total number of patients (%). †Hazard ratios (HR) and 95% CIs in the primary analysis and sensitivity analyses were based on a stratified Cox regression model; analyses in subgroups were based on an unstratified Cox model. ‡EFS was defined as the time from randomization to the time of first documentation of disease progression that precludes definitive surgery, local or distant recurrence, a second primary cancer or death from any cause, whichever occurs first; patients who did not experience an event at the time of data cutoff were censored at the date they were last known to be alive and event-free. §Events after 2 consecutive missed disease assessments or initiation of post-surgery new anticancer therapy were censored at last disease assessment prior to the earlier date of ≥2 consecutive missed disease assessments and initiation of post-surgery new anticancer therapy; if no events before new anticancer therapy, events were censored at last disease assessment before initiation of post-surgery new anticancer treatment. ‖Determined by the study investigator by physical exam, sonography/MRI and/or biopsy. Data cutoff: March 23, 2021. Citation Format: Peter Schmid, Javier Cortes, Rebecca Dent, Lajos Pusztai, Heather McArthur, Sherko Kümmel, Jonas Bergh, Carsten Denkert, Yeon Hee Park, Rina Hui, Nadia Harbeck, Masato Takahashi, Michael Untch, Peter A. Fasching, Fatima Cardoso, Jay Andersen, Debra Patt, Michael Danso, Marta Ferreira, Marie-Ange Mouret-Reynier, Seock-Ah Im, Jin-Hee Ahn, Maria Gion, Sally Baron-Hay, Jean-Francois Boileau, Yalin Zhu, Wilbur Pan, Konstantinos Tryfonidis, Vassiliki Karantza, Joyce O’Shaughnessy. KEYNOTE-522 study of neoadjuvant pembrolizumab + chemotherapy vs placebo + chemotherapy, followed by adjuvant pembrolizumab vs placebo for early-stage TNBC: Event-free survival sensitivity and subgroup analyses [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the 2021 San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium; 2021 Dec 7-10; San Antonio, TX. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2022;82(4 Suppl):Abstract nr GS1-01.

Presented on Wednesday 18 May: Session 17 This study assesses the prospectivity of the world’s oldest known stacked petroleum systems from the Proterozoic greater McArthur Basin (Northern Territory, Australia), which has immense potential to host both conventional natural gas and oil, in addition to shale-gas accumulations. The Mesoproterozoic succession of the Beetaloo Sub-basin and surrounding region hosts the Territory’s premier shale-gas play and is at an advanced stage of exploration for shale hydrocarbon plays. However, there is also potential for natural gas in older sedimentary packages, with flows and shows reported in underlying Paleoproterozoic successions. At the continent-scale, four regional petroleum supersystems are identified and described in order to provide a platform for consistent nomenclature at the sedimentary package and group level; in ascending stratigraphic order; these are the Paleoproterozoic Redbank and McArthur supersystems, the Paleoproterozoic–Mesoproterozoic Lawn Supersystem, and the Mesoproterozoic Beetaloo Supersystem. The Redbank and Lawn supersystems are newly named and defined, and the Beetaloo Supersystem is renamed from the former Urapungan Supersystem. Eight possible conventional natural gas plays and six shale-gas plays are documented within the McArthur Supersystem, which incorporates Glyde Package successions of the McArthur Basin and the Birrindudu Basin. Petroleum play concepts are also described from this supersystem to assist with assessing the potential for gas resources. A better understanding of the petroleum systems of the greater McArthur Basin is critical to the targeting of areas for geoscience data acquisition in order to facilitate the reduction of exploration search space; and it enables a more rigorous assessment of the potential for conventional and unconventional hydrocarbon resources at local (play) and regional scales. To access the presentation click the link on the right. To read the full paper click here

Hidden away at the ends of streets, behind suburban parks and community assets, there remain remnants of the coastal wallum heathlands that once stretched from Caloundra to Noosa, in Queensland, Australia. From late July to September, these areas explode with colour, a springtime wonderland of white wedding bush, delicate ground orchids, the pastels and brilliance of pink boronias, purple irises, and the diverse profusion of yellow bush peas. These gifts of nature are still relatively unknown and unappreciated, with most locals, and Australians at large, having little knowledge of the remarkable nature of the wallum, the nutrient-poor sandy soil that can be almost as acidic as battery acid, but which sustains a finely tuned ecosystem that, once cleared, cannot be regrown. These heathlands and woodlands, previously commonplace beyond the beach dunes of the coastal region, are now only found in a number of national parks and reserves, and suburban remnants.Image 1: The author wildflowering and making art (Photo: Judy Barrass)I too was one of those who had no idea of the joys of the wallum and heathland wildflowers, but it was the creative works of Kathleen McArthur and Judith Wright that helped initiate my education, my own wanderings, wildflowering, and love. Learning country has been a multi-faceted experience, extended and tested as walking becomes an embodied encounter, bodies and landscapes entwined (Lund), an imaginative reimagining, creative act and source of inspiration, a form of pilgrimage (Morrison), forging an intimate relationship (Somerville).Image 2: Women wildflowering next to Rainbow Beach (Photo: Susan Davis)Wandering—the experience shares some similar characteristics to walking, but may have less of a sense of direction and destination. It may become an experience that is relational, contemplative, connected to place. Wandering may be transitory but with impact that resonates across years. Such is the case of wandering for McArthur and Wright; the experience became deeply relational but also led to a destabilisation of values, where the walking body became “entangled in monumental historical and social structures” (Heddon and Turner). They called their walking and wandering “wildflowering”. Somerville said of the term: “Wildflowering was a word they created to describe their passion for Australian wildflower and their love of the places where they found them” (Somerville 2). However, wildflowering was also very much about the experience of wandering within nature, of the “art of seeing”, of learning and communing, but also of “doing”.Image 3: Kathleen McArthur and Judith Wright “wildflowering” north of Lake Currimundi. (Photo: Alex Jelinek, courtesy Alexandra Moreno)McArthur defined and described going wildflowering as meaningdifferent things to different people. There are those who, with magnifying glass before their eyes, looking every inch the scientist, count stamens, measure hairs, pigeon-hole all the definitive features neatly in order and scoff at common names. Others bring with them an artistic inclination, noting the colours and shapes and shadows in the intimate and in the general landscape. Then there are those precious few who find poetry in a Helmut Orchid “leaning its ear to the ground”; see “the trigger-flower striking the bee”; find secrets in Sun Orchids; see Irises as “lilac butterflies” and a fox in a Yellow Doubletail…There are as many different ways to approach the “art of seeing” as there are people who think and feel and one way is as worthy as any other to make of it an enjoyably sensuous experience… (McArthur, Australian Wildflowers 52-53)Wildflowering thus extends far beyond the scientific collector and cataloguer of nature; it is about walking and wandering within nature and interacting with it; it is a richly layered experience, an “art”, “a sensuous experience”, “an artistic inclination” where perception may be framed by the poetic.Their wildflowering drove McArthur and Wright to embark on monumental struggles. They became the voice for the voiceless lifeforms within the environment—they typed letters, organised meetings, lobbied politicians, and led community groups. In fact, they often had to leave behind the environments and places that brought them joy to use the tools of culture to protest and protect—to ensure we might be able to appreciate them today. Importantly, both their creativity and the activism were fuelled by the same wellspring: walking, wandering, and wildflowering.Women Wandering and WildfloweringWhen McArthur and Wright met in the early 1950s, they shared some similarities in terms of relatively privileged social backgrounds, their year of birth (1915), and a love of nature. They both had houses named after native plants (“Calanthe” for Wright’s house at Tambourine, “Midyim” for McArthur’s house at Caloundra), and were focussed on their creative endeavours—Wright with her poetry, McArthur with her wildflower painting and writing. Wright was by then well established as a highly regarded literary figure on the Australian scene. Her book of poetry The Moving Image (1946) had been well received, and later publications further consolidated her substance and presence on the national literary landscape. McArthur had been raised as the middle daughter of a prominent Queensland family; her father was Daniel Evans, of Evans Deakin Industries, and her mother “Kit” was a daughter of one of the pastoral Durack clan. Kathleen had married and given birth to three children, but by the 1950s was exploring new futures and identities, having divorced her husband and made a home for her family at Caloundra on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. She had time and space in her life to devote to her own pursuits and some financial means provided through her inheritance to finance such endeavours.Wright and McArthur met in 1951 after McArthur sent Wright a children’s book for Judith and Jack McKinney’s daughter Meredith. The book was by McArthur’s cousins, Mary Durack (of Kings in Grass Castles fame) and Elizabeth Durack. Wright subsequently invited McArthur to visit her at Tambourine and from that visit their friendship quickly blossomed. While both women were to become known as high-profile nature lovers and conservationists, Wright acknowledges that it was McArthur who helped “train her eye” and cultivated her appreciation of the wildflowers of south-east Queensland:There are times in one’s past which remain warm and vivid, and can be taken out and looked at, so to speak, with renewed pleasure. Such, for me, were my first meetings in the early 1950s with Kathleen McArthur, and our continuing friendship. They brought me joys of discovery, new knowledge, and shared appreciation. Those “wild-flowering days” at Tamborine Mountain, Caloundra, Noosa or Lake Cootharaba, when I was able to wander with her, helped train my own eye a little to her ways of seeing and her devotion to the flowers of the coast, the mountains, and the wallum plains and swamps. (Wright quoted in McArthur, Australian Wildflowers 7)It was through this wandering and wildflowering that their friendship was forged, their knowledge of the plants and landscape grew and their passion was ignited. These acts of wandering were ones where feelings and the senses were engaged and celebrated. McArthur was to document her experiences of these environments through her wildflower paintings, cards, prints, weekly articles in the local newspapers, and books featuring Queensland and Australian Wildflowers (McArthur, Queensland Wildflowers; Living; Bush; Australian Wildflowers). Wright wrote a range of poems featuring landscapes and flora from the coastal experiences and doubtless influenced by their wildflowering experiences. These included, for example, Judith Wright’s poems “Wildflower Plain”, “Wonga Vine”, “Nameless Flower”, and “Sandy Swamp” (Collected Works).Through these acts of wildflowering, walking, and wandering, McArthur and Wright were drawn into activism and became what I call “wild/flower” women: women who cared for country, who formed a deep connection and intimate relationship with nature, with the more-than-human world; women who saw themselves not separate from nature but part of the great cycles of life, growth, death, and renewal; women whose relationship to the country, to the wildflowers and other living things was expressed through drawing, painting, poetry, stories, and performances—but that love driving them also to actions—actions to nurture and protect those wildflowers, places, and living things. This intimate relationship with nature was such that it inspired them to become “wild”, at times branded difficult, prompted to speak out, and step up to assume high profile roles on the public stage—and all because of their love of the small, humble, and often unseen.Wandering into Activism A direct link between “wildflowering” and activism can be identified in key experiences from 1953. That was the year McArthur devoted to “wildflowering”, visiting locations across the Sunshine Coast and South-East Queensland, documenting all that was flowering at different times of the year (McArthur, Living 15). She kept a monthly journal and also engaged in extensive drawing and painting. She was joined by Wright and her family for some of these trips, including one that would become a “monumental” expedition. They explored the area around Noosa and happened to climb to the top of Mt Tinbeerwah. Unlike many of the other volcanic plugs of the Sunshine Coast that would not be an easy climb for a family with young children, Tinbeerwah is a small volcanic peak, close to the road that runs between Cooroy and Tewantin, and one that is a relatively easy walk. From the car park, the trail takes you over volcanic lava flows, a pathway appearing, disappearing, winding through native grasses, modest height trees and to the edge of a dramatic cliff (one now popular with abseilers and adventurers). The final stretch brings you out above the trees to stunning 360-degree views, other volcanic peaks, a string of lakes and waterways, the patchwork greens of farmlands, distant blue oceans, and an expanse of bushland curving north for miles. Both women wrote about the experience and its subsequent significance: When Meredith was four years old, Kathleen McArthur, who was a great wildflower enthusiast and had become a good friend, invited us to join her on a wildflower expedition to the sand-plains north of Noosa. There the Noosa River spread itself out into sand-bottomed lakes between which the river meandered so slowly that everywhere the sky was serenely mirrored in it, trees hung low over it, birds haunted them.Kathleen took her little car, we took our converted van, and drove up the narrow unsealed road beyond Noosa. Once through the dunes—where the low bush-cover was white with wedding-bush and yellow with guinea-flower vines—the plains began, with many and mingled colours and scents. It was spring, and it welcomed us joyfully. (Wright, Half 279-280)McArthur also wrote about this event and its importance, as they both realised that this was territory that was worth protecting for posterity: ‘it was obvious that this was great wildflower country in addition to having a fascinating system of sand mass with related river and lakes. It would make a unique national park’ (McArthur, Living 53). After this experience, Kathleen and Judith began initial inquiries to find out about how to progress ideas for forming a national park (McArthur, Living). Brady affirms that it was Kathleen who first “broached the idea of agitating to have the area around Cooloola declared a National Park” (Brady 182), and it was Judith who then made inquiries in Brisbane on their way back to Mount Tambourine:Judith took the idea to Romeo Lahey of the National Parks Association who told her it was not threatened in any way whereas there were important areas of rainforest that were, and his association gave priority to those. If he had but known, it was threatened. The minerals sands prospectors were about to arrive, if not already in there. (McArthur, Living 53)These initial investigations were put on hold as the pair pursued their “private lives” and raised their children (McArthur, Living), but reignited throughout the 1960s. In 1962, McArthur and Wright were to become founding members of the Wildlife Preservation Society of Queensland (along with David Fleay and Brian Clouston), and Cooloola was to become one of one of their major campaigns (McArthur, Living 32). This came to the fore when they discovered there were multiple sand mining leases pending across the Cooloola region. It was at McArthur’s suggestion that a national postcard campaign was launched in 1969, with their organisation sending over 100,000 postcards across Australia to then be sent back to Joh Bjelke Peterson, the notoriously pro-development, conservative Queensland Premier. This is acknowledged as Australia’s first postcard campaign and was reported in national newspapers; The Australian called the Caloundra branch of WPSQ one of the “most militant cells” in Australia (25 May 1970). This was likely because of the extent of the WPSQ communications across media channels and persistence in taking on high profile critics, including the mining companies.It was to be another five years of campaigning before the national park was declared in 1975 (then named Cooloola National Park, now part of the Great Sandy). Wright was to then leave Queensland to live on a property near Braidwood (on the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales) and in a different political climate. However, McArthur stayed in Caloundra, maintaining her deep commitment to place and country, keeping on walking and wandering, painting, and writing. She campaigned to protect beach dunes, lobbied to have Pumicestone Passage added to the national heritage register (McArthur, Pumicestone), and fought to prevent the creation of canal estates on the Pumicestone passage. Following the pattern of previous campaigns, she engaged in detailed research, drawing on expertise nationally and internationally, and writing many submissions, newspaper columns, and letters.McArthur also advocated for the plants, the places, and forms of knowing that she loved, calling for “clear thinking and deep feeling” that would enable people to see, value, and care as she did, notably saying:Because our flowers have never settled into our consciousness they are not seen. People can drive through square miles of colourful, massed display of bloom and simply not see it. It is only when the mind opens that the flowers bloom. (McArthur, Bush 2)Her belief was that once you walked the country and could “see”, become familiar with, and fall in love with the wildflowers and their environment, you could not then stand by and see what you love destroyed. Her conservation activities and activism arose and was fed through her wildflowering and the deep knowledge and connections that were formed.Wildflowering and Wanderings of My OwnSo, what we can learn from McArthur and Wright, from our wild/flower women, their wanderings, and wildflowering?Over the past few years, I have walked the wallum country that they loved, recited their poetry, shared their work with others, walked with women in the present accompanied by resonances of the past. I have shared these experiences with friends, artists, and nature lovers. While wandering with one group of women one day, we discovered that a patch of wallum behind Sunshine Beach was due to be cleared for an aged care development. It is full of casuarina food trees visited by the endangered Glossy Black Cockatoos, but it is also full of old wallum banksias, a tree I have come to love, influenced in part by writing and art by McArthur, and my experiences of “wildflowering”.Banksia aemula—the wallum banksia—stands tall, often one of the tallest trees of our coastal heathlands and after which the wallum was named. A range of sources, including McArthur herself, identify the source of the tree’s name as an Aboriginal word:It is an Aboriginal word some say applied to all species of Banksia, and others say to Banksia aemula. The wallum, being up to the present practically useless for commercial purposes provides our best wildflower shows… (McArthur, Queensland Wildflowers 2)Gnarled, textured bark—soft grey and warm red browns, in parts almost fur—the flower heads, when young, feed the small birds and honeyeaters; the bees collect nectar to make honey. And the older heads—remnants on the ground left by glorious black cockatoos, whose beaks, the perfect pliers, crack pods open to recover the hidden seeds. In summer, as the new flowers burst open, every stage of the flower stem cycle is on show. The trees often stand together like familiar friends gossiping, providing shelter; they are protective, nurturing. Banksia aemula is a tree that, according to Thomas Petrie’s reminiscence of “early” Queensland, was significant to Aboriginal women, and might be “owned” by certain women:but certain men and women owned different fruit or flower-trees and shrubs. For instance, a man could own a bon-yi (Auaurcaria Bidwilli) tree, and a woman a minti (Banksia aemula)… (Petrie, Reminiscences 148)Banksia, wallum, women… the connection has existed for millennia. Women walking country, talking, observing, collecting, communing—and this tree was special to them as it has become for me. Who knows how old those trees are in that patch of forest and who may have been their custodians.Do I care about this? Yes, I do. How did I come to care? Through walking, through “wildflowering”, through stories, art, and experience. My connections have been forged by nature and culture, seeing McArthur’s art and reading Wright’s words, through walking the country with women, learning to know, and sharing a wildflowering culture. But knowing isn’t enough: wandering and wondering, has led to something more because now I care; now we must act. Along with some of the women I walked with, we have investigated council records; written to, and called, politicians and the developer; formed a Facebook group; met with various experts; and proposed alternatives. However, our efforts have not met with success as the history of the development application and approval was old and complex. Through wandering and “wildflowering”, we have had the opportunity to both lose ourselves and find ourselves, to escape, to learn, to discover. However, such acts are not necessarily aimless or lacking direction. As connections are forged, care and concern grows, and acts can shift from the humble and mundane, into the intentional and deliberate. The art of seeing and poetic perceptions may even transform into ecological action, with ramifications that can be both significant monumental. Such may be the power of “wildflowering”.ReferencesBrady, Veronica. South of My Days: A Biography of Judith Wright. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1998.Heddon, Deirdre and Cathy Turner. “Walking Women: Shifting the Tales and Scales of Mobility.” Contemporary Theatre Review 22.2 (2012): 224–236.Lund, Katrín. “Landscapes and Narratives: Compositions and the Walking Body.” Landscape Research 37.2 (2012): 225–237.McArthur, Kathleen. Queensland Wildflowers: A Selection. Brisbane: Jacaranda Press, 1959.———. The Bush in Bloom: A Wildflower Artist’s Year in Paintings and Words. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1982.———. Pumicestone Passage: A Living Waterway. Caloundra: Kathleen McArthur, 1978.———. Looking at Australian Wildflowers. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1986.———. Living on the Coast. Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1989.Morrison, Susan Signe. “Walking as Memorial Ritual: Pilgrimage to the Past.” M/C Journal 21.4 (2018). 12 Aug. 2019 <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1437>.Petrie, Constance Campbell, and Tom Petrie. Tom Petrie’s Reminiscences of Early Queensland. 4th ed. Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 1992. Somerville, Margaret. Wildflowering: The Life and Places of Kathleen McArthur. Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 2004.Wright, Judith. Collected Poems: 1942 to 1985. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2016.———. Half a Lifetime. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 1999.

Introduction: In recent years, some studies have indicated that some aspects of language performance of children from low socioeconomic status (SES) families are lower in language tests. Appropriate and timely interventions can partially prevent communication problems in these children. This study aimed to investigate the effect of a parental education program on word acquisition rates in Iranian toddlers from low SES families. Materials and Methods: Sixty-six mothers (toddlers aged 12-14 months) participated in this randomized controlled trial study. These mothers were allocated to the experimental group and control group using the randomization method of the permuted block (each block=6). After baseline assessments, mothers in the experimental group received parental education program aimed at enriching the mother-child interactions and mothers’ knowledge of communication development for 9 weeks. The control group did not receive any education. The outcome measures were children’s scores on the Persian version of the McArthur-Bates communicative development inventories and mothers’ scores in multiple-choice exams regarding workshops’ contents. Data were analyzed using of Chi-square test, independent t test and paired samples t-test, Mann-Whitney U-test, and Wilcoxon signed-rank test. Results: Both groups had a significant increase in vocabulary size, while changes in the experimental group were more than double that of the control group (P<0.001). Other aspects of communicative behaviors, such as imitation, naming, and intentionality were changed only in the experimental group according to the course of typical development (P<0.001). Mothers significantly got higher scores after the workshops in a multiple-choice exam regarding children’s communication, language, and interaction (P<0.001). Conclusion: The results demonstrate that mothers’ knowledge of communication development is malleable and probably has positive effects on the communication behaviors of toddlers from low SES backgrounds.

Since their first encounter with colonial administrators in 1963, approximately 2,000 indigenous people living in the Nimakot region of central New Guinea have been struggling with a tension between their indigenous way of life and the imperatives of the state. It is not just that they are on the international border between Papua New Guinea and Indonesia and therefore difficult to categorise into this or that country. It is that they do not habitually conceptualise themselves and others in categorical terms. They value and focus on relationships rather than categories. In their struggle to adapt the blooming buzzing complexities of their semi-nomadic lifestyle and relational logic to the strict and apparently static lines, grids, and coordinates of rationalistic statecraft they have become torn by duelling conceptions of “kantri” itself (Melanesian Tok Pisin for “country”). On the one hand, kantri invokes an unbroken rural landscape rich with personal and cultural memories that establish a firm and deep relationship with the land and the ancestors. Such a notion fits easily with local conceptions of kinship and land tenure. On the other hand, kantri is a bounded object, part of an often frustrating and mystifying system of categorization imposed by strict and rationalist mechanisms of statecraft. The following analyses this tension based on 22 months of intensive and intimate participant observation in the region from 1999-2006 with a special focus on the uses and impacts of writing and other new communication technologies. The categorical bias of statecraft is enabled, fostered, extended, and maintained by the technology of writing. Statecraft seeks (or makes) categories that are ideally stable, permanent, non-negotiable, and fit for the relative fixity of print, while the relationships emphasised by people of Nimakot are fluid, temporary, negotiable, contested and ambiguous. In contrast to the engaged, pragmatic, and personal view one finds in face-to-face relationships on the ground, the state’s knowledge of the local is ultimately mediated by what can be written into abstract categories that can be listed, counted and aggregated, producing a synoptic, distanced, and decontextualising perspective. By simplifying the cacophonous blooming buzzing complexities of life into legible categories, regularities, and rules, the pen and paper become both the eyes and the voice of the state (Scott 2). Even the writing of this paper is difficult. Many sentences would be easier to write if I could just name the group I am discussing. But the group of people I am writing about have no clear and uncontested name for themselves. More importantly, they do not traditionally think of themselves as a “group,” nor do they habitually conceptualise others in terms of bounded groups of individuals. The biggest challenge to statecraft’s attempts to create a sense of “country” here is the fact that most local people do not subjectively think of themselves in categorical terms. They do not imagine themselves to be part of “adjacent and competitive empires” (Strathern 102). This “group” is most widely known as the western “Atbalmin” though the name is not an indigenous term. “Atbalmin” is a word used by the neighbouring Telefol that means “people of the trees.” It was adopted by early patrol officers who were accompanied by Telefol translators. As these early patrols made their way through the “Atbalmin” region from east to west they frequently complained about names and their inability to pin or pen them down. Tribal names, clan names, even personal names seemed to change with each asking. While such flexibility and flux were perfectly at home in an oral face-to-face environment, it wasn’t suitable for the colonial administrators’ relatively fixed and static books. The “mysterious Kufelmin” (as the patrol reports refer to them) were even more frustrating for early colonial officers. Patrols heading west from Telefomin searched for decades for this mysterious group and never found them. To this day nobody has ever set foot in a Kufelmin village. In each valley heading west patrols were told that the Kufelmin were in the next valley to the west. But the Kufelmin were never there. They were always one more valley to the west. The problem was that the administrators wrongly assumed “Kufelmin” to be a tribal name as stable and categorical as the forms and maps they were using would accept. Kufelmin simply means “those people to the West.” It is a relational term, not a categorical one. The administration’s first contact with the people of Nimakot exposed even more fundamental differences and specific tensions between the local relational logic and the categorical bias of statecraft. Australian patrol officer JR McArthur crested the mountain overlooking Nimakot at precisely 1027 hours on 16 August 1963, a fact he dutifully recorded in his notebook (Telefomin Patrol Report 12 of 1962/63). He then proceeded down the mountain with pen and paper in hand, recording the precise moment he crossed the Sunim creek (1109 hours), came to Sunimbil (1117 hours), and likewise on and on to his final destination near the base of the present-day airstrip. Such recordings of precise times and locations were central to McArthur's main goal. Amidst the steep mountains painted with lush green gardens, sparkling waterfalls, and towering virgin rainforests McArthur busied himself examining maps and aerial photographs searching for the region’s most impressive, imposing, and yet altogether invisible feature: the 141st Meridian East of Greenwich, the international border. McArthur saw his work as one of fixing boundaries, taking names, and extending the great taxonomic system of statecraft that would ultimately “rationalise” and order even this remote corner of the globe. When he came to the conclusion that he had inadvertently stepped outside his rightful domain he promptly left, noting in his report that he purchased a pig just before leaving. The local understanding of this event is very different. While McArthur was busy making and obeying categories, the people of Nimakot were primarily concerned with making relationships. In this case, they hoped to create a relationship through which valuable goods, the likes of which they had never seen, would flow. The pig mentioned in McArthur's report was not meant to be bought or sold, but as a gift signifying the beginning of what locals hoped would be a long relationship. When McArthur insisted on paying for it and then promptly left with a promise that he would never return, locals interpreted his actions as an accusation of witchcraft. Witchcraft is the most visible and dramatic aspect of the local relational logic of being, what might be termed a relational ontology. Marilyn Strathern describes this ontology as being as much “dividual” as individual, pointing out that Melanesians tend to conceptualise themselves as defined and constituted by social relationships rather than independent from them (102). The person is conceptualised as socially and collectively constituted rather than individuated. A person’s strength, health, intelligence, disposition, and behaviour depend on the strength and nature of one’s relationships (Knauft 26). The impacts of this relational ontology on local life are far reaching. Unconditional kindness and sharing are constantly required to maintain healthy relations because unhealthy relations are understood to be the direct cause of sickness, infertility, and death. Where such misfortunes do befall someone, their explanations are sought in a complex calculus examining relational histories. Whoever has a bad relation with the victim is blamed for their misfortune. Modernists disparage such ideas as “witchcraft beliefs” but witchcraft accusations are just a small part of a much more pervasive, rich, and logical relational ontology in which the health and well-being of relations are conceptualised as influencing the health and well-being of things and people. Because of this logic, people of Nimakot are relationship experts who navigate the complex relational field with remarkable subtleness and tact. But even they cannot maintain the unconditional kindness and sharing that is required of them when their social world grows too large and complex. A village rarely grows to over 50 people before tensions lead to an irresolvable witchcraft accusation and the village splits up. In this way, the continuous negotiations inspired by the relational ontology lead to constant movement, changing of names, and shifting clan affiliations – nothing that fits very well on a static map or a few categories in a book. Over the past 45 years since McArthur first brought the mechanisms of statecraft into Nimakot, the tensions between this local relational ontology and the categorical logic of the state have never been resolved. One might think that a synthesis of the two forms would have emerged. Instead, to this day, all that becomes new is the form through which the tensions are expressed and the ways in which the tensions are exacerbated. The international border has been and continues to be the primary catalyst for these tensions to express themselves. As it turns out, McArthur had miscalculated. He had not crossed the international border before coming to Nimakot. It was later determined that the border runs right through the middle of Nimakot, inspiring one young local man to describe it to me as “that great red mark that cuts us right through the heart.” The McArthur encounter was a harbinger of what was to come; a battle for kantri as unbounded connected landscape, and a battle with kantri as a binding categorical system, set against a backdrop of witchcraft imagery. Locals soon learned the importance of the map and census for receiving state funds for construction projects, education, health care, and other amenities. In the early 1970s a charismatic local man convinced others to move into one large village called Tumolbil. The large population literally put Tumolbil “on the map,” dramatically increasing its visibility to government and foreign aid. Drawn by the large population, an airstrip, school, and aid post were built in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Locally this process is known as “namba tok,” meaning that “numbers (population, statistics, etc.) talk” to the state. The greater the number, the stronger the voice, so locals are now intent on creating large stable villages that are visible to the state and in line for services and development projects. Yet their way of life and relational cultural logics continue to betray their efforts to create such villages. Most people still navigate the complexities of their social relations by living in small, scattered, semi-nomadic hamlets. Even as young local men trained in Western schools become government officials in charge of the maps and census books themselves, they are finding that they are frustrated by the same characteristics of life that once frustrated colonial administrators. The tensions between the local relational ontology and the categorical imperatives of the state come to rest squarely on the shoulders of these young men. They want large stable villages that will produce a large number in the census book in order to bring development projects to their land. More importantly, they recognise that half of their land rests precariously west of that magical 141st Meridian. A clearly defined and distinct place on the map along with a solid number of names in the census book, have become essential to assuring their continued connection with their kantri. On several occasions they have felt threatened by the possibility that they would have to either abandon the land west of the meridian or become citizens of Indonesia. The first option threatens their sense of kantri as connection to their traditional land. The other violates their new found sense of kantri as nationalistic pride in the independent state of Papua New Guinea. In an attempt to resolve these increasingly pressing tensions, the officers designed “Operation Clean and Sweep” in 2003 – a plan to move people out of their small scattered hamlets and into one of twelve larger villages that had been recognised by Papua New Guinea in previous census and mapping exercises. After sending notice to hamlet residents, an operation team of over one hundred men marched throughout Nimakot, burning each hamlet along the way. Before each burning, officers gave a speech peppered with the phrase “namba tok.” Most people listened to the speeches with enthusiasm, often expressing their own eagerness to leave their hamlet behind to live in a large orderly village. In one hamlet they asked me to take a photo of them in front of their houses just before they cheerfully allowed government officers to enter their homes and light the thatch of their rooftops. “Finally,” the officer in charge exclaimed triumphantly, “we can put people where their names are.” If the tension between local relational logics and the categorical imperatives of the state had been only superficial, perhaps this plan would have ultimately resolved the tension. But the tension is not only expressed objectively in the need for large stable villages, but subjectively as well, in the state’s need for people to orient themselves primarily as citizens and individuals, doing what is best for the country as a categorical group rather than acting as relational “dividuals” and orienting their lives primarily towards the demands of kinship and other relations. This tension has been recognised in other contexts as well, and theorised in Craig Calhoun’s study of nationalism in which he marks out two related distinctions: “between networks of social relationships and categories of similar individuals, and between reproduction through directly interpersonal interactions and reproduction through the mediation of relatively impersonal agencies of large-scale cultural standardization and social organization” (29). The former in both of these distinctions make up the essential components of relational ontology, while the latter describe the mechanisms and logic of statecraft. To describe the form of personhood implicit in nationalism, Calhoun introduces the term “categorical identity” to designate “identification by similarity of attributes as a member of a set of equivalent members” (42). While locals are quick to understand the power of categorical entities in the cultural process of statecraft and therefore have eagerly created large villages on a number of occasions in order to “game” the state system, they do not readily assume a categorical identity, an identity with these categories, and the villages have consistently disintegrated over time due to relational tensions and witchcraft accusations born from the local relational ontology. Operation Clean and Sweep reached its crisis moment just two days after the burnings began. An influential man from one of the unmapped hamlets scheduled for burning came to the officers complaining that he would not move to the large government village because he would have to live too close to people who had bewitched and killed members of his family. Others echoed his fears of witchcraft in the large government villages. The drive for a categorical order came head to head with the local relational ontology. Moving people into large government villages and administering a peaceful, orderly, lawful society of citizens (a categorical identity) would take much more than eliminating hamlets and forced migration. It would require a complete transformation in their sense of being – a transformation that even the officers themselves have not fully undertaken. The officers did not see the relational ontology as the problem. They saw witchcraft as the problem. They announced plans to eradicate witchcraft altogether. For three months, witchcraft suspects were apprehended, interrogated, and asked to list names of other witches. With each interrogation, the list of witches grew longer and longer. The interrogations were violent at times, but not as violent or as devastating as the list itself. The violence of the list hid behind its simple elegance. Like a census book, it had a mystique of orderliness and rationality. It stripped away the ugliness and complexity of interrogations leaving nothing but pure categorical knowledge. In the interrogation room, the list became a powerful tool the officer in charge used to intimidate his suspects. He often began by reading from the list, as if to say, “we already have you right here.” But one might say it was the officer who was really trapped in the list. It ensnared him in its simple elegance, its clean straight lines and clear categories. He was not using the list as much as the list was using him. Traditionally it was not the witch that was of concern, but the act of witchcraft itself. If the relationship could be healed – thereby healing the victim – all was forgiven. The list transformed the accused from temporary, situational, and indefinite witches involved in local relational disputes to permanent, categorical witches in violation of state law. Traditional ways of dealing with witchcraft focused on healing relationships. The print culture of the state focuses on punishing the categorically “guilty” categorical individual. They were “sentenced” “by the book.” As an outsider, I was simply thought to be naïve about the workings of witchcraft. My protests were ignored (see Wesch). Ultimately it ended because making a list of witches proved to be even more difficult than making a list for the census. Along with the familiar challenges of shifting names and affiliations, the witch list made its own enemies. The moment somebody was listed all of their relations ceased recognising the list and those making it as authoritative. In the end, the same tensions that motivated Operation Clean and Sweep were only reproduced by the efforts to resolve them. The tensions demonstrated themselves to be more tenacious than anticipated, grounded as they are in pervasive self-sustaining cultural systems that do not overlap in a way that is significant enough to threaten their mutual existence. The relational ontology is embedded in rich and enduring local histories of gift exchange, marriage, birth, death, and conflict. Statecraft is embedded in a broader system of power, hierarchy, deadlines, roles, and rules. They are not simply matters of belief. In this way, the focus on witches and witchcraft could never resolve the tensions. Instead, the movement only exacerbated the relational tensions that inspire, extend, and maintain witchcraft beliefs, and once again people found themselves living in small, scattered hamlets, wishing they could somehow come together to live in large prosperous villages so their population numbers would be great enough to “talk” to the state, bringing in valuable services, and more importantly, securing their land and citizenship with Papua New Guinea. It is in this context that “kantri” not only embodies the tensions between local ways of life and the imperatives of the state, but also the persistent hope for resolution, and the haunting memories of previous failures. References Calhoun, Craig. Nationalism. Open UP, 1997. Knauft, Bruce. From Primitive to Postcolonial in Melanesia and Anthropology. Ann Arbor: U Michigan P, 1999. McArthur, JR. Telefomin Patrol Report 12 of 1962/63 Strathern, Marilyn. The Gender of the Gift. U California P, 1988. Scott, James. Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. Yale UP, 1998. Wesch, Michael. “A Witch Hunt in New Guinea: Anthropology on Trial.” Anthropology and Humanism 32.1 (2007): 4-17.

Introduction: Evidence suggests that subjective social status (SSS)—perceived status in the social hierarchy—may be more strongly associated with health than objective markers of social status (OSS), income and education. Compared to persons with high SSS, those with low SSS report poorer self-rated physical health and have higher rates of medical comorbidities. Little is known about the relationship between SSS and ideal cardiovascular health (CVH) profiles defined by the American Heart Association (AHA), particularly among diverse Hispanic/Latino adults. Hypothesis: Higher SSS will be associated with more favorable CVH profiles. Methods: We analyzed baseline HCHS/SOL data † on adults ages 18-74 in 2008-11 (N=15,440). SSS was assessed using the McArthur Scale, a 10-rung “social ladder” to specify social rank (scores range from 1-10; higher scores indicate higher SSS). CVH was defined based on levels of 7 metrics: diet, body mass index (BMI), physical activity, cholesterol, blood pressure, fasting glucose, and smoking status; levels of each metric were categorized as ideal, intermediate and poor using AHA criteria. A composite CVH score was calculated by summing across metrics (scores range from 0-14; higher scores indicate better CVH). Linear and logistic regressions were used to examine cross-sectional associations of SSS with CVH (overall and single metrics), after adjusting for OSS, demographics, Hispanic/Latino group, study center, marital status, insurance, prevalent coronary heart disease, and depressive symptoms (CESD). Results: In multivariate-adjusted models, each one unit increase in SSS* was associated with a higher overall CVH score (β = 0.03, 95% CI 0.004, 0.057, p <0.05); higher SSS was also positively associated with ideal levels of BMI, physical activity, and fasting blood glucose levels (see Table 1). Conclusions: These findings suggest an association between SSS and CVH among diverse Hispanic/Latino adults. Future studies will explore the mechanisms through which SSS may influence CVH.

Despite the now-traditional tendency of noir scholarship to call attention to the retrospective and constructed nature of this genre— James Naremore argues that film noir is best regarded as a “mythology”— one feature that has rarely come under question is its association with the city (2). Despite the existence of numerous rural noirs, the depiction of urban space is associated with this genre more consistently than any other element. Even in critical accounts that attempt to deconstruct the solidity of the noir genre, the city is left as an implicit inclusion, and the country, an implict exclusion. Naremore, for example, does not include the urban environment in a list of the central tenets of film noir that he calls into question: “nothing links together all the things described as noir—not the theme of crime, not a cinematographic technique, not even a resistance to Aristotelian narratives or happy endings” (10). Elizabeth Cowie identifies film noir a “fantasy,” whose “tenuous critical status” has been compensated for “by a tenacity of critical use” (121). As part of Cowie’s project, to revise the assumption that noirs are almost exclusively male-centered, she cites character types, visual style, and narrative tendencies, but never urban spaces, as familiar elements of noir that ought to be reconsidered. If the city is rarely tackled as an unnecessary or part-time element of film noir in discursive studies, it is often the first trait identified by critics in the kind of formative, characteristic-compiling studies that Cowie and Naremore work against.Andrew Dickos opens Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir with a list of noir’s key attributes. The first item is “an urban setting or at least an urban influence” (6). Nicholas Christopher maintains that “the city is the seedbed of film noir. […] However one tries to define or explain noir, the common denominator must always be the city. The two are inseparable” (37). Though the tendencies of noir scholars— both constructive and deconstructive— might lead readers to believe otherwise, rural locations figure prominently in a number of noir films. I will show that the noir genre is, indeed, flexible enough to encompass many films set predominantly or partly in rural locations. Steve Neale, who encourages scholars to work with genre terms familiar to original audiences, would point out that the rural noir is an academic discovery not an industry term, or one with much popular currency (166). Still, this does not lessen the critical usefulness of this subgenre, or its implications for noir scholarship.While structuralist and post-structuralist modes of criticism dominated film genre criticism in the 1970s and 80s, as Thomas Schatz has pointed out, these approaches often sacrifice close attention to film texts, for more abstract, high-stakes observations: “while there is certainly a degree to which virtually every mass-mediated cultural artifact can be examined from [a mythical or ideological] perspective, there appears to be a point at which we tend to lose sight of the initial object of inquiry” (100). Though my reading of these films sidesteps attention to social and political concerns, this article performs the no-less-important task of clarifying the textual features of this sub-genre. To this end, I will survey the tendencies of the rural noir more generally, mentioning more than ten films that fit this subgenre, before narrowing my analysis to a reading of Moonrise (Frank Borzage, 1948), Thieves’ Highway (Jules Dassin, 1949), They Live By Night (Nicholas Ray, 1949) and On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). Robert Mitchum tries to escape his criminal life by settling in a small, mountain-side town in Out of the Past (Jacques Tourneur, 1947). A foggy marsh provides a dramatic setting for the Bonnie and Clyde-like demise of lovers on the run in Gun Crazy (Joseph Lewis, 1950). In The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston, 1950), Sterling Hayden longs to return home after he is forced to abandon his childhood horse farm for a life of organised crime in the city. Rob Ryan plays a cop unable to control his violent impulses in On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). He is re-assigned from New York City to a rural community up-state in hopes that a less chaotic environment will have a curative effect. The apple orchards of Thieves’ Highway are no refuge from networks of criminal corruption. In They Live By Night, a pair of young lovers, try to leave their criminal lives behind, hiding out in farmhouses, cabins, and other pastoral locations in the American South. Finally, the location of prisons explains a number of sequences set in spare, road-side locations such as those in The Killer is Loose (Budd Boetticher, 1956), The Hitch-Hiker (Ida Lupino, 1953), and Raw Deal (Anthony Mann, 1948). What are some common tendencies of the rural noir? First, they usually feature both rural and urban settings, which allows the portrayal of one to be measured against the other. What we see of the city structures the definition of the country, and vice versa. Second, the lead character moves between these two locations by driving. For criminals, the car is more essential for survival in the country than in the city, so nearly all rural noirs are also road movies. Third, nature often figures as a redemptive force for urbanites steeped in lives of crime. Fourth, the curative quality of the country is usually tied to a love interest in this location: the “nurturing woman” as defined by Janey Place, who encourages the protagonist to forsake his criminal life (60). Fifth, the country is never fully crime-free. In The Killer is Loose, for example, an escaped convict’s first victim is a farmer, whom he clubs before stealing his truck. The convict (Wendell Corey), then, easily slips through a motorcade with the farmer’s identification. Here, the sprawling countryside provides an effective cover for the killer. This farmland is not an innocent locale, but the criminal’s safety-net. In films where a well-intentioned lead attempts to put his criminal life behind him by moving to a remote location, urban associates have little trouble tracking him down. While the country often appears, to protagonists like Jeff in Out of the Past or Bowie in They Live By Night, as an ideal place to escape from crime, as these films unfold, violence reaches the countryside. If these are similar points, what are some differences among rural noirs? First, there are many differences by degree among the common elements listed above. For instance, some rural noirs present their location with unabashed romanticism, while others critique the idealisation of these locations; some “nurturing women” are complicit with criminal activity, while others are entirely innocent. Second, while noir films are commonly known for treating similar urban locations, Los Angeles in particular, these films feature a wide variety of locations: Out of the Past and Thieves’ Highway take place in California, the most common setting for rural noirs, but On Dangerous Ground is set in northern New England, They Live by Night takes place in the Depression-era South, Moonrise in Southern swampland, and the most dynamic scene of The Asphalt Jungle is in rural Kentucky. Third, these films also vary considerably in the balance of settings. If the three typical locations of the rural noir are the country, the city, and the road, the distribution of these three locations varies widely across these films. The location of The Asphalt Jungle matches the title until its dramatic conclusion. The Hitch-hiker, arguably a rural noir, is set in travelling cars, with just brief stops in the barren landscape outside. Two of the films I analyse, They Live By Night and Moonrise are set entirely in the country; a remarkable exception to the majority of films in this subgenre. There are only two other critical essays on the rural noir. In “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir,” Jonathan F. Bell contextualises the rural noir in terms of post-war transformations of the American landscape. He argues that these films express a forlorn faith in the agrarian myth while the U.S. was becoming increasingly developed and suburbanised. That is to say, the rural noir simultaneously reflects anxiety over the loss of rural land, but also the stubborn belief that the countryside will always exist, if the urbanite needs it as a refuge. Garry Morris suggests the following equation as the shortest way to state the thematic interest of this genre: “Noir = industrialisation + (thwarted) spirituality.” He attributes much of the malaise of noir protagonists to the inhospitable urban environment, “far from [society’s] pastoral and romantic and spiritual origins.” Where Bell focuses on nine films— Detour (1945), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), Out of the Past (1947), Key Largo (1948), Gun Crazy (1949), On Dangerous Ground (1952), The Hitch-Hiker (1953), Split Second (1953), and Killer’s Kiss (1955)— Morris’s much shorter article includes just The Asphalt Jungle (1950) and Gun Crazy. Of the four films I discuss, only On Dangerous Ground has previously been treated as part of this subgenre, though it has never been discussed alongside Nicholas Ray’s other rural noir. To further the development of the project that these authors have started— the formation of a rural noir corpus— I propose the inclusion of three additional films in this subgenre: Moonrise (1948), They Live by Night (1949), and Thieves’ Highway (1949). With both On Dangerous Ground and They Live by Night to his credit, Nicholas Ray has the distinction of being the most prolific director of rural noirs. In They Live by Night, two young lovers, Bowie (Farley Granger) and Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell), attempt to escape from their established criminal lives. Twenty-three year old Bowie has just been released from juvenile prison and finds rural Texas refreshing: “Out here, the air smells different,” he says. He meets Keechie through her father, a small time criminal organiser who would be happy to keep her secluded for life. When one of Bowie’s accomplices, Chicamaw (Howard DaSilva), shoots a policeman after a robbing a bank with Bowie, the young couple is forced to run. Foster Hirsch calls They Live by Night “a genre rarity, a sentimental noir” (34). The naïve blissfulness of their affection is associated with the primitive settings they navigate. Though Bowie and Keechie are the most sympathetic protagonists of any rural noir, this is no safeguard against an inevitable, characteristically noir demise. Janey Place writes, “the young lovers are doomed, but the possibility of their love transcends and redeems them both, and its failure criticises the urbanised world that will not let them live” (63). As indicated here, the country offers the young lovers refuge for some time, and their bond is depicted as wonderfully strong, but it is doomed by the stronger force of the law.Raymond Williams discusses how different characteristics are associated with urban and rural spaces:On the country has gathered the idea of a natural way of life: of peace, innocence, and simple virtue. On the city has gathered the idea of an achieved center: of learning, communication, light. Powerful hostile associations have also developed: on the city as a place of noise, worldliness and ambition; on the country as a place of backwardness, ignorance, limitation. (1) They Live By Night breaks down these dichotomies, showing the persistence of crime rooted in rural areas.Bowie desires to “get squared around” and live a more natural life with Keechie. Williams’ country adjectives— “peace, innocence, and simple virtue”— describe the nature of this relationship perfectly. Yet, criminal activity, usually associated with the city, has an overwhelmingly strong presence in this region and their lives. Bowie, following the doomed logic of many a crime film character, plans to launch a new, more honest life with cash raised in a heist. Keechie recognises the contradictions in this plan: “Fine way to get squared around, teaming with them. Stealing money and robbing banks. You’ll get in so deep trying to get squared, they’ll have enough to keep you in for two life times.” For Bowie, crime and the pursuit of love are inseparably bound, refuting the illusion of the pure and innocent countryside personified by characters like Mary Malden in On Dangerous Ground and Ann Miller in Out of the Past.In Ray’s other rural noir, On Dangerous Ground, a lonely, angry, and otherwise burned out cop, Wilson (Rob Ryan), finds both love and peace in his time away from the city. While on his up-state assignment, Wilson meets Mary Walden (Ida Lupino), a blind woman who lives a secluded life miles away from this already desolate, rural community. Mary has a calming influence on Wilson, and fits well within Janey Place’s notion of the archetypal nurturing woman in film noir: “The redemptive woman often represents or is part of a primal connection with nature and/or with the past, which are safe, static states rather than active, exciting ones, but she can sometimes offer the only transcendence possible in film noir” (63).If, as Colin McArthur observes, Ray’s characters frequently seek redemption in rural locales— “[protagonists] may reject progress and modernity; they may choose to go or are sent into primitive areas. […] The journeys which bring them closer to nature may also offer them hope of salvation” (124) — the conclusions of On Dangerous Ground versus They Live By Night offer two markedly different resolutions to this narrative. Where Bowie and Keechie’s life on the lam cannot be sustained, On Dangerous Ground, against the wishes of its director, portrays a much more romanticised version of pastoral life. According to Andrew Dickos, “Ray wanted to end the film on the ambivalent image of Jim Wilson returning to the bleak city,” after he had restored order up-state (132). The actual ending is more sentimental. Jim rushes back north to be with Mary. They passionately kiss in close-up, cueing an exuberant orchestral score as The End appears over a slow tracking shot of the majestic, snow covered landscape. In this way, On Dangerous Ground overturns the usual temporal associations of rural versus urban spaces. As Raymond Williams identifies, “The common image of the country is now an image of the past, and the common image of the city an image of the future” (297). For Wilson, by contrast, city life was no longer sustainable and rurality offers his best means for a future. Leo Marx noted in a variety of American pop culture, from Mark Twain to TV westerns and magazine advertising, a “yearning for a simpler, more harmonious style of life, and existence ‘closer to nature,’ that is the psychic root of all pastoralism— genuine and spurious” (Marx 6). Where most rural noirs expose the agrarian myth as a fantasy and a sham, On Dangerous Ground, exceptionally, perpetuates it as actual and effectual. Here, a bad cop is made good with a few days spent in a sparsely populated area and with a woman shaped by her rural upbringing.As opposed to On Dangerous Ground, where the protagonist’s movement from city to country matches his split identity as a formerly corrupt man wishing to be pure, Frank Borzage’s B-film Moonrise (1948) is located entirely in rural or small-town locations. Set in the fictional Southern town of Woodville, which spans swamps, lushly wooded streets and aging Antebellum mansions, the lead character finds good and bad within the same rural location and himself. Dan (Dane Clark) struggles to escape his legacy as the son of a murderer. This conflict is irreparably heightened when Dan kills a man (who had repeatedly teased and bullied him) in self-defence. The instability of Dan’s moral compass is expressed in the way he treats innocent elements of the natural world: flies, dogs, and, recalling Out of the Past, a local deaf boy. He is alternately cruel and kind. Dan is finally redeemed after seeking the advice of a black hermit, Mose (Rex Ingram), who lives in a ramshackle cabin by the swamp. He counsels Dan with the advice that men turn evil from “being lonesome,” not for having “bad blood.” When Dan, eventually, decides to confess to his crime, the sheriff finds him tenderly holding a search hound against a bucolic, rural backdrop. His complete comfortability with the landscape and its creatures finally allows Dan to reconcile the film’s opening opposition. He is no longer torturously in between good and evil, but openly recognises his wrongs and commits to do good in the future. If I had to select just a single shot to illustrate that noirs are set in rural locations more often than most scholarship would have us believe, it would be the opening sequence of Moonrise. From the first shot, this film associates rural locations with criminal elements. The credit sequence juxtaposes pooling water with an ominous brass score. In this disorienting opening, the camera travels from an image of water, to a group of men framed from the knees down. The camera dollies out and pans left, showing that these men, trudging solemnly, are another’s legal executioners. The frame tilts upward and we see a man hung in silhouette. This dense shot is followed by an image of a baby in a crib, also shadowed, the water again, and finally the execution scene. If this sequence is a thematic montage, it can also be discussed, more simply, as a series of establishing shots: a series of images that, seemingly, could not be more opposed— a baby, a universal symbol of innocence, set against the ominous execution, cruel experience— are paired together by virtue of their common location. The montage continues, showing that the baby is the son of the condemned man. As Dan struggles with the legacy of his father throughout the film, this opening shot continues to inform our reading of this character, split between the potential for good or evil.What a baby is to Moonrise, or, to cite a more familiar reference, what the insurance business is to many a James M. Cain roman noir, produce distribution is to Jules Dassin’s Thieves’ Highway (1949). The apple, often a part of wholesome American myths, is at the centre of this story about corruption. Here, a distribution network that brings Americans this hearty, simple product is connected with criminal activity and violent abuses of power more commonly portrayed in connection with cinematic staples of organised crime such as bootlegging or robbery. This film portrays bad apples in the apple business, showing that no profit driven enterprise— no matter how traditional or rural— is beyond the reach of corruption.Fitting the nature of this subject, numerous scenes in the Dassin film take place in the daylight (in addition to darkness), and in the countryside (in addition to the city) as we move between wine and apple country to the market districts of San Francisco. But if the subject and setting of Thieves’ Highway are unusual for a noir, the behaviour of its characters is not. Spare, bright country landscapes form the backdrop for prototypical noir behaviour: predatory competition for money and power.As one would expect of a film noir, the subject of apple distribution is portrayed with dynamic violence. In the most exciting scene of the film, a truck careens off the road after a long pursuit from rival sellers. Apples scatter across a hillside as the truck bursts into flames. This scene is held in a long-shot, as unscrupulous thugs gather the produce for sale while the unfortunate driver burns to death. Here, the reputedly innocent American apple is subject to cold-blooded, profit-maximizing calculations as much as the more typical topics of noir such as blackmail, fraud, or murder. Passages on desolate roads and at apple orchards qualify Thieves’ Highway as a rural noir; the dark, cynical manner in which capitalist enterprise is treated is resonant with nearly all film noirs. Thieves’ Highway follows a common narrative pattern amongst rural noirs to gradually reveal rural spaces as connected to criminality in urban locations. Typically, this disillusioning fact is narrated from the perspective of a lead character who first has a greater sense of safety in rural settings but learns, over the course of the story, to be more wary in all locations. In Thieves’, Nick’s hope that apple-delivery might earn an honest dollar (he is the only driver to treat the orchard owners fairly) gradually gives way to an awareness of the inevitable corruption that has taken over this enterprise at all levels of production, from farmer, to trucker, to wholesaler, and thus, at all locations, the country, the road, and the city.Between this essay, and the previous work of Morris and Bell on the subject, we are developing a more complete survey of the rural noir. Where Bell’s and Morris’s essays focus more resolutely on rural noirs that relied on the contrast of the city versus the country— which, significantly, was the first tendency of this subgenre that I observed— Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate that this genre can work entirely apart from the city. From start to finish, these films take place in small towns and rural locations. As opposed to Out of the Past, On Dangerous Ground, or The Asphalt Jungle, characters are never pulled back to, nor flee from, an urban life of crime. Instead, vices that are commonly associated with the city have a free-standing life in the rural locations that are often thought of as a refuge from these harsh elements. If both Bell and Morris study the way that rural noirs draw differences between the city and country, two of the three films I add to the subgenre constitute more complete rural noirs, films that work wholly outside urban locations, not just in contrast with it. Bell, like me, notes considerable variety in rural noirs locations, “desert landscapes, farms, mountains, and forests all qualify as settings for consideration,” but he also notes that “Diverse as these landscapes are, this set of films uses them in surprisingly like-minded fashion to achieve a counterpoint to the ubiquitous noir city” (219). In Bell’s analysis, all nine films he studies, feature significant urban segments. He is, in fact, so inclusive as to discuss Stanley Kubrick’s Killer’s Kiss as a rural noir even though it does not contain a single frame shot or set outside of New York City. Rurality is evoked only as a possibility, as alienated urbanite Davy (Jamie Smith) receives letters from his horse-farm-running relatives. Reading these letters offers Davy brief moments of respite from drudgerous city spaces such as the subway and his cramped apartment. In its emphasis on the centrality of rural locations, my project is more similar to David Bell’s work on the rural in horror films than to Jonathan F. Bell’s work on the rural noir. David Bell analyses the way that contemporary horror films work against a “long tradition” of the “idyllic rural” in many Western texts (95). As opposed to works “from Henry David Thoreau and Walt Whitman to contemporary television shows like Northern Exposure and films such as A River Runs Through It or Grand Canyon” in which the rural is positioned as “a restorative to urban anomie,” David Bell analyses films such as Deliverance and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre that depict “a series of anti-idyllic visions of the rural” (95). Moonrise and They Live By Night, like these horror films, portray the crime and the country as coexistent spheres at the same time that the majority of other popular culture, including noirs like Killer’s Kiss or On Dangerous Ground, portray them as mutually exclusive.To use a mode of generic analysis developed by Rick Altman, the rural noir, while preserving the dominant syntax of other noirs, presents a remarkably different semantic element (31). Consider the following description of the genre, from the introduction to Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide: “The darkness that fills the mirror of the past, which lurks in a dark corner or obscures a dark passage out of the oppressively dark city, is not merely the key adjective of so many film noir titles but the obvious metaphor for the condition of the protagonist’s mind” (Silver and Ward, 4). In this instance, the narrative elements, or syntax, of film noir outlined by Silver and Ward do not require revision, but the urban location, a semantic element, does. Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate the sustainability of the aforementioned syntactic elements— the dark, psychological experience of the leads and their inescapable criminal past— apart from the familiar semantic element of the city.The rural noir must also cause us to reconsider— beyond rural representations or film noir— more generally pitched genre theories. Consider the importance of place to film genre, the majority of which are defined by a typical setting: for melodramas, it is the family home, for Westerns, the American west, and for musicals, the stage. Thomas Schatz separates American genres according to their setting, between genres which deal with “determinate” versus “indeterminate” space:There is a vital distinction between kinds of generic settings and conflicts. Certain genres […] have conflicts that, indigenous to the environment, reflect the physical and ideological struggle for its control. […] Other genres have conflicts that are not indigenous to the locale but are the results of the conflict between the values, attitudes, and actions of its principal characters and the ‘civilised’ setting they inhabit. (26) Schatz discusses noirs, along with detective films, as films which trade in “determinate” settings, limited to the space of the city. The rural noir slips between Schatz’s dichotomy, moving past the space of the city, but not into the civilised, tame settings of the genres of “indeterminate spaces.” It is only fitting that a genre whose very definition lies in its disruption of Hollywood norms— trading high- for low-key lighting, effectual male protagonists for helpless ones, and a confident, coherent worldview for a more paranoid, unstable one would, finally, be able to accommodate a variation— the rural noir— that would seem to upset one of its central tenets, an urban locale. Considering the long list of Hollywood standards that film noirs violated, according to two of its original explicators, Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton— “a logical action, an evident distinction between good and evil, well-defined characters with clear motives, scenes that are more spectacular than brutal, a heroine who is exquisitely feminine and a hero who is honest”— it should, perhaps, not be so surprising that the genre is flexible enough to accommodate the existence of the rural noir after all (14). AcknowledgmentsIn addition to M/C Journal's anonymous readers, the author would like to thank Corey Creekmur, Mike Slowik, Barbara Steinson, and Andrew Gorman-Murray for their helpful suggestions. ReferencesAltman, Rick. “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 27-41.The Asphalt Jungle. Dir. John Huston. MGM/UA, 1950.Bell, David. “Anti-Idyll: Rural Horror.” Contested Countryside Cultures. Eds. Paul Cloke and Jo Little. London, Routledge, 1997. 94-108.Bell, Jonathan F. “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir.” Architecture and Film. Ed. Mark Lamster. New York: Princeton Architectural P, 2000. 217-230.Borde, Raymond and Etienne Chaumeton. A Panorama of American Film Noir. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2002.Christopher, Nicholas. Somewhere in the Night: Film Noir and the American City. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997.Cowie, Elizabeth. “Film Noir and Women.” Shades of Noir. Ed. Joan Copjec. New York: Verso, 1993. 121-166.Dickos, Andrew. Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 2002.Hirsch, Foster. Detours and Lost Highways: A Map of Neo-Noir. New York: Limelight Editions, 1999.Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. New York: Oxford UP, 1964.McArthur, Colin. Underworld U.S.A. London: BFI, 1972.Moonrise. Dir. Frank Borzage. Republic, 1948.Morris, Gary. “Noir Country: Alien Nation.” Bright Lights Film Journal Nov. 2006. 13. Jun. 2008 http://www.brightlightsfilm.com/54/noircountry.htm Muller, Eddie. Dark City: The Lost World of Film Noir. New York: St. Martin’s P, 1998.Naremore, James. More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts. Berkeley, C.A.: U of California P, 2008.Neale, Steve. “Questions of Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 160-184.On Dangerous Ground. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1951.Out of the Past. Dir. Jacques Tourneur. RKO, 1947.Place, Janey. “Women in Film Noir.” Women in Film Noir. Ed. E. Ann Kaplan. London: BFI, 1999. 47-68.Schatz, Thomas. Hollywood Genres. New York: Random House, 1981.Schatz, Thomas. “The Structural Influence: New Directions in Film Genre Study.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 92-102.Silver, Alain and Elizabeth Ward. Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide. London: Bloomsbury, 1980.They Live by Night. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1949.Thieves’ Highway. Dir. Jules Dassin. Fox, 1949.Williams, Raymond. The Country and the City. New York: Oxford UP, 1973.

Photo by Jo-Anne McArthur on Unsplash ABSTRACT The UK-based campaign group Scrap Factory Farming has launched a legal challenge against industrial animal agriculture; the challenge is in the process of judicial review. While a fringe movement, Scrap Factory Farming has already accrued some serious backers, including the legal team of Michael Mansfield QC. The premise is that factory farming is a danger not just to animals or the environment but also to human health. According to its stated goals, governments should be given until 2025 to phase out industrialized “concentrated animal feeding organizations” (CAFOs) in favor of more sustainable and safer agriculture. This paper will discuss the bioethical issues involved in Scrap Factory Farming’s legal challenge and argue that an overhaul of factory farming is long overdue. INTRODUCTION A CAFO is a subset of animal feeding operations that has a highly concentrated animal population. CAFOs house at least 1000 beef cows, 2500 pigs, or 125,000 chickens for at least 45 days a year. The animals are often confined in pens or cages to use minimal energy, allowing them to put on as much weight as possible in as short a time. The animals are killed early relative to their total lifespans because the return on investment (the amount of meat produced compared to animal feed) is a curve of diminishing returns. CAFOs’ primary goal is efficiency: fifty billion animals are “processed” in CAFOs every year. The bioethical questions raised by CAFOs include whether it is acceptable to kill the animals, and if so, under what circumstances, whether the animals have rights, and what animal welfare standards should apply. While there are laws and standards in place, they tend to reflect the farm lobby and fail to consider broader animal ethics. Another critical issue applicable to industrial animal agriculture is the problem of the just distribution of scarce resources. There is a finite amount of food that the world can produce, which is, for the moment, approximately enough to go around.[1] The issue is how it goes around. Despite there being enough calories and nutrients on the planet to give all a comfortable life, these calories and nutrients are distributed such that there is excess and waste in much of the global North and rampant starvation and malnutrition in the global South. The problem of distribution can be solved in two ways: either by efficient and just distribution or by increasing net production (either increase productivity or decrease waste) so that even an inefficient and unjust distribution system will probably meet the minimum nutritional standards for all humans. This essay explores four bioethical fields (animal ethics, climate ethics, workers’ rights, and just distribution) as they relate to current industrial agriculture and CAFOs. l. Animal Ethics Two central paradigms characterize animal ethics: welfarism and animal rights. These roughly correspond to the classical frameworks of utilitarianism and deontology. Welfarists[2] hold the common-sense position that animals must be treated well and respected as individuals but do not have inalienable rights in the same ways as humans. A typical welfare position might be, “I believe that animals should be given the best life possible, but there is no inherent evil in using animals for food, so long as they are handled and killed humanely.” Animal rights theorists and activists, on the other hand, would say, “I believe non-human animals should be given the best lives possible, but we should also respect certain rights of theirs analogous to human rights: they should never be killed for food, experimented upon, etc.” Jeremy Bentham famously gave an early exposition of the animal rights case: “The question is not Can they reason?, nor Can they talk?, but Can they suffer? Why should the law refuse its protection to any sensitive being?” Those who take an animal welfare stance have grounds to oppose the treatment of animals in CAFOs as opposed to more traditional grass-fed animal agriculture. CAFOs cannot respect the natural behaviors or needs of animals who evolved socially for millions of years in open plains. If more space was allowed per animal or more time for socialization and other positive experiences in the animal’s life, the yield of the farm would drop. This is not commercially viable in a competitive industry like animal agriculture; thus, there is very little incentive for CAFOs to treat animals well. Rampant abuse is documented.[3] Acts of cruelty are routine: pigs often have teeth pulled and tails docked because they often go mad in their conditions and attempt to cannibalize each other; chickens have their beaks clipped to avoid them pecking at each other, causing immense pain; cows and bulls have their horns burned off to avoid them damaging others (as this damages the final meat product, too); male chicks that hatch in the egg industry are ground up in a macerator, un-anaesthetized, in the first 24 hours of their life as they will not go on to lay eggs. These practices vary widely among factory farms and among jurisdictions. Yet, arguably, the welfare of animals cannot be properly respected because all CAFOs fundamentally see animals as mere products-in-the-making instead of the complex, sentient, and emotional individuals science has repeatedly shown them to be.[4] ll. Climate Ethics The climate impact of farming animals is increasingly evident. Around 15-20 percent of human-made emissions come from animal agriculture.[5] and deforestation to create space for livestock grazing or growing crops to feed farm animals. An average quarter-pound hamburger uses up to six kilograms of feed, causes 66 square feet of deforestation, and uses up to 65 liters of water, with around 4kg of carbon emissions to boot – a majority of which come from the cattle themselves (as opposed to food processing or food miles).[6] According to environmentalist George Monbiot, “Even if you shipped bananas six times around the planet, their impact would be lower than local beef and lamb.”[7] The disparity between the impact of animal and plant-based produce is stark. Not all animal products are created equally. Broadly, there are two ways to farm animals: extensive or intensive farming. Extensive animal farming might be considered a “traditional” way of farming: keeping animals in large fields, as naturally as possible, often rotating them between different areas to not overgraze any one pasture. However, its efficiency is much lower than intensive farming – the style CAFOs use. Intensive animal farming is arguably more environmentally efficient. That is, CAFOs produce more output per unit of natural resource input than extensive systems do. However, environmental efficiency is relative rather than absolute, as the level of intensive animal agriculture leads to large-scale deforestation to produce crops for factory-farmed animals. CAFOs are also point-sources of pollution from the massive quantities of animal waste produced – around 1,000,000 tons per day in the US alone, triple the amount of all human waste produced per day – which has significant negative impacts on human health in the surrounding areas.[8] The environmental impacts of CAFOs must be given serious ethical consideration using new frameworks in climate ethics and bioethics. One example of a land ethic to guide thinking in this area is that “[it] is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.”[9] It remains to be seen whether CAFOs can operate in a way that respects and preserves “integrity, stability, and beauty” of their local ecosystem, given the facts above. The pollution CAFOs emit affects the surrounding areas. Hog CAFOs are built disproportionately around predominantly minority communities in North Carolina where poverty rates are high.[10] Animal waste carries heavy metals, infectious diseases, and antibiotic-resistant pathogens into nearby water sources and houses. lll. Workers’ Rights The poor treatment of slaughterhouse workers has been documented in the US during the COVID-19 pandemic, where, despite outbreaks of coronavirus among workers, the White House ordered that they remain open to maintain the supply of meat. The staff of slaughterhouses in the US is almost exclusively people with low socioeconomic status, ethnic minorities, and migrants.[11] Almost half of frontline slaughterhouse workers are Hispanic, and a quarter is Black. Additionally, half are immigrants, and a quarter comes from families with limited English proficiency. An eighth live in poverty, with around 45 percent below 200 percent of the poverty line. Only one-in-forty has a college degree or more, while one-in-six lacks health insurance. Employee turnover rates are around 200 percent per year.[12] Injuries are very common in the fast-moving conveyor belt environment with sharp knives, machinery, and a crowd of workers. OSHA found 17 cases of hospitalizations, two body part amputations per week, and loss of an eye every month in the American industrial meat industry. This is three times the workplace accident rate of the average American worker across all industries. Beef and pork workers are likely to suffer repetitive strain at seven times the rate of the rest of the population. One worker told the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) that “every co-worker I know has been injured at some point… I can attest that the line speeds are already too fast to keep up with. Please, I am asking you not to increase them anymore.”[13] Slaughterhouses pose a major risk to public health from zoonotic disease transmission. 20 percent of slaughterhouse workers interviewed in Kenya admit to slaughtering sick animals, which greatly increases the risk of transmitting disease either to a worker further down the production line or a consumer at the supermarket.[14] Moreover, due to poor hygienic conditions and high population density, animals in CAFOs are overfed with antibiotics. Over two-thirds of all antibiotics globally are given to animals in agriculture, predicted to increase by 66 percent by 2030.[15] The majority of these animals do not require antibiotics; their overuse creates a strong and consistent selection pressure on any present bacterial pathogens that leads to antibiotic resistance that could create devastating cross-species disease affecting even humans. The World Health Organization predicts that around 10 million humans per year could die of antibiotic-resistant diseases by 2050.[16] Many of these antibiotics are also necessary for human medical interventions, so antibiotics in animals have a tremendous opportunity cost. The final concern is that of zoonosis itself. A zoonotic disease is any disease that crosses the species boundary from animals to humans. According to the United Nations, 60 percent of all known infections and 75 percent of all emerging infections are zoonotic.[17] Many potential zoonoses are harbored in wild animals (particularly when wild animals are hunted and sold in wet markets) because of the natural biodiversity. However, around a third of zoonoses originate in domesticated animals, which is a huge proportion given the relative lack of diversity of the animals we choose to eat. Q fever, or “query fever,” is an example of a slaughterhouse-borne disease. Q fever has a high fatality rate when untreated that decreases to “just” 2 percent with appropriate treatment.[18] H1N1 (swine flu) and H5N1 (bird flu) are perhaps the most famous examples of zoonoses associated with factory farming. lV. Unjust Distribution The global distribution of food can cause suffering. According to research commissioned by the BBC, the average Ethiopian eats around seven kilograms of meat per year, and the average Rwandan eats eight.[19] This is a factor of ten smaller than the average European, while the average American clocks in at around 115 kilograms of meat per year. In terms of calories, Eritreans average around 1600kcal per day while most Europeans ingest double that. Despite enough calories on the planet to sustain its population, 25,000 people worldwide starve to death each day, 40 percent of whom are children. There are two ways to address the unjust distribution: efficient redistribution and greater net production, which are not mutually exclusive. Some argue that redistribution will lead to lower net productivity because it disincentivizes labor;[20] others argue that redistribution is necessary to respect human rights of survival and equality.[21] Instead of arguing this point, I will focus on people’s food choices and their effect on both the efficiency and total yield of global agriculture, as these are usually less discussed. Regardless of the metric used, animals always produce far fewer calories and nutrients (protein, iron, zinc, and all the others) than we feed them. This is true because of the conservation of mass. They cannot feasibly produce more, as they burn off and excrete much of what they ingest. The exact measurement of the loss varies based on the metric used. When compared to live weight, cows consume somewhere around ten times their weight. When it comes to actual edible weight, they consume up to 25 times more than we can get out of them. Cows are only around one percent efficient in terms of calorific production and four percent efficient in protein production. Poultry is more efficient, but we still lose half of all crops we put into them by weight and get out only a fifth of the protein and a tenth of the calories fed to them.[22] Most other animals lie somewhere in the middle of these two in terms of efficiency, but no animal is ever as efficient as eating plants before they are filtered through animals in terms of the nutritional value available to the world. Due to this inefficiency, it takes over 100 square meters to produce 1000 calories of beef or lamb compared to just 1.3 square meters to produce the same calories from tofu.[23] The food choices in the Western world, where we eat so much more meat than people eat elsewhere, are directly related to a reduction in the amount of food and nutrition in the rest of the world. The most influential theory of justice in recent times is John Rawls’ Original Position wherein stakeholders in an idealized future society meet behind a “veil of ignorance” to negotiate policy, not knowing the role they will play in that society. There is an equal chance of each policymaker ending up poverty-stricken or incredibly privileged; therefore, each should negotiate to maximize the outcome of all citizens, especially those worst-off in society, known as the “maximin” strategy. In this hypothetical scenario, resource distribution would be devised to be as just as possible and should therefore sway away from animal consumption. CONCLUSION Evidence is growing that animals of all sorts, including fish and certain invertebrates, feel pain in ways that people are increasingly inclined to respect, though still, climate science is more developed and often inspires more public passion than animal rights do. Workers’ rights and welfare in slaughterhouses have become mainstream topics of conversation because of the outbreaks of COVID-19 in such settings. Environmentalists note overconsumption in high-income countries, also shining a light on the starvation of much of the low-income population of the world. At the intersection of these bioethical issues lies the modern CAFO, significantly contributing to animal suffering, climate change, poor working conditions conducive to disease, and unjust distribution of finite global resources (physical space and crops). It is certainly time to move away from the CAFO model of agriculture to at least a healthy mixture of extensive agriculture and alternative (non-animal) proteins. - [1] Berners-Lee M, Kennelly C, Watson R, Hewitt CN; Current global food production is sufficient to meet human nutritional needs in 2050 provided there is radical societal adaptation. Elementa: Science of the Anthropocene. 6:52, 2018. 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