Journal articles: 'Financial liability-public officer-break the law' – Grafiati (2024)

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The author has substantiated the need to establish the circ*mstances to be clarified and has determined their significance during the investigation. It has been emphasized that the circ*mstances to be clarified include the circ*mstances to be proved in criminal proceedings, criminal and forensic characteristics of a criminal offense. In order to determine the circ*mstances to be clarified during the investigation of interference in the activities of a law enforcement officer, the author has studied the circ*mstances to be clarified within the group of criminal offenses related to obstruction of the activities of a law enforcement officer, as well as during the investigation of interference in the activities of a forensic expert. Taking into account the specified scientific provisions, the author has defined a detailed list of circ*mstances to be clarified during the investigation of interference in the activities of a law enforcement officer. It has been established that the circ*mstances to be clarified during the interference in the activities of a law enforcement officer include: 1) circ*mstances related to the criminal offense, namely: time, place, situation and traces of a criminal offense, methods of its commission (preparation, direct commission and concealment), tools and means used during the interference, the scope of procedural costs; circ*mstances that are the basis for ceasing criminal proceedings; the reasons and conditions that contributed to the commission of a criminal offense; 2) circ*mstances related to the identity of the victim, including: socio-demographic characteristics of the victim, place of work, position held; official and functional responsibilities, the victim’s belonging to a law enforcement agency during the commission of a criminal offense against him; the type and scope of damage caused to the victim; 3) circ*mstances related to the identity of the offender, namely: socio-demographic data of the offender, physiological and psychological condition, gender, citizenship, financial status, place of work, the record of criminal conviction and the facts of bringing to administrative liability; the presence of dependent disabled people; the presence of guilt in the form of direct intent, the purpose of the action; circ*mstances that aggravate or mitigate the punishment of the offender are grounds for releasing from criminal liability or punishment that exclude criminal liability; presence of accomplices.

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Australian corporate law allows for significant civil penalties to be imposed by a court on negligent corporate officers, including directors. For more than a decade, Australian Securities and Investments Commission used civil prosecutions for negligence exclusively in situations where an officer is alleged to have exposed their corporation to foreseeable risk of harm that would flow from a contravention by the corporation of a regulatory or disclosure obligation. This enforcement strategy—known as ‘stepping-stones’—has been strongly criticised, including by Rares J in his 2020 dissenting opinion in the Cassimatis appeal. This article explains how stepping-stones works as an enforcement strategy in the context of corporate compliance failures, explores the various criticisms of it, and argues for reform. It proposes a legislative alternative that rebalances individual officer liability, to reflect contemporary governance practices and encourage better management and oversight of non-financial risk in corporations.

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THE ORGANIZATION AND FINANCING OF A PUBLIC RADIO AND TELEVISION IN THE FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANYIn the Weimar Republic and in the Third Reich, radio broadcasting was dependent on the government. The Federal Republic of Germany, on the other hand, created a legal system that provided the mass media with legal and factual independence. The system of radio and television was influenced by the case law of the Federal Constitutional Court. The public radio and television broadcasters include national broadcasters and joint broadcasters of federal states, organized as public-law establishments with legal personality. The management of broadcasters has been implemented basing on similar principles. The radio broadcasting board is a constitutive and controlling body, the administrative board and the authorizing officer are executive organs. The national radio board consists of people delegated by the parliament, national government, circles and organizations which are significant politically, ideologically and socially, according to the statutory key. The board of Deutschlandradio, a corporation associating ARD, ZDF and national broadcasters, consists of representatives of the federal states, the federal government and social organizations. The radio board selects the majority of the members of the administrative board, selects and dismisses the authorizing officer, consents to the casting of the broadcaster’s management positions, adopts program guidelines, advises the authorizing officer in shaping the program and other basic matters, approves the economic plan, adopts the discharge resolution. The administrative board supports the broadcaster’s economic development, concludes an employment contract with the authorizing officer, settles disputes between the authorizing officer and the broadcaster, supervises the management of cases by the authorizing officer, controls the budget and annual closure drawn up by the authorizing officer, publishes the balance sheet and the annual report, takes decisions on contracts if there is no competent authorizing officer. The broadcasters are legally supervised by the competent government or minister. The internal control exercised by the radio board plays a fundamental role in the area of ensuring compliance with the law. German radio and television is financed by levies — initially from fees, and starting on 1.01.2013 from contributions levied on households. There is financial equalization in public radio and television. Such a system of financing provides the public media with independence and ensures the implementation of their statutory tasks, in particular the fulfilment of the public mission.

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ABSTRACT This study uses a decade of financial accounting data to examine if and how they depart from Benford's Law. Using a large sample of U.S. public companies, we conduct an analysis of the first-two digits of data items generally used in research to measure total accruals and discretionary accruals and where fraud, restatements, and enforcement actions are revealed. We break down a decade of data into six subperiods; pre-SOX Period (2001), SOX 1 Period (2002–2003), SOX 2 Period (2004–2006), SOX 3 Period (2007), Crisis 1 Period (2008), and Crisis 2 Period (2009–2010). We find different indicators of manipulation during the periods studied, as well as differences between small and big companies and companies audited by Big 4 and non-Big 4 firms.

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The relevance of the article is that one of the most important vectors for improving the system of personnel procedures in the National Police of Ukraine, including selection for police positions, should be a sufficient level of their financial and logistical support. As the procedures for selection for police positions are carried out by the relevant units of the National Police of Ukraine (the list and legal status of which were defined in previous units of our work), their material and financial support should be considered as a component of the National Police of Ukraine. The article considers the peculiarities of professional selection for the position of a police officer in Ukraine. Emphasis is placed on the application of material, financial and territorial aspects of selection for the position of a police officer. Based on the analysis of police selection at the current stage of formation of Ukrainian statehood, new approaches in the field of improving the mechanisms and procedures for selection for the position of police officer in Ukraine are proposed. It is concluded that the successful implementation of the main activities of the National Police of Ukraine is possible only in the presence of appropriate organizational, legal and financial conditions. To this end, public administration bodies should promote the further transformation of the modern model of financial and logistical support of the National Police of Ukraine, which takes place in the context of general processes of reformatting the current model into a mixed (budgetary and extrabudgetary) variety. technical and financial support of police bodies with representatives of other law enforcement agencies and local self-government bodies, to implement further improvement of the current legislation on logistical and financial support of police bodies.

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Purpose – The purpose of this study is to examine the association between the financial expertise of the chief financial officer (CFO) and concerns about corporate governance. Design/methodology/approach – Consistent with prior research, the authors used four variables, including certified public accountant (CPA) certification, Master of Business Administration degree, age of CFO and length of CFO tenure, to measure CFO’s financial expertise. The authors hypothesize a negative association between CFO expertise and concerns about corporate governance. Findings – Regression analysis revealed that the CPA certification is negatively associated with governance concerns at a significant level. The results suggest that stakeholders show less concerns about a company’s corporate governance mechanism when the CFO has a CPA certification. In particular, the results support the recommendation by the American Institute of Certified Public Accountants that a CFO of a public firm should have a CPA certification. Originality/value – The study is important in the following ways. First, the study delivers new evidence on the link between CFO financial expertise and corporate governance. This contributes to the CFO financial expertise literature and the corporate governance literature. Second, according to Standard and Poor’s, equity index investing has grown more popular over the past 30 years. The study delivers useful information to index investors who invest in S & P SmallCap 600 Index. Third, regulators have put a large amount of resources to discover ways to strengthen firms’ corporate governance. Thus, the results should be of interest to policy makers who design and implement guidelines on corporate governance mechanisms.

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Corporate public transparency (CPT) is instrumental for companies to establish communications and trust with the public by disclosing and communicating information concerning corporate environmental and social impacts. However, it is still in dispute whether CPT can help promote corporate financial performance (CFP). This paper studied the moderating role of political embeddedness on the relationship between CPT and CFP. We investigate multiple hypotheses about the moderating roles of the political embeddedness including bureaucratic embeddedness (political connections of a chief executive officer (CEO) who was/is a government official or member of political council) and ownership embeddedness (i.e., state-owned enterprises (SOEs)). With the data of 195 observations from top 200 Chinese enterprises ranked by revenue for the years 2014~2016, the results show the following: (1) the relationship of CPT on CFP is moderated by government official and SOE ownership; (2) a negative moderating effect of government official; and (3) a negative moderating effect of SOE ownership. The research implications are further discussed. The findings of this study have practical implications for investors, stakeholders, and regulators.

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This study empirically examines the main determinants of capital structure for listed non-financial firms in Italy and their contribution to financial sustainability, in terms of value creation for shareholders. The results show that both the pecking order theory and the trade-off theory are central in explaining the leverage of these firms and both financial approaches are important in enhancing company value and shareholders' wealth. Increasing managerial shareholding may have a role in reducing the self-interested behaviours of managers and thus leading to a higher leverage and superior financial sustainability, at least at low levels of holdings, but the results are weak. Institutional shareholding entails a positive impact on leverage owing to the function of control that institutions exert on the overall managerial activity and boards of directors. Moreover, institutions themselves are disposed to finance firms by debt, when they have a control over their boards of directors. The negative relationship between public institution shareholding and leverage implies a strict managerial control and a rigorous debt policy by public institutions. Board size and board composition are negatively related to leverage, whereas chief executive officer duality has a positive impact on leverage, but none of these latter three relationships is statistically significant.

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Purpose This study aims to examine the effect of private (PRST) and public (PUST) sector-led financial sector transparencies on bank interest margins (BIM) termed as social cost of financial intermediation in different institutional quality setups. Design/methodology/approach This study uses a two-step dynamic generalized method of moments panel data and bootstrapped quantile models with 91 economies between 2004 and 2016. Data is sourced from World Development Indicator and Global Development Finance databases. Findings The results show that under strong and weak political and financial regulatory institutional setups, the reducing effect of PRST on BIM are observed and reported while the full sample reports no significant nexus between PRST and PUST on BIM. Furthermore, under political institutional quality sample, economies with strong corruption control and regulatory quality are able to reinforce the dampening effect of PRST on BIM while under the same political institutional quality sample, economies with weak rule of law are able to heighten the reducing effect of PRST on BIM. Moreover, under financial regulator institutional quality sample, economies with strong overall weighted and unweighted, chief executive officer and policy dependent central banks are able to intensify the diminishing effect of PRST on BIM while under the same financial regulator institutional quality sample, economies with weak limits on lending are able to amplify the reducing effect of PRST on BIM. However, PUST is reported to propel lower levels BIM in the bootstrap models, especially in strong institutional economies. Practical implications These findings imply that policymakers may rely on PRST to reduce BIM, especially under financial regulatory institutional quality. Additionally, economies must be careful on their reliance on PRST because the effectiveness of PRST to tame high BIM is dependent on the strength of political and financial regulatory institutions. Originality/value To the best of the authors’ knowledge, this study presents first time international evidence on the effect of private and public sector-led financial transparency on BIM in strong and weak political and financial regulatory institution economies.

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Abstract In 2018, the Parliament of the Republic of Kosovo approved the Law on the Protection of Whistleblowers, setting up the foundations of the whistleblower protection system for the public and private sectors in the country. In line with the international principles for drafting legislation for the protection of whistleblowers, the law provides three channels for reporting wrongdoing and grants protection against any form of retaliation for whistleblowers. Noting the absence of institutional data on whistleblowing in the public sector, for this research article, a survey was implemented with individual members of civil service in Kosovo (n=400), during the period from September to November 2019, to collect primary data related to factors incentivizing and / or discouraging the decision to whistleblow. Data were collected at the national and local levels of state administration, as per the scope of the definition of the civil service by Kosovo legislation. In this contribution, research results reveal that the protection against any form of retaliation guaranteed by the law is not sufficient for members of civil service in Kosovo to support the decision to whistleblow, as concerns arise for the security and physical integrity of their respective family members. Law does not provide financial incentives for civil servants to whistleblow. Data reveal that a satisfactory level of trust is missing on organizational indicators such as trust in the responsible officer, protection of data confidentiality and anonymity, across different levels of categories of civil service. In line with the concerns voiced by members of civil service and international standards for whistleblower protection, the following actionable recommendations are proposed to advance the whistleblowing system in Kosovo: 1) Improve the provision of training for members of civil service on whistleblowing legislation, organizational procedures, whistleblower protection, and rights; 2) Establish strategies to support employees for whistleblowing. Such strategies would include programs enabling whistleblowers access to professional services such as stress management, counseling, and legal services; 3) Enhance security measures for the physical integrity of whistleblowers and their respective family members; 4) Establish incentives to encourage whistleblowing, such as financial rewards.

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Universities that apply the concept of Public Service Agency (BLU - PK PTN ) in performing functions as an organ which is engaged in the service infrastructure support through goods or services . As an institution under the auspices of the government and the state budget receives PTN PK - BLU implement mechanisms to acquire goods or services in accordance with the law. However, the procurement process in obtaining goods or services sometimes poses problems that arise as a consequence of the passage of the procurement of goods or services involving the organs in it as PA / KPA , KDP , ULP , and Committee / Receiver Procurement Officer. Rector of the KPA in PK - BLU PTN has the authority to control the organs that carry out the process of procurement of goods / services in the environment . Errors in the procurement process of goods / services performed by the CO and the ULP / Procurement Officer causing state losses due to these errors, either due to negligence or unlawful acts. As the KPA in the process of procurement of goods / services Rector can control the organs in accordance with the authority given. The consequences are acceptable if the authorities ultimately the procurement of goods / services did not heed the warning Rector officials related procurement process of goods / services will receive sanctions. Keywords: Authorized Budget, Financial State.

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ABSTRACTThis article provides an assessment of the Community Ownership programme in Scotland, which involved the transfer of council housing to par-value co-operatives and community-based housing associations. The evaluation is considered under four headings: resident involvement; the effectiveness of housing management; neighbourhood impacts; and financial appraisal. The findings lend support to the government's programme of breaking up council housing, but lead to criticisms of the emphasis on large-scale voluntary transfers and the neglect of ownership co-operatives in England. In Scotland, the lack of support for the formation of tenant management co-operatives is also criticised.

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The aim of our article is to identify the development of the financial system of revenues and expenses of territorial self-government created by the application of fiscal decentralization in the conditions of the Slovak Republic during the period 2009-2018. This is based on the international methodology which divides revenue into five areas. The expenditure areas correspond to the classification according to the functional classification and are reported in relative terms. By dividing of Slovak territorial self-government into local and regional level, we will be able to break down the aggregate data reported in international statistics as well as nationwide values of the Slovak Republic. The result of our work is the assessment that local self-government has higher average tax revenues over the period under review, a lower dependence on central government, a wider range of competencies, and higher expenditures.

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We are facing a digital age characterized by constant flows of goods and services, financial assets, people, information and communication. As a consequence, the world economy is increasingly connected, and digitalization has spread to such an extent that today’s world economy is a digital one, which has come to break down commercial barriers that the traditional economy and politics were unable to. Security and trade policy concerns are nothing new. However, given the electronic nature of commercial transactions (e-commerce), this has taken on a new and urgent importance. Cyberspace is a space of flows, a virtual space that grows every day with the transactions that take place through the use of ICT. Governments of many countries have begun to develop cybersecurity strategies, while trying to promote the benefits of a hyperconnected and cyber-enabled world. This article analyzes how e-commerce policies promote the protection of cyberspace. Specifically regarding e-commerce, care must be taken so that the cybersecurity strategy does not become an obstacle or constraint to such electronic transactions. The protection of cyberspace must be carried out with a multi-stakeholder approach. These issues are also of public interest since threats to cyberspace can affect entire countries and societies.

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This paper analyses the problems of the new peripheral regions after the European Union enlargement. The last EU enlargements in 2004 and 2007 were the logical consequences of political, social and economic changes associated with the break-up of the Soviet Union and the disintegration of the Communist Bloc. These two enlargements led to substantial geopolitical consequences. The European Union’s demographic and territorial potential increased by around one-third. At the same time, the European Union structures moved east and southwards. In 2004, one of the Polish regions, the Warmia and Mazury region, faced some new challenges associated with the Polish accession to the EU. The years of Poland’s membership in the European Union have been a period of gaining experience in submitting EU projects for the region, and in allocating financial resources properly. The total effect of this period is rather positive. However, we must not forget that many negative economic and social phenomena still occur (e.g., a high unemployment rate, emigration of young educated people, etc.). Politically, a new challenge for the Warmia and Mazury region is going to be a continuation and development of the cross-border cooperation with the Kaliningrad region. Poland’s accession to the EU has had no positive impact on improving the Polish-Russian relations at the central decision-making level. KEYWORDS: • European Union • regional development • new peripheral regions • Warmia and Mazury region

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This was an exploratory qualitative study utilizing tenets of phenomenology to examine the lived experiences of front-line student services professionals in Admissions and Financial Aid and their dilemmas in interpreting and implementing California Assembly Bill 540 (2001) in their interactions with undocumented students. Front-line student services professionals are often the make-it or break-it persons for undocumented students to realize their dreams of attaining a postsecondary education because they determine whether students can pay in-state tuition and receive financial aid. California law AB 540 (2001) was created with the intention of providing a fair tuition policy for all California high school graduates entering college in California. AB 540’s (2001) purpose is to allow all California high school graduates, including undocumented immigrant students who meet the requirements, to be exempt from paying nonresident tuition at California public postsecondary institutions. An undocumented student is classified as someone who entered the U.S. without proper immigration documents or someone who entered the country legally as a nonimmigrant but later never exited the country (Internal Revenue Service, 2014). Twelve student service professionals, both part-time and full-time, at public two-year and four-year higher education institutions shared their experiences regarding management of difficult and sensitive conversations with undocumented students, as they attempted to translate state legislation through institutional polices. Many times, these front-line professionals in Admissions and Financial Aid were the first and only people to interact with incoming undocumented students before they set foot in the classroom. These professionals utilized their knowledge, resources, and networks to help students navigate the college-going process. However, unclear and/or non-existent campus policies, departmental silos, along with a lack of professional development, adequate resources, and appropriate guidance, often limited their capacity to help.

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يناقش البحث صيغا جديدة من الصيغ المعاصرة في التبادلات المالية (الأوراق المالية قصيرة الأجل). وبعد التعريف بها وبيان أصلها الشرعي، تناولت الدراسة البعد المقاصدي لهذه الأوراق المالية، وإذا كان قصد مشرعي القانون الخاص من هذه الأوراق السرعة، والائتمان، والتوثيق، فهذه المقاصد تتفق مع قصد الشارع من استيفاء الحقوق، وحفظ الأموال، ومبدأ التوثيق العام، كما تنطلق من روح الاقتصاد الإسلامي، من حرية السوق والتنافس، والتيسير في المعاملات التجارية، وكسر الحواجز بين الطبقات، وسرعة تبادل المال وتنقله، وتحريم الإكتناز، والوضوح والشفافية التي تعتبر معيار لصحة العقد وبركته، فالمعاملات المتكررة لها خصوصية في التشريع الفقهي الذي يتوافق مع متطلبات السوق، وحركته في العامة. وقد استخدم الباحث المنهج الوصفي التحليلي، بمناقشة المنتج المالي وبيان مفهومه، ثم جذره المقاصدي، وتحليل نصوص الشارع في ذلك، وبيان قصد الشارع من هذه الأوراق المالية. الكلمات المفتاحيّة: الأوراق التجارية (الكمبيالة، سندات لأمر، الشيك)، العرف التجاري، الائتمان، التوثيق، التبادل. Abstract The research discusses new forms of contemporary formulas in financial exchanges (short-term securities). After the definition and stating their legal origin, the study examined the intent dimensions of these securities. If the intention of the private law legislators of these securities is to quickness, credit, and documentation, thus, these purposes are in line with the legislator's intends to fulfill the rights, preserve the funds, and the principle of public documentation. It is also in line with the spirit of the Islamic economy, of market freedom, and competition, to facilitate trade transactions, to break down barriers between classes, the speed of exchange and transfer of money, the prohibition of hoarding, clarity, and transparency that are a criterion for the validity of the contract And his blessing. The repeated transactions have specificity in the jurisprudential legislation that corresponds to the requirements of the market, and its movement in public. The researcher used the descriptive-analysis method by discussing the financial product and explaining its concept. Its intent root, and analyzing the legislator texts in that, and explaining the intent of the law-giver from these securities. Keywords: Business papers, bills to order, check, trade usage, credit, documentation, exchange.

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Purpose The purpose of this study is to investigate the relationship between the stock return volatility, the outside and the independent directors. Design/methodology/approach The volatility, as the dependent variable in the model, is measured by the standard deviation of annual stock returns. Concerning the independent variable is as follows: The chief executive officer (CEO) is a dummy variable denoting whether or not the chairman of the board holds the position of CEO. The INDD, which represents the independent directors, is measured according to whether the firm appoints independent directors, or by the ratio of independent directors. The FD, which represents the outside directors, is measured according to whether the firm appoints outside directors, or by the ratio of outside directors. In addition, the authors also add the following five control variables to the regression model: the certified public accountant refers to the auditor-related variables including the audit opinion and whether the firm has previously switched accounting firms. The performance (PER) represents the firm performance in terms of the relative return on assets (ROA). The turnover (TURN) is measured by the natural log of the total liabilities. The SIZE is measured by the natural log of the market value of equity, and the leverage ratio (LEV) is the firm’s debt ratio measured by the ratio of total. The TURN is measured by the natural log of the total liabilities. The SIZE is measured by the natural log of the market value of equity and the LEV is the firm’s debt ratio measured by the ratio of total debt to total assets. The sample comprises 89 firms listed on the SBF 120 index over 2006-2012. Findings Results reveal that the outside directors have a positive and significant effect on the stock return volatility. Moreover, the firm’s size and ROA have a negative effect on the stock return volatility, which is clearly evidenced in all the regressions. On the other hand, the CEO, audit size and debt ratio have statically significant and positive effects on the stock return volatility. Originality/value This study indicates the importance of corporate governance and helps investors and financial economists understand the behavior of the stock prices during a financial crisis. Although the existing studies refer to the influence of corporate governance on the stock prices during a crisis, none of these has ever discussed whether better corporate governance can help reduce the stock price volatility in such a situation.

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Purpose The genesis of Environmental Kuznets curve (EKC) of “grow now clean later” has led to a substantial deterioration of local as well as the global environment. India has not been spared of this malaise and accounts for the third-largest carbon dioxide emitter in the world. Thus, the present study revisits the curvilinear relationship between economic growth and environmental pollution in case of India over the period of 1971-2014. Design/methodology/approach Dickey–Fuller generalised least square (DF-GLS) test developed by Elliott et al. is used to ensure that none of the variables is I(2). The study applies the autoregressive distributed lag (ARDL) bounds estimation technique to test for the existence of cointegration among variables and estimate long-run and short-run parameters. The study also applies the Bai–Perron structural break test with unknown break date to determine the threshold point. The study further uses the vector error correction model (VECM) Granger causality test to check the direction of causality between variables. Findings The ARDL bounds estimation technique confirms the cointegration among variables. The long-run coefficients of energy consumption, economic growth and financial development are found to have an adverse impact on environmental quality. The results also validate the existence of conventional EKC hypothesis. Bai–Perron structural break test, along with t-test and scatter graph, shows that inverted U-shaped relationship between environmental pollution and economic growth holds true. The VECM-based causality results support “growth hypothesis” both in the long run and short run. Research limitations/implications This study refrained from considering a variety of variables, as the main intention of the study is to investigate whether any threshold or turnaround point exists for India. The future studies should consider a new set of variables (e.g. population, corruption index, social indicators, political scenario, energy research and development expenditures, foreign capital inflows, public investment towards alternate energy exploration, etc.) in the estimation of EKC hypothesis. Practical implications The results validate the existence of conventional EKC hypothesis. Thereby the study argues that instead of being a threat to environmental quality, economic growth is observed to generate a sustainable environment to live in. Further, bi-directional causality is found between carbon emissions and economic growth. Thus, any effort to mitigate CO2 or environment conservation policy will impede economic growth. Consequently, controlling primary energy consumption and supply and replacing it with renewable and clean energy could be desirable for climate change mitigation. Originality/value The data set has been refined so that the EKC estimation issues raised by Stern (2004) are addressed. In particular, statistical properties of the data set such as serial correlation, presence of a stochastic or deterministic trend, has been adequately taken care of to remove any spurious correlation. Finally, various control variables have been included to provide consideration to issues of model adequacy, such as the possibility of omitted variables bias. To the authors’ best knowledge, there is no India-specific study which has taken care of data-related issues, as suggested by Stern, in the estimation of a curvilinear relationship between environmental degradation and economic growth in India. Further, this is the first study which has used Bai–Perron structural break test with unknown break date to identify the threshold point while estimating EKC in India.

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Purpose This paper aims to examine the anti-corruption policy of the Federal Executive Council of Nigeria, to determine whether the policy is working and/or has produced unintended effects. The Federal Executive Council is the body comprising all the Ministers of the Federation, including the President and Vice President. Design/methodology/approach The analysis took the form of a desk study, which analysed various documents and reports such as the Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index, 2008-2016, the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, 1999 (as amended), the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (Establishment) Act, 2004, the Administration of Criminal Justice Act, 2015, the UK’s Investigatory Powers Act, 2016, the Public Interest Disclosure and Witness Protection Bill, 2017 and the Financial Action Task Force Recommendations, 2012. Findings This paper determined that the anti-corruption policy of the Federal Executive Council of Nigeria could achieve its desired objectives if the following recommendations are implemented: research grants which are sent to Nigerian universities by international and corporate bodies should be exempted from the current treasury single account arrangement. This would enable universities to easily access the funds and disburse the same to qualified students. The Federal Government should follow the guidelines laid down in Section 270 of the Administration of Criminal Justice Act, 2015 for plea agreements. In other words, the prosecution should only offer a plea bargain to a person who has been charged with an offence. The prosecution should not receive and consider a plea bargain from a person who has not been charged with an offence. Any attempt to water down the effect of Section 270 of the Administration of Criminal Justice Act, 2015 may weaken the ongoing fight against corruption and money laundering because criminals will be encouraged to continue looting public funds. The Financial Action Task Force Recommendations (Recommendation 3) requires that criminal sanctions for natural persons convicted of money laundering should be effective, proportionate and dissuasive. The Federal Government of Nigeria should introduce a Bill to the National Assembly that would provide a clear framework for the use of investigatory powers by law enforcement, the security and intelligence agencies and other public authorities. This includes the interception of communications, the retention and acquisition of communications data, the use of equipment interference and the retention and use of bulk data by the security and intelligence agencies. The Bill must establish a number of safeguards against the arbitrary or unlawful use of investigatory powers by the executive. The UK’s Investigatory Powers Act, 2016, for example, established a number of safeguards for the retention and acquisition of communications data. Authorisations for obtaining communications data will have to set out why accessing the communications data in question is necessary in a specific investigation for a particular statutory purpose and how it is proportionate to what is sought to be achieved. A police officer who receives information from a whistleblower about money hidden in an apartment should apply to a Court or Justice of the Peace within the local limits of whose jurisdiction he/she is for the issue of a search warrant before conducting a search on the said premises. This procedure is in line with Section 143 of the Administration of Criminal Justice Act, 2015 and the Court of Appeal decision in Hassan v. E.F.C.C. (2014) I NWLR (Pt. 1389) 607 at 625. The Public Interest Disclosure and Witness Protection Bill, 2017 should be given accelerated consideration in the House of Representatives based on its urgency and significance for the Federal Executive Council’s whistleblowers policy. Research limitations/implications This paper focusses on the anti-corruption policy of the Federal Executive Council of Nigeria from 29 May 2015 to 10 June 2017. It does not address the older policies. Originality/value This paper offers a critical analysis of the new anti-corruption policy of the Federal Executive Council of Nigeria. The paper will provide recommendations on how the policy could be strengthened. This is the only paper to adopt this kind of approach.

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The year 2014 was considered as the twentieth anniversary year of the family and in a sense acknowledges the important role of the family in society. Families are central to communities and one could almost consider the family-community connection to be a loop. In other words, when families are functioning well communities fare very well, which then relates back to families. But how are we to understand this important role of the family? Families are defined in different ways. According to Braithwaite and Baxter [1] “a family is a social group of two or more persons characterized by ongoing interdependence, with long term commitments that stem from blood, law and affection”. Chambers [2] believes that families are not a fixed concept but can rather be described beyond blood lines into a socially constructed concept. In South Africa, in terms of family policy, the family is defined “as a public group of people that is directly related (by blood), related by adoption or fostering or through marriage” [3]. In describing a family, there are often two very broad terms used which are functional and dysfunctional families. These descriptions are often determined by the processes or functions/practices between and amongst family members. Family functioning includes the manner in which family members relate to and with one another including how they search for goals, activities the family engages in together and separately, and acceptance of family practices. Furthermore, when a family is functioning well, family members hardly develop psychological problems, they perform tasks together, are able to deal with problems, and have understandable restrictions [4]. These are well functioning families, but families also do not function very well and these families could be considered as unhealthy and dysfunctional, often described as at-risk [5]. Both terms have consequences especially for future adults. In describing a family, there are often two very broad terms used which are functional and dysfunctional families. These descriptions are often determined by the processes or functions/practices between and amongst family members. Family functioning includes the manner in which family members relate to and with one another including how they search for goals, activities the family engages in together and separately, and acceptance of family practices. Furthermore, when a family is functioning well, family members hardly develop psychological problems, they perform tasks together, are able to deal with problems, and have understandable restrictions [4]. These are well functioning families, but families also do not function very well and these families could be considered as unhealthy and dysfunctional, often described as at-risk [5]. Both terms have consequences especially for future adults.the control and responsibility rests with the family. In this special issue, six articles highlight issues in the family which have consequences for family members and the community, either overtly or covertly. The article of Frantz, Sixaba & Smith focuses on family structure and the effects on health risk behavior of young people in Africa. This article highlights the plight of orphans living with caregivers, the definitive relationship between sexual risk behavior and family structure and provides the evidence that sexual risk behaviors loops back to HIV/AIDS in African countries. In this article gender, race and culture play a role in the relationship. In the article by Ryan, Roman & Okwany parental monitoring and communication are explored as important in the prevention, delay and reduction of substance abuse and risky sexual activity. These studies suggest that culture acts as a buffer against adolescent risk behaviors and that the mental health of parents is also important in the monitoring and communication with their adolescents. The Jacobs & Jacobs study focuses on mothers who are alcoholics and provides family narrations of secrecy, shame and silence but also highlights coping and recovery for alcoholics. Londt, Davids & Wilson used Social Learning Theory as a lens to understand the role of the family in the chronic denial of imprisoned sex offenders. These imprisoned sex offenders were raised in single-parent households with absent fathers, domestic violence substance abuse, unsatisfactory support and compromised parenting styles were prevalent. In the Mukasano, Schenck & van der Merwe article, a qualitative study explores parents’ experiences of their adolescents engaging in mobile texting. Parents find themselves having to monitor and negotiate rules and expectations with their adolescents. The study emphasizes the importance of communication and trust, respect and preparing for the disengagement process between members. Furthermore, substances are abused, physical, sexual and emotional abuse are present and children lack support and care. Within these families, there is the daily challenge of meeting the needs of family members. This could be due to the socio-economic circ*mstances of the family which in turn deprives family members of necessary resources and other social support. As a result, this undermines the ability of family members to perform expected functions and consequently results in the exposure to risk. Subsequently, at-risk families need additional support in order to cope with the myriad of challenges they face. This support may be in the form of other family members, community members or from government. Additionally, this support could also strengthen the family. Families should be seen as the entry point for service delivery and the subsequent building and development of communities [3]. Therefore, family relations, which are good and strong are important for the wellbeing of the individual, family and community [7]. In other words, family wellbeing is a concept that goes beyond economic wealth and includes physical and emotional health as well as safety and good quality relationships [7]. Similarly, family well-being and family functioning assume that families work best and contribute to society when there is a balance between the economic and non-economic factors [8] but it is very complex because family wellbeing is a multi-dimensional concept with different dimensions. These include providing financial support, good housing or access to services [9]. How does family well-being then relate to community development? The creation, development and growth of communities is dependent on families. For example, when families are not doing well, the family members will act out that is outside of the family. This acting out often occurs within the community and could be the engaging in antisocial behavior, substance abuse, violence, etc. These behaviours subsequently break down communities instead of building them up. The same could be said for the effects of family wellbeing. Tsey et al. [10] found that family wellbeing is an enabler for people to take control and responsibility of their own situations but more importantly, once they are able to do this, there is a ripple effect on increasing harmony and capacity to address issues within the wider community. Clearly, there is a relationship between family wellbeing and the overt and covert development of communities but parent and child. The final article of Jooste & Maritz is an exploration of the perceptions of healthcare professionals and family members regarding youth’s experiences of trauma. This article found that when youth experience trauma, there is a ripple effect onto other family members and the larger community which resulted in the entire system feeling helpless and depleted of resources to cope.

Abstract:

AbstractA century ago the Rijksprentenkabinet in Amsterdam acquired a 19th-century album containing 56 rapid sketches in black chalk after 17th-century, mostly Dutch paintings (Note 1). The sketches, which are numberd, have the names of the painters wrillen on them in the artist's own hand. They were first published in 1895 (Note 2) by E. W. Moes, who concluded that they were by a Delft artist, and C. Hofstede de Groot, who convincingly attributed them to Leonaert Bramer (1596-1674) and identified two of the paintings in question. Since then various other paintings have been identified (Notes 5, 7, 8, 11 and 12), notably by A. Blankert, who has made his findings available for the present publication, and other drawings belonging to the series have been found, Frits Lugt leading the way here (Notes 9 and 10). The present study, the first to be undertaken in depth since 1895, has brought to light three more sketches after paintings by Bramer himself (cat. nos.9-11) and one probably after Wouwerman (cat. no.65), while seven more paintings have been identified and one of the sketches without a name has proved to be after a painting by Antonio Maria Viani. Two lists of the sketches so far found are given here: that of State I reproduces the original order, that of State II gives the artists in alphabetical order as they appear in the catalogue published here. These sketches are of exceptional documentary value, since they have not only given us the names of some previously unknown painters, such as M. de Berch, J. Garbaal, P. Monincx and A. Pick, but they have also revealed unexpected aspects of some well-known ones, e.g. a still life by P. van Groenewegen, a Dutch landscape by J.B. Weenix and a genre piece of a very Utrecht character by L. de Jongh. Moreover, the sketches afford a fine glimpse of collecting in Holland in the 17th century, a subject otherwise known uirtually only from non-visual documents. On the back of one of the drawings (cat. no.6) appears a list of the owners of the pictures sketched (Fig. I), possibly written by Bramer himself. This is reproduced here in an amplified version of Moes' transcription, with one completely new name yielded by the present study. The styles given in the list suggest that the men concerned appear in it in order of their social standing. The first, Simon Graswinckel (c.1611-71), was a member of a wealthy Delft family of brewers and regents. He owned a great deal of property in and around Delft, but is reported by his brothers-in-law to have spent his time in gaming-houses and taverns (Note 30). His will of 1663 is known, but no paintings are mentioned in it. The second man on the list was probably a Van Beresteijn, another family from the wealthy upper echelons of Delft society. His precise identity came to light in a roundabout way via the inventory of 28 February 1652 of Adriaen van Vredenburg, in which are listed a number of paintings that were very probably sketched by Bramer (Note 32), notably one of Jezebel, this mention and Bramer's sketch being virtually unique indications of this subject in Dutch 17th-century painting. Vredenburg does not appear in the list of owners of the paintings, but on his death his property went to his stepdaughter, whose guardian he had been and who married Theodorus van Beresteijn in November 1652. Antonie van Bronchorst is known only from the commission he gave Bramer in 1653 to painl frescoes in his house (Note 34), while Capitein van der Bon..., Nicolaas van der Werch and Johan Persijn have not yet been traced in the Delft archives. Willem de Langue (1599-1666), on the other hand, was a lawyer and a connoisseur of paintings unparalleled in Delft in the mid 17th century (Note 36). He himself made the inventories of the paintings in important estates and he numbered many artists among his clientele (Note 37). Portraits of him and his wife by Van Vliet are known (Note 38), while he also appears as an officer in a militia piece of 1648 by Jacob Willemsz Delff (Fig. 2). Abraham de Cooge (before 1600-after 1680) was the most versatile person in the list, being an engraver, painter, dealer in tulip bulbs, organs and paintings and pottery manufacturer (Note 39). He was registered in the Guild of St. Luke in Delft in 1632 and two paintings by him are known (Note 40). In 1646 Leonaerl Bramer made illustrations to the picaresque novel Lazarilo de Tormes for him (Note 17). In the 1650's De Cooge was increasingly involved in art-dealing and that on no small scale. He also had representatives in Antwerp, so was probably among the biggest art-dealers in the Northern Netherlands. Adam Pick (c. 1622-before 1666) enrolled in the Guild of St. Luke in Delft in 1642 (Note 43) and was active in the town up to the early 1650's as a painter of landscapes, genre pieces and still lifes (Fig.3) and also as the keeper of the Toelast ( Wine Cask) inn. He probably moved to Leiden, where he is mentioned in 1654 as a vintner, in 1653, perhaps as a consequence of the death of his first wife in 1652, f or he certainly sold the inn that year. The inventory of their joint property drawn up in 1653 includes a list of paintings, which tally with nos.8(?) -98 in the State I list. Only one painting by Pick is known (Fig.3), plus the sketch by Bramer after another (cat. no.44). Reinier Jansz Vermeer (1591-1652, Note 46), the father of Johannes, started out as a silk weaver, but appears in 1629 as an innkeeper and in 1631 was registered in the Guild of St. Luke in Delft as an art-dealer. From then on he came into frequent contact with local painters, Bramer included, but his dealing was probably only a sideline of his innkeeping. He died in October 1652. The last owner on the list is Bramer himself, who returned to Delft in 1628 after a lengthy period in France and Italy (1614-27, Note 49). He played a leading part in the Guild of St. Luke and was among the most successful painters in Delft around the middle of the 17th century. Later in life, however, he was often in financial difficulties (Note 50). He was one of the very few Dutch fresco painters (Note 51), as well as a painter of history and genre pieces and a prolific draughtsman and illustrator (Note 52), while just one document provides evidence of his dealing in paintirtgs (Note 54). The presence of works by Bramer himself among the sketches seems to rule out the theory that he made them as an aide mémoire for his own use (Note 15), while their very rapid character makes it unlikely that they were produced for one of the owners as an art-object. It also seems highly improbable that the collectors/owners would have wanted their collections of paintings sketched together in one book. The most acceptable suggestion appears to be that they were made in connection with a forthcoming sale of pictures, particularly as three of the owners listed were involved in art-dealing, while in the cases of Vermeer, Pick and Van Beresteijn there was every reason for paintings from their collections being sold around the end of 1652 or beginning of 1653: Vermeer's death left his family in dire financial straits, Pick will probably have sold his pictures (as he did his inn) before moving to Leiden and Van Beresteijn will probably have wanted to realize some money on his wife's inheritance. Thus the dates of Vermeer's burial in October 1652 and Pick's inventory of March 1653 would seem to provide crucial clues to the dating of the sketches, which were probably made in rapid succession, to judge from the unity of style, despite the great diversity of the models, and the straightforward consecutive numbering. Presumably the intention was to bring these pictures from Delft collections together for a sale (Note 18) and Bramer was commissioned to make sketches in advance (or even to make a certain selection, Note 19) possibly to give an idea of what was on offer to collectors or dealers elsewhere (which might explain the 'inking in' of the painters' names originally written in chalk on five of the drawings, cat. nos. 17, 35, 36, 47 and 64). Bramer made such chalk inscriptions on ten of the drawings (Note 20), probably while sketching them. Afterwards he inscribed and numbered all of them in ink (Note 5). Notes in another 17th-century hand appear on cat. nos.22 and 24. The sheets may all have been of the same size originally, but have since been cut down, often wholly or partly along the framing lines around the sketch. This may well have been done by Bramer himsef or the dealer he made them for. Just over half of them remained together and were stuck into the present album in the 19th century. There are no portraits among the sketches and only two stll lifes and two marine paintings, but eleven Italianate landscapes and 22 history paintings. Thus the subjects differ somewhat from the categories arrived at by Montiasfor mid 17th-century Delft from his study of inventories (Note 56). The preference for history pieces is probably to be explained by the high social standing of the owners. The majority of the pictures were very modern for that time and of the 41 artists, 28 were still alive in 1652-3 and eight of them were only 35 or younger. Bramer's material contradicts Montlas' conclusion that Delft collectors showed a preference for local painters (Note 58), whose work amounted to 40-50% of that listed in the inventories. Of Bramer's 41 painters, only thirteen were from Delft (Note 59) and only five are found in Montias' list of the most common painters in Delft inventories. Thus the pictures sketched by Bramer fall outside the 'normal Delft pattern' and evince a less provincial taste. However, the collectors were still not among the leading figures of their day in this field by comparison with, for example, Boudewijn de Man of Delft (Note 62), whose collection included works by Goltzius, Bloemaert, Rubens, Rembrandt and Ter Brugghen in 1644. The pictures sketched by Bramer were presumably to be brought together for public auction and the sketches may very probably have been made with an eye to the sale catalogue. While sale catalogues are known in the second half of the 17th century, they only relate to very important collections, which makes these sketches very unusual as a documentation of a sale of pictures from average well-to-do collectors and dealers. The collection of sketches as such certainly has no parallel at this period (Note 64).

Abstract:

We’ll have trouble now!The Archaeological Society of Jutland was founded on Sunday, 11 March 1951. As with most projects with which P.V Glob was involved, this did not pass off without drama. Museum people and amateur archaeologists in large numbers appeared at the Museum of Natural History in Aarhus, which had placed rooms at our disposal. The notable dentist Holger Friis, the uncrowned king of Hjørring, was present, as was Dr Balslev from Aidt, Mr and Mrs Overgaard from Holstebro Museum, and the temperamental leader of Aalborg Historical Museum, Peter Riismøller, with a number of his disciples. The staff of the newly-founded Prehistoric Museum functioned as the hosts, except that one of them was missing: the instigator of the whole enterprise, Mr Glob. As the time for the meeting approached, a cold sweat broke out on the foreheads of the people present. Finally, just one minute before the meeting was to start, he arrived and mounted the platform. Everything then went as expected. An executive committee was elected after some discussion, laws were passed, and then suddenly Glob vanished again, only to materialise later in the museum, where he confided to us that his family, which included four children, had been enlarged by a daughter.That’s how the society was founded, and there is not much to add about this. However, a few words concerning the background of the society and its place in a larger context may be appropriate. A small piece of museum history is about to be unfolded.The story begins at the National Museum in the years immediately after World War II, at a time when the German occupation and its incidents were still terribly fresh in everyone’s memory. Therkel Mathiassen was managing what was then called the First Department, which covered the prehistoric periods.Although not sparkling with humour, he was a reliable and benevolent person. Number two in the order of precedence was Hans Christian Broholm, a more colourful personality – awesome as he walked down the corridors, with his massive proportions and a voice that sounded like thunder when nothing seemed to be going his way, as quite often seemed to be the case. Glob, a relatively new museum keeper, was also quite loud at times – his hot-blooded artist’s nature manifested itself in peculiar ways, but his straight forward appearance made him popular with both the older and the younger generations. His somewhat younger colleague C.J. Becker was a scholar to his fingertips, and he sometimes acted as a welcome counterbalance to Glob. At the bottom of the hierarchy was the student group, to which I belonged. The older students handled various tasks, including periodic excavations. This was paid work, and although the salary was by no means princely, it did keep us alive. Student grants were non-existent at the time. Four of us made up a team: Olfert Voss, Mogens Ørsnes, Georg Kunwald and myself. Like young people in general, we were highly discontented with the way our profession was being run by its ”ruling” members, and we were full of ideas for improvement, some of which have later been – or are being – introduced.At the top of our wish list was a central register, of which Voss was the strongest advocate. During the well over one hundred years that archaeology had existed as a professional discipline, the number of artefacts had grown to enormous amounts. The picture was even worse if the collections of the provincial museums were taken into consideration. We imagined how it all could be registered in a card index and categorised according to groups to facilitate access to references in any particular situation. Electronic data processing was still unheard of in those days, but since the introduction of computers, such a comprehensive record has become more feasible.We were also sceptical of the excavation techniques used at the time – they were basically adequate, but they badly needed tightening up. As I mentioned before, we were often working in the field, and not just doing minor jobs but also more important tasks, so we had every opportunity to try out our ideas. Kunwald was the driving force in this respect, working with details, using sections – then a novelty – and proceeding as he did with a thoroughness that even his fellow students found a bit exaggerated at times, although we agreed with his principles. Therkel Mathiassen moaned that we youngsters were too expensive, but he put up with our excesses and so must have found us somewhat valuable. Very valuable indeed to everyon e was Ejnar Dyggve’s excavation of the Jelling mounds in the early 1940s. From a Danish point of view, it was way ahead of its time.Therkel Mathiassen justly complained about the economic situation of the National Museum. Following the German occupation, the country was impoverished and very little money was available for archaeological research: the total sum available for the year 1949 was 20,000 DKK, which corresponded to the annual income of a wealthy man, and was of course absolutely inadequate. Of course our small debating society wanted this sum to be increased, and for once we didn’t leave it at the theoretical level.Voss was lucky enough to know a member of the Folketing (parliament), and a party leader at that. He was brought into the picture, and between us we came up with a plan. An article was written – ”Preserve your heritage” (a quotation from Johannes V. Jensen’s Denmark Song) – which was sent to the newspaper Information. It was published, and with a little help on our part the rest of the media, including radio, picked up the story.We informed our superiors only at the last minute, when everything was arranged. They were taken by surprise but played their parts well, as expected, and everything went according to plan. The result was a considerable increase in excavation funds the following year.It should be added that our reform plans included the conduct of exhibitions. We found the traditional way of presenting the artefacts lined up in rows and series dull and outdated. However, we were not able to experiment within this field.Our visions expressed the natural collision with the established ways that comes with every new generation – almost as a law of nature, but most strongly when the time is ripe. And this was just after the war, when communication with foreign colleagues, having been discontinued for some years, was slowly picking up again. The Archaeological Society of Jutland was also a part of all this, so let us turn to what Hans Christian Andersen somewhat provocatively calls the ”main country”.Until 1949, only the University of Copenhagen provided a degree in prehistoric archaeology. However, in this year, the University of Aarhus founded a chair of archaeology, mainly at the instigation of the Lord Mayor, Svend Unmack Larsen, who was very in terested in archaeology. Glob applied for the position and obtained it, which encompassed responsibility for the old Aarhus Museum or, as it was to be renamed, the Prehistoric Museum (now Moesgaard Museum).These were landmark events to Glob – and to me, as it turned out. We had been working together for a number of years on the excavation of Galgebakken (”Callows Hill”) near Slots Bjergby, Glob as the excavation leader, and I as his assistant. He now offered me the job of museum curator at his new institution. This was somewhat surprising as I had not yet finished my education. The idea was that I was to finish my studies in remote Jutland – a plan that had to be given up rather quickly, though, for reasons which I will describe in the following. At the same time, Gunner Lange-Kornbak – also hand-picked from the National Museum – took up his office as a conservation officer.The three of us made up the permanent museum staff, quickly supplemented by Geoffrey Bibby, who turned out to be an invaluable colleague. He was English and had been stationed in the Faeroe Islands during the war, where he learned to speak Danish. After 1945 he worked for some years for an oil company in the Gulf of Persia, but after marrying Vibeke, he settled in her home town of Aarhus. As his academic background had involved prehistoric cultures he wanted to collaborate with the museum, which Glob readily permitted.This small initial flock governed by Glob was not permitted to indulge inidleness. Glob was a dynamic character, full of good and not so good ideas, but also possessing a good grasp of what was actually practicable. The boring but necessary daily work on the home front was not very interesting to him, so he willingly handed it over to others. He hardly noticed the lack of administrative machinery, a prerequisite for any scholarly museum. It was not easy to follow him on his flights of fancy and still build up the necessary support base. However, the fact that he in no way spared himself had an appeasing effect.Provincial museums at that time were of a mixed nature. A few had trained management, and the rest were run by interested locals. This was often excellently done, as in Esbjerg, where the master joiner Niels Thomsen and a staff of volunteers carried out excavations that were as good as professional investigations, and published them in well-written articles. Regrettably, there were also examples of the opposite. A museum curator in Jutland informed me that his predecessor had been an eager excavator but very rarely left any written documentation of his actions. The excavated items were left without labels in the museum store, often wrapped in newspapers. However, these gave a clue as to the time of unearthing, and with a bit of luck a look in the newspaper archive would then reveal where the excavation had taken place. Although somewhat exceptional, this is not the only such case.The Museum of Aarhus definitely belonged among the better ones in this respect. Founded in 1861, it was at first located at the then town hall, together with the local art collection. The rooms here soon became too cramped, and both collections were moved to a new building in the ”Mølleparken” park. There were skilful people here working as managers and assistants, such as Vilhelm Boye, who had received his archaeological training at the National Museum, and later the partners A. Reeh, a barrister, and G.V. Smith, a captain, who shared the honour of a number of skilfully performed excavations. Glob’s predecessor as curator was the librarian Ejler Haugsted, also a competent man of fine achievements. We did not, thus, take over a museum on its last legs. On the other hand, it did not meet the requirements of a modern scholarly museum. We were given the task of turning it into such a museum, as implied by the name change.The goal was to create a museum similar to the National Museum, but without the faults and shortcomings that that museum had developed over a period of time. In this respect our nightly conversations during our years in Copenhagen turned out to be useful, as our talk had focused on these imperfections and how to eradicate them.We now had the opportunity to put our theories into practice. We may not have succeeded in doing so, but two areas were essentially improved:The numerous independent numbering systems, which were familiar to us from the National Museum, were permeating archaeological excavation s not only in the field but also during later work at the museum. As far as possible this was boiled down to a single system, and a new type of report was born. (In this context, a ”report” is the paper following a field investigation, comprising drawings, photos etc. and describing the progress of the work and the observations made.) The instructions then followed by the National Museum staff regarding the conduct of excavations and report writing went back to a 19th-century protocol by the employee G.V. Blom. Although clear and rational – and a vast improvement at the time – this had become outdated. For instance, the excavation of a burial mound now involved not only the middle of the mound, containing the central grave and its surrounding artefacts, but the complete structure. A large number of details that no one had previously paid attention to thus had to be included in the report. It had become a comprehensive and time-consuming work to sum up the desultory notebook records in a clear and understandable description.The instructions resulting from the new approach determined a special records system that made it possible to transcribe the notebook almost directly into a report following the excavation. The transcription thus contained all the relevant information concerning the in vestigation, and included both relics and soil layers, the excavation method and practical matters, although in a random order. The report proper could then bereduced to a short account containing references to the numbers in the transcribed notebook, which gave more detailed information.As can be imagined, the work of reform was not a continuous process. On the contrary, it had to be done in our spare hours, which were few and far between with an employer like Glob. The assignments crowded in, and the large Jutland map that we had purchased was as studded with pins as a hedge hog’s spines. Each pin represented an inuninent survey, and many of these grew into small or large excavations. Glob himself had his lecture duties to perform, and although he by no means exaggerated his concern for the students, he rarely made it further than to the surveys. Bibby and I had to deal with the hard fieldwork. And the society, once it was established, did not make our lives any easier. Kuml demanded articles written at lightning speed. A perusal of my then diary has given me a vivid recollection of this hectic period, in which I had to make use of the evening and night hours, when the museum was quiet and I had a chance to collect my thoughts. Sometimes our faithful supporter, the Lord Mayor, popped in after an evening meeting. He was extremely interested in our problems, which were then solved according to our abilities over a cup of instant coffee.A large archaeological association already existed in Denmark. How ever, Glob found it necessary to establish another one which would be less oppressed by tradition. Det kongelige nordiske Oldsskriftselskab had been funded in 1825 and was still influenced by different peculiarities from back then. Membership was not open to everyone, as applications were subject to recommendation from two existing members and approval by a vote at one of the monthly lecture meetings. Most candidates were of course accepted, but unpopular persons were sometimes rejected. In addition, only men were admitted – women were banned – but after the war a proposal was brought forward to change this absurdity. It was rejected at first, so there was a considerable excitement at the January meeting in 1951, when the proposal was once again placed on the agenda. The poor lecturer (myself) did his best, although he was aware of the fact that just this once it was the present and not the past which was the focus of attention. The result of the voting was not very courteous as there were still many opponents, but the ladies were allowed in, even if they didn’t get the warmest welcome.In Glob’s society there were no such restrictions – everyone was welcome regardless of sex or age. If there was a model for the society, it was the younger and more progressive Norwegian Archaeological Society rather than the Danish one. The main purpose of both societies was to produce an annual publication, and from the start Glob’s Kuml had a closer resemblance to the Norwegian Viking than to the Danish Aarbøger for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie. The name of the publication caused careful consideration. For a long time I kept a slip of paper with different proposals, one of which was Kuml, which won after having been approved by the linguist Peter Skautrup.The name alone, however, was not enough, so now the task became to find so mething to fill Kuml with. To this end the finds came in handy, and as for those, Glob must have allied him self with the higher powers, since fortune smiled at him to a considerable extent. Just after entering upon his duties in Aarhus, an archaeological sensation landed at his feet. This happened in May 1950 when I was still living in the capital. A few of us had planned a trip to Aarhus, partly to look at the relics of th e past, and partly to visit our friend, the professor. He greeted us warmly and told us the exciting news that ten iron swords had been found during drainage work in the valley of lllerup Aadal north of the nearby town of Skanderborg. We took the news calmly as Glob rarely understated his affairs, but our scepticism was misplaced. When we visited the meadow the following day and carefully examined the dug-up soil, another sword appeared, as well as several spear and lance heads, and other iron artefacts. What the drainage trench diggers had found was nothing less than a place of sacrifice for war booty, like the four large finds from the 1800s. When I took up my post in Aarhus in September of that year I was granted responsibility for the lllerup excavation, which I worked on during the autumn and the following six summers. Some of my best memories are associated with this job – an interesting and happy time, with cheerful comradeship with a mixed bunch of helpers, who were mainly archaeology students. When we finished in 1956, it was not because the site had been fully investigated, but because the new owner of the bog plot had an aversion to archaeologists and their activities. Nineteen years later, in 1975, the work was resumed, this time under the leadership of Jørgen Ilkjær, and a large amount of weaponry was uncovered. The report from the find is presently being published.At short intervals, the year 1952 brought two finds of great importance: in Februar y the huge vessel from Braa near Horsens, and in April the Grauballe Man. The large Celtic bronze bowl with the bulls’ heads was found disassembled, buried in a hill and covered by a couple of large stones. Thanks to the finder, the farmer Søren Paaske, work was stopped early enough to leave areas untouched for the subsequent examination.The saga of the Grauballe Man, or the part of it that we know, began as a rumour on the 26th of April: a skeleton had been found in a bog near Silkeborg. On the following day, which happened to be a Sunday, Glob went off to have a look at the find. I had other business, but I arrived at the museum in the evening with an acquaintance. In my diary I wrote: ”When we came in we had a slight shock. On the floor was a peat block with a corpse – a proper, well-preserved bog body. Glob brought it. ”We’ll be in trouble now.” And so we were, and Glob was in high spirits. The find created a sensation, which was also thanks to the quick presentation that we mounted. I had purchased a tape recorder, which cost me a packet – not a small handy one like the ones you get nowadays, but a large monstrosity with a steel tape (it was, after all, early days for this device) – and assisted by several experts, we taped a number of short lectures for the benefit of the visitors. People flocked in; the queue meandered from the exhibition room, through the museum halls, and a long way down the street. It took a long wait to get there, but the visitors seemed to enjoy the experience. The bog man lay in his hastily – procured exhibition case, which people circled around while the talking machine repeatedly expressed its words of wisdom – unfortunately with quite a few interruptions as the tape broke and had to be assembled by hand. Luckily, the tape recorders now often used for exhibitions are more dependable than mine.When the waves had died down and the exhibition ended, the experts examined the bog man. He was x-rayed at several points, cut open, given a tooth inspection, even had his fingerprints taken. During the autopsy there was a small mishap, which we kept to ourselves. However, after almost fifty years I must be able to reveal it: Among the organs removed for investigation was the liver, which was supposedly suitable for a C-14 dating – which at the time was a new dating method, introduced to Denmark after the war. The liver was sent to the laboratory in Copenhagen, and from here we received a telephone call a few days later. What had been sent in for examination was not the liver, but the stomach. The unfortunate (and in all other respects highly competent) Aarhus doctor who had performed the dissection was cal1ed in again. During another visit to the bogman’s inner parts he brought out what he believed to be the real liver. None of us were capable of deciding th is question. It was sent to Copenhagen at great speed, and a while later the dating arrived: Roman Iron Age. This result was later revised as the dating method was improved. The Grauballe Man is now thought to have lived before the birth of Christ.The preservation of the Grauballe Man was to be conservation officer Kornbak’s masterpiece. There were no earlier cases available for reference, so he invented a new method, which was very successful. In the first volumes of Kuml, society members read about the exiting history of the bog body and of the glimpses of prehistoric sacrificial customs that this find gave. They also read about the Bahrain expeditions, which Glob initiated and which became the apple of his eye. Bibby played a central role in this, as it was he who – at an evening gathering at Glob’s and Harriet’s home in Risskov – described his stay on the Persian Gulf island and the numerous burial mounds there. Glob made a quick decision (one of his special abilities was to see possibilities that noone else did, and to carry them out successfully to everyone’s surprise) and in December 1952 he and Bibby left for the Gulf, unaware of the fact that they were thereby beginning a series of expeditions which would continue for decades. Again it was Glob’s special genius that was the decisive factor. He very quickly got on friendly terms with the rulers of the small sheikhdoms and interested them in their past. As everyone knows, oil is flowing plentifully in those parts. The rulers were thus financially powerful and some of this wealth was quickly diverted to the expeditions, which probably would not have survived for so long without this assistance. To those of us who took part in them from time to time, the Gulf expeditions were an unforgettable experience, not just because of the interesting work, but even more because of the contact with the local population, which gave us an insight into local manners and customs that helped to explain parts of our own country’s past which might otherwise be difficult to understand. For Glob and the rest of us did not just get close to the elite: in spite of language problems, our Arab workers became our good friends. Things livened up when we occasionally turned up in their palm huts.Still, co-operating with Glob was not always an easy task – the sparks sometimes flew. His talent of initiating things is of course undisputed, as are the lasting results. He was, however, most attractive when he was in luck. Attention normally focused on this magnificent person whose anecdotes were not taken too seriously, but if something went wrong or failed to work out, he could be grossly unreasonable and a little too willing to abdicate responsibility, even when it was in fact his. This might lead to violent arguments, but peace was always restored. In 1954, another museum curator was attached to the museum: Poul Kjærum, who was immediately given the important task of investigating the dolmen settlement near Tustrup on Northern Djursland. This gave important results, such as the discovery of a cult house, which was a new and hitherto unknown Stone Age feature.A task which had long been on our mind s was finally carried out in 1955: constructing a new display of the museum collections. The old exhibitio n type consisted of numerous artefacts lined up in cases, accompaied ony by a brief note of the place where it was found and the type – which was the standard then. This type of exhibition did not give much idea of life in prehistoric times.We wanted to allow the finds to speak for themselves via the way that they were arranged, and with the aid of models, photos and drawings. We couldn’t do without texts, but these could be short, as people would understand more by just looking at the exhibits. Glob was in the Gulf at the time, so Kjærum and I performed the task with little money but with competent practical help from conservator Kornbak. We shared the work, but in fairness I must add that my part, which included the new lllerup find, was more suitable for an untraditional display. In order to illustrate the confusion of the sacrificial site, the numerous bent swords and other weapons were scattered a.long the back wall of the exhibition hall, above a bog land scape painted by Emil Gregersen. A peat column with inlaid slides illustrated the gradual change from prehistoric lake to bog, while a free-standing exhibition case held a horse’s skeleton with a broken skull, accompanied by sacrificial offerings. A model of the Nydam boat with all its oars sticking out hung from the ceiling, as did the fine copy of the Gundestrup vessel, as the Braa vessel had not yet been preserved. The rich pictorial decoration of the vessel’s inner plates was exhibited in its own case underneath. This was an exhibition form that differed considerably from all other Danish exhibitions of the time, and it quickly set a fashion. We awaited Glob’s homecoming with anticipation – if it wasn’t his exhibition it was still made in his spirit. We hoped that he would be surprised – and he was.The museum was thus taking shape. Its few employees included Jytte Ræbild, who held a key position as a secretary, and a growing number of archaeology students who took part in the work in various ways during these first years. Later, the number of employees grew to include the aforementioned excavation pioneer Georg Kunwald, and Hellmuth Andersen and Hans Jørgen Madsen, whose research into the past of Aarhus, and later into Danevirke is known to many, and also the ethnographer Klaus Ferdinand. And now Moesgaard appeared on the horizon. It was of course Glob’s idea to move everything to a manor near Aarhus – he had been fantasising about this from his first Aarhus days, and no one had raised any objections. Now there was a chance of fulfilling the dream, although the actual realisation was still a difficult task.During all this, the Jutland Archaeological Society thrived and attracted more members than expected. Local branches were founded in several towns, summer trips were arranged and a ”Worsaae Medal” was occasionally donated to persons who had deserved it from an archaeological perspective. Kuml came out regularly with contributions from museum people and the like-minded. The publication had a form that appealed to an inner circle of people interested in archaeology. This was the intention, and this is how it should be. But in my opinion this was not quite enough. We also needed a publication that would cater to a wider public and that followed the same basic ideas as the new exhibition.I imagined a booklet, which – without over-popularsing – would address not only the professional and amateur archaeologist but also anyone else interested in the past. The result was Skalk, which (being a branch of the society) published its fir t issue in the spring of 1957. It was a somewhat daring venture, as the financial base was weak and I had no knowledge of how to run a magazine. However, both finances and experience grew with the number of subscribers – and faster than expected, too. Skalk must have met an unsatisfied need, and this we exploited to the best of our ability with various cheap advertisem*nts. The original idea was to deal only with prehistoric and medieval archaeology, but the historians also wanted to contribute, and not just the digging kind. They were given permission, and so the topic of the magazine ended up being Denmark’s past from the time of its first inhabitant s until the times remembered by the oldest of us – with the odd sideways leap to other subjects. It would be impossible to claim that Skalk was at the top of Glob’s wish list, but he liked it and supported the idea in every way. The keeper of national antiquities, Johannes Brøndsted, did the same, and no doubt his unreserved approval of the magazine contributed to its quick growth. Not all authors found it easy to give up technical language and express themselves in everyday Danish, but the new style was quickly accepted. Ofcourse the obligations of the magazine work were also sometimes annoying. One example from the diary: ”S. had promised to write an article, but it was overdue. We agreed to a final deadline and when that was overdue I phoned again and was told that the author had gone to Switzerland. My hair turned grey overnight.” These things happened, but in this particular case there was a happy ending. Another academic promised me three pages about an excavation, but delivered ten. As it happened, I only shortened his production by a third.The 1960s brought great changes. After careful consideration, Glob left us to become the keeper of national antiquities. One important reason for his hesitation was of course Moesgaard, which he missed out on – the transfer was almost settled. This was a great loss to the Aarhus museum and perhaps to Glob, too, as life granted him much greater opportunities for development.” I am not the type to regret things,” he later stated, and hopefully this was true. And I had to choose between the museum and Skalk – the work with the magazine had become too timeconsuming for the two jobs to be combined. Skalk won, and I can truthfully say that I have never looked back. The magazine grew quickly, and happy years followed. My resignation from the museum also meant that Skalk was disengaged from the Jutland Archaeological Society, but a close connection remained with both the museum and the society.What has been described here all happened when the museum world was at the parting of the ways. It was a time of innovation, and it is my opinion that we at the Prehistoric Museum contributed to that change in various ways.The new Museum Act of 1958 gave impetus to the study of the past. The number of archaeology students in creased tremendously, and new techniques brought new possibilities that the discussion club of the 1940s had not even dreamt of, but which have helped to make some of the visions from back then come true. Public in terest in archaeology and history is still avid, although to my regret, the ahistorical 1960s and 1970s did put a damper on it.Glob is greatly missed; not many of his kind are born nowadays. He had, so to say, great virtues and great fault s, but could we have done without either? It is due to him that we have the Jutland Archaeological Society, which has no w existed for half a century. Congr tulat ion s to the Society, from your offspring Skalk.Harald AndersenSkalk MagazineTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

Abstract:

Purpose Money laundering (ML) is one of the greatest challenges, the global community faces today. Corporate entities such as financial institutions (FIs) are most susceptible to facilitate and launder money. The paper raises the following question: Who is to bear the burden of liability? Either a corporation or an individual, thus this paper examines liability issues in a corporate setting particularly financial institutions, which arise from regulatory noncompliance or failure to oversight in the context of ML. Design/methodology/approach The study is legal doctrinal mainly based on case laws, legislation and research articles. Findings Firstly, this study provides how the concept of liability in a corporate setting in UK and USA has drifted from its traditional “duty to care” standard to a new “duty to oversight” and “Responsible Corporate Officer” concepts resulting a shift in corporate to individual liability. Secondly, in the context of anti-ML violations in FIs, imposition of corporate or personal liability solely may not effectively deter ML and may create conflicts between management and shareholders. Practical implications The paper can be a source to explore the issue of ML liability for regulatory noncompliance based on UK, USA and Pakistan law. Originality/value This paper demonstrates that the imposition of either corporate or personal liability may create dilemma either for shareholders or management; however, a “combine or collective liability” approach carries potential to retard ML activities in FIs and balancing the harm-penalties incurred upon a corporation while addressing shareholders concerns.

Abstract:

The UP Manila Health Policy Development Hub recognizes the invaluable contribution of the participants in theseries of roundtable discussions listed below: RTD: Beyond Hospital Beds: Equity,quality, and service1. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, UP Manila2. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, UP Manila3. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, UP Manila4. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, UP Manila HealthPolicy Development Hub; Director, Institute of HealthPolicy and Development Studies, University of thePhilippines Manila5. Irma L. Asuncion, MHA, CESO III, Director IV,Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health6. Renely Pangilinan-Tungol, MD, CFP, MPM-HSD,Municipal Health Officer, San Fernando, Pampanga7. Salome F. Arinduque, MD, Galing-Pook AwardeeRepresentative, Municipal Health Officer, San Felipe,Zambales8. Carmelita C. Canila, MD, MPH, Faculty, College ofPublic Health, University of the Philippines Manila9. Lester M. Tan, MD, MPH, Division Chief, Bureau ofLocal Health System Development, Department ofHealth10. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation (ZFF)11. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization12. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, AssociateDirector, Medical and Regulatory Affairs, AsianHospital and Medical Center13. Christian Edward L. Nuevo, Health Policy and SystemsResearch Fellow, Health Policy Development andPlanning Bureau, Department of Health14. Paolo Victor N. Medina, MD, Assistant Professor 4,College of Medicine, University of the PhilippinesManila15. Jose Rafael A. Marfori, MD, Special Assistant to theDirector, Philippine General Hospital16. Maria Teresa U. Bagaman, Committee Chair, PhilippineSociety for Quality, Inc.17. Maria Theresa G. Vera, MSc, MHA, CESO III, DirectorIV, Health Facility Development Bureau, Departmentof Health18. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila19. Fevi Rose C. Paro, Faculty, Department of Communityand Environmental Resource Planning, University ofthe Philippines Los Baños20. Maria Rosa C. Abad, MD, Medical Specialist III,Standard Development Division, Health Facilities andServices Regulation21. Yolanda R. Robles, RPh, PhD, Faculty, College ofPharmacy, University of the Philippines Manila22. Jaya P. Ebuen, RN, Development Manager Officer,CHDMM, Department of Health23. Josephine E. Cariaso, MA, RN, Assistant Professor,College of Nursing, University of the Philippines Manila24. Diana Van Daele, Programme Manager, CooperationSection, European Union25. Maria Paz de Sagun, Project Management Specialist,USAID26. Christopher Muñoz, Member, Yellow Warriors SocietyPhilippinesRTD: Health services and financingroles: Population based- andindividual-based1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Mario C. Villaverde, Undersecretary, Health Policyand Development Systems and Development Team,Department of Health6. Jaime Z. Galvez Tan, MD, Former Secretary, Department of Health7. Marvin C. Galvez, MD, OIC Division Chief, BenefitsDevelopment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation8. Alvin B. Caballes, MD, MPE, MPP, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila9. Carlos D. Da Silva, Executive Director, Association ofMunicipal Health Maintenance Organization of thePhilippines, Inc.10. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation (ZFF) 11. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization12. Salome F. Arinduque, MD, Galing-Pook AwardeeRepresentative, Municipal Health Officer, San Felipe,Zambales13. Michael Ralph M. Abrigo, PhD, Research Fellow,Philippine Institute for Developmental Studies14. Oscar D. Tinio, MD, Committee Chair, Legislation,Philippine Medical Association15. Rogelio V. Dazo, Jr., MD, FPCOM, Legislation,Philippine Medical Association16. Ligaya V. Catadman, MM, Officer-in-charge, HealthPolicy Development and Planning Bureau, Department of Health17. Maria Fatima Garcia-Lorenzo, President, PhilippineAlliance of Patients Organization18. Tomasito P. Javate, Jr, Supervising Economic DevelopmentSpecialist, Health Nutrition and Population Division,National Economic and Development Authority19. Josefina Isidro-Lapena, MD, National Board ofDirector, Philippine Academy of Family Physicians20. Maria Eliza Ruiz-Aguila, MPhty, PhD, Dean, Collegeof Allied Medical Professions, University of thePhilippines Manila21. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila22. Maria Paz P. Corrales, MD, MHA, MPA, Director III,Department of Health-National Capital Region23. Karin Estepa Garcia, MD, Executive Secretary, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians24. Adeline A. Mesina, MD, Medical Specialist III,Philippine Health Insurance Corporation25. Glorey Ann P. Alde, RN, MPH, Research Fellow,Department of HealthRTD: Moving towards provincelevel integration throughUniversal Health Care Act1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Mario C. Villaverde, Undersecretary of Health, HealthPolicy and Development Systems and DevelopmentTeam, Department of Health6. Ferdinand A. Pecson, Undersecretary and ExecutiveDirector, Public Private Partnership Center7. Rosanna M. Buccahan, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Bataan Provincial Office8. Lester M. Tan, MD, Division Chief, Bureau of LocalHealth System Development, Department of Health9. Ernesto O. Domingo, MD, FPCP, FPSF, FormerChancellor, University of the Philippines Manila10. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization11. Leslie Ann L. Luces, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Aklan12. Rene C. Catan, MD, Provincial Health Officer, Cebu13. Anthony Rosendo G. Faraon, MD, Vice President,Zuellig Family Foundation14. Jose Rafael A. Marfori, MD, Special Assistant to theDirector, Philippine General Hospital15. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, Consultant,Asian Hospital and Medical Center16. Ramon Paterno, MD, Member, Universal Health CareStudy Group, University of the Philippines Manila17. Mayor Eunice U. Babalcon, Mayor, Paranas, Samar18. Zorayda E. Leopando, MD, Former President,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians19. Madeleine de Rosas-Valera, MD, MScIH, SeniorTechnical Consultant, World Bank20. Arlene C. Sebastian, MD, Municipal Health Officer,Sta. Monica, Siargao Island, Mindanao21. Rizza Majella L. Herrera, MD, Acting Senior Manager,Accreditation Department, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation22. Alvin B. Caballes, MD, MPE, MPP, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila23. Pres. Policarpio B. Joves, MD, MPH, MOH, FPAFP,President, Philippine Academy of Family Physicians24. Leilanie A. Nicodemus, MD, Board of Director,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians25. Maria Paz P. Corrales, MD, MHA, MPA, Director III,National Capital Region Office, Department of Health26. Dir. Irma L. Asuncion, MD, MHA, CESO III, DirectorIV, Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health27. Bernard B. Argamosa, MD, Mental Health Representative, National Center for Mental Health28. Flerida Chan, Chief, Poverty Reduction Section, JapanInternational Cooperation Agency29. Raul R. Alamis, Chief Health Program Officer, ServiceDelivery Network, Department of Health30. Mary Anne Milliscent B. Castro, Supervising HealthProgram Officer, Department of Health 31. Marikris Florenz N. Garcia, Project Manager, PublicPrivate Partnership Center32. Mary Grace G. Darunday, Supervising Budget andManagement Specialist, Budget and Management Bureaufor the Human Development Sector, Department ofBudget and Management33. Belinda Cater, Senior Budget and Management Specialist,Department of Budget and Management34. Sheryl N. Macalipay, LGU Officer IV, Bureau of LocalGovernment and Development, Department of Interiorand Local Government35. Kristel Faye M. Roderos, OTRP, Representative,College of Allied Medical Professions, University ofthe Philippines Manila36. Jeffrey I. Manalo, Director III, Policy Formulation,Project Evaluation and Monitoring Service, PublicPrivate Partnership Center37. Atty. Phebean Belle A. Ramos-Lacuna, Division Chief,Policy Formulation Division, Public Private PartnershipCenter38. Ricardo Benjamin D. Osorio, Planning Officer, PolicyFormulation, Project Evaluation and MonitoringService, Public Private Partnership Center39. Gladys Rabacal, Program Officer, Japan InternationalCooperation Agency40. Michael Angelo Baluyot, Nurse, Bataan Provincial Office41. Jonna Jane Javier Austria, Nurse, Bataan Provincial Office42. Heidee Buenaventura, MD, Associate Director, ZuelligFamily Foundation43. Dominique L. Monido, Policy Associate, Zuellig FamilyFoundation44. Rosa Nene De Lima-Estellana, RN, MD, Medical OfficerIII, Department of Interior and Local Government45. Ma Lourdes Sangalang-Yap, MD, FPCR, Medical OfficerIV, Department of Interior and Local Government46. Ana Melissa F. Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean for Planning & Development, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila47. Colleen T. Francisco, Representative, Department ofBudget and Management48. Kristine Galamgam, Representative, Department ofHealth49. Fides S. Basco, Officer-in-charge, Chief Budget andManagement Specialist, Development of Budget andManagementRTD: Health financing: Co-paymentsand Personnel1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the Philippines Manila5. Ernesto O. Domingo, MD, Professor Emeritus,University of the Philippines Manila6. Irma L. Asuncion, MHA, CESO III, Director IV,Bureau of Local Health Systems Development,Department of Health7. Lester M. Tan, MD, MPH, Division Chief, Bureau ofLocal Health System Development, Department ofHealth8. Marvin C. Galvez, MD, OIC Division Chief, BenefitsDevelopment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation9. Adeline A. Mesina, MD, Medical Specialist III, BenefitsDepartment and Research Department, PhilippineHealth Insurance Corporation10. Carlos D. Da Silva, Executive Director, Association ofHealth Maintenance Organization of the Philippines,Inc.11. Ma. Margarita Lat-Luna, MD, Deputy Director, FiscalServices, Philippine General Hospital12. Waldemar V. Galindo, MD, Chief of Clinics, Ospital ngMaynila13. Albert Francis E. Domingo, MD, Consultant, HealthSystem strengthening through Public Policy andRegulation, World Health Organization14. Rogelio V. Dazo, Jr., MD, Member, Commission onLegislation, Philippine Medical Association15. Aileen R. Espina, MD, Board Member, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians16. Anthony R. Faraon, MD, Vice President, Zuellig FamilyFoundation17. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, Associate Director, Medical andRegulatory Affairs, Asian Hospital and Medical Center18. Jared Martin Clarianes, Technical Officer, Union of LocalAuthorities of the Philippines19. Leslie Ann L. Luces, MD, Provincial Health Officer,Aklan20. Rosa Nene De Lima-Estellana, MD, Medical OfficerIII, Department of the Interior and Local Government21. Ma. Lourdes Sangalang-Yap, MD, Medical Officer V,Department of the Interior and Local Government 22. Dominique L. Monido, Policy Associate, Zuellig FamilyFoundation23. Krisch Trine D. Ramos, MD, Medical Officer, PhilippineCharity Sweepstakes Office24. Larry R. Cedro, MD, Assistant General Manager, CharitySector, Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office25. Margarita V. Hing, Officer in Charge, ManagementDivision, Financial Management Service Sector,Department of Health26. Dr. Carlo Irwin Panelo, Associate Professor, College ofMedicine, University of the Philippines Manila27. Dr. Angelita V. Larin, Faculty, College of Public Health,University of the Philippines Manila28. Dr. Abdel Jeffri A. Abdulla, Chair, RegionalizationProgram, University of the Philippines Manila29. Christopher S. Muñoz, Member, Philippine Alliance ofPatients Organization30. Gemma R. Macatangay, LGOO V, Department ofInterior and Local Government – Bureau of LocalGovernment Development31. Dr. Narisa Portia J. Sugay, Acting Vice President, QualityAssurance Group, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation32. Maria Eliza R. Aguila, Dean, College of Allied MedicalProfessions, University of the Philippines Manila33. Angeli A. Comia, Manager, Zuellig Family Foundation34. Leo Alcantara, Union of Local Authorities of thePhilippines35. Dr. Zorayda E. Leopando, Former President, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians36. Dr. Emerito Jose Faraon, Faculty, College of PublicHealth, University of the Philippines Manila37. Dr. Carmelita C. Canila, Faculty, College of PublicHealth, University of the Philippines ManilaRTD: Moving towards third partyaccreditation for health facilities1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD,Faculty, College of Public Health, University of thePhilippines Manila3. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, Dean,College of Arts and Sciences, University of thePhilippines Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, MM, Faculty,College of Dentistry, University of the PhilippinesManila5. Rizza Majella L. Herrera, MD, Acting SeniorManager, Accreditation Department, Philippine HealthInsurance Corporation6. Bernadette C. Hogar-Manlapat, MD, FPBA, FPSA,FPSQua, MMPA, President and Board of Trustee,Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare, Inc.7. Waldemar V. Galindo, MD, Chief of Clinics, Ospital ngMaynila8. Amor. F. Lahoz, Division Chief, Promotion andDocumentation Division, Department of Trade andIndustry – Philippine Accreditation Bureau9. Jenebert P. Opinion, Development Specialist, Department of Trade and Industry – Philippine AccreditationBureau10. Maria Linda G. Buhat, President, Association ofNursing Service Administrators of the Philippines, Inc.11. Bernardino A. Vicente, MD, FPPA, MHA, CESOIV, President, Philippine Tripartite Accreditation forHealth Facilities, Inc.12. Atty. Bu C. Castro, MD, Board Member, PhilippineHospital Association13. Cristina Lagao-Caalim, RN, MAN, MHA, ImmediatePast President and Board of Trustee, Philippine Societyfor Quality in Healthcare, Inc.14. Manuel E. Villegas Jr., MD, Vice Treasurer and Board ofTrustee, Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare,Inc.15. Michelle A. Arban, Treasurer and Board of Trustee,Philippine Society for Quality in Healthcare, Inc.16. Joselito R. Chavez, MD, FPCP, FPCCP, FACCP,CESE, Deputy Executive Director, Medical Services,National Kidney and Transplant Institute17. Blesilda A. Gutierrez, CPA, MBA, Deputy ExecutiveDirector, Administrative Services, National Kidney andTransplant Institute18. Eulalia C. Magpusao, MD, Associate Director, Qualityand Patient Safety, St. Luke’s Medical Centre GlobalCity19. Clemencia D. Bondoc, MD, Auditor, Association ofMunicipal Health Officers of the Philippines20. Jesus Randy O. Cañal, MD, FPSO-HNS, AssociateDirector, Medical and Regulatory Affairs, Asian Hospitaland Medical Center21. Maria Fatima Garcia-Lorenzo, President, PhilippineAlliance of Patient Organizations22. Leilanie A. Nicodemus, MD, Board of Directors,Philippine Academy of Family Physicians23. Policarpio B. Joves Jr., MD, President, PhilippineAcademy of Family Physicians24. Kristel Faye Roderos, Faculty, College of Allied MedicalProfessions, University of the Philippines Manila25. Ana Melissa Hilvano-Cabungcal, MD, AssistantAssociate Dean, College of Medicine, University of thePhilippines Manila26. Christopher Malorre Calaquian, MD, Faculty, Collegeof Medicine, University of the Philippines Manila27. Emerito Jose C. Faraon, MD, Faculty, College ofPublic Health, University of the Philippines Manila 28. Carmelita Canila, Faculty, College of Public Health,University of the Philippines Manila29. Oscar D. Tinio, MD, Representative, Philippine MedicalAssociation30. Farrah Rocamora, Member, Philippine Society forQuality in Healthcare, IncRTD: RA 11036 (Mental Health Act):Addressing Mental Health Needs ofOverseas Filipino Workers1. Hilton Y. Lam, MHA, PhD, Chair, University of thePhilippines Manila Health Policy Development Hub;Director, Institute of Health Policy and DevelopmentStudies, University of the Philippines Manila2. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., MCD, MPH, PhD, UPManila Health Policy Development Hub; College ofArts and Sciences, UP Manila3. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, MPAf, MSPPM, PhD, UPManila Health Policy Development Hub; College ofPublic Health, UP Manila4. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, DDM, UP ManilaHealth Policy Development Hub; College of Dentistry,UP Manila5. Frances Prescilla L. Cuevas, RN, MAN, Director,Essential Non-Communicable Diseases Division,Department of Health6. Maria Teresa D. De los Santos, Workers Education andMonitoring Division, Philippine Overseas EmploymentAdministration7. Andrelyn R. Gregorio, Policy Program and Development Office,Overseas Workers Welfare Administration8. Sally D. Bongalonta, MA, Institute of Family Life &Children Studies, Philippine Women’s University9. Consul Ferdinand P. Flores, Department of ForeignAffairs10. Jerome Alcantara, BLAS OPLE Policy Center andTraining Institute11. Andrea Luisa C. Anolin, Commission on FilipinoOverseas12. Bernard B. Argamosa, MD, DSBPP, National Centerfor Mental Health13. Agnes Joy L. Casino, MD, DSBPP, National Centerfor Mental Health14. Ryan Roberto E. Delos Reyes, Employment Promotionand Workers Welfare Division, Department of Laborand Employment15. Sheralee Bondad, Legal and International AffairsCluster, Department of Labor and Employment16. Rhodora A. Abano, Center for Migrant Advocacy17. Nina Evita Q. Guzman, Ugnayan at Tulong para saMaralitang Pamilya (UGAT) Foundation, Inc.18. Katrina S. Ching, Ugnayan at Tulong para sa MaralitangPamilya (UGAT) Foundation, Inc.RTD: (Bitter) Sweet Smile of Filipinos1. Dr. Hilton Y. Lam, Institute of Health Policy andDevelopment Studies, NIH2. Dr. Leonardo R. Estacio, Jr., College of Arts andSciences, UP Manila3. Dr. Ma. Esmeralda C. Silva, College of Public Health,UP Manila4. Dr. Michael Antonio F. Mendoza, College of Dentistry,UP Manila5. Dr. Ma. Susan T. Yanga-Mabunga, Department ofHealth Policy & Administration, UP Manila6. Dr. Danilo L. Magtanong, College of Dentistry, UPManila7. Dr. Alvin Munoz Laxamana, Philippine DentalAssociation8. Dr. Fina Lopez, Philippine Pediatric Dental Society, Inc9. Dr. Artemio Licos, Jr.,Department of Health NationalAssociation of Dentists10. Dr. Maria Jona D. Godoy, Professional RegulationCommission11. Ms. Anna Liza De Leon, Philippine Health InsuranceCorporation12. Ms. Nicole Sigmuend, GIZ Fit for School13. Ms. Lita Orbillo, Disease Prevention and Control Bureau14. Mr. Raymond Oxcena Akap sa Bata Philippines15. Dr. Jessica Rebueno-Santos, Department of CommunityDentistry, UP Manila16. Ms. Maria Olivine M. Contreras, Bureau of LocalGovernment Supervision, DILG17. Ms. Janel Christine Mendoza, Philippine DentalStudents Association18. Mr. Eric Raymund Yu, UP College of DentistryStudent Council19. Dr. Joy Memorando, Philippine Pediatric Society20. Dr. Sharon Alvarez, Philippine Association of DentalColleges

Abstract:

Timeliness of financial reporting is a qualitative characteristics that enhance the usefulness of information and significant to users of financial statements. This study examines that board diversity (GENDERCHAIR), CEO age (CEOAGE) have impact on audit report timeliness. The sample of this study comprises of 100 companies listed on Vietnamese Stock Exchange in the period 2012 - 2014. Ordinary Least Square (OLS) regression analysis are performed to test the audit report timeliness determinants . Using quantitative research methods, findings found that there is a significant positive relationship between board diversity on timeliness of financial reporting while proxy variables of the CEO age have a significant negative relationship with timeliness of financial reporting. . This paper extends prior research by addressing the potential effects of female executives on timeliness of financial reporting. Keywords Chief executive officer, timeliness of financial reporting, listed firms, Vietnam References Abdullah, S. N., “Board composition, audit committee and timeliness of corporate financial reports in Malaysia”, Corporate Ownership & Control, 4 (2006) 4, 33-45.Al-Ajmi, J., “Audit and reporting delays: Evidence from an emerging market”, Advances in Accounting, 24 (2008) 2, 217-226Al-Akra, M., Eddie, I. A., & Ali, M. J., “The influence of the introduction of accounting disclosure regulation on mandatory disclosure compliance: Evidence from Jordan”, The British Accounting Review, 42 (2010) 3, 170-186.Alkhatib, K., & Marji, Q., “Audit reports timeliness: Empirical evidence from Jordan”, Procedia-Social and Behavioral Sciences 62 (2012), 1342-1349.AL-Shwiyat, Z. M. M., “Affecting factors on the timing of the issuance of annual financial reports: empirical study on the jordanian public shareholding companies”, European Scientific Journal, 9 (2013) 22, 407-423.Ashton, R. H., Graul, P. 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American Accounting Association Annual Meeting, Colorado, Wednesday August 10, 2011, Denver, Colorado: American Accounting Association (2011), 1-41.Catalyst, “The bottom line: Connecting corporate performance and gender diversity” (2004).Che-Ahmad, A., & Abidin, S., “Audit delay of listed companies: A case of Malaysia”, International business research, 1 (2009) 4, 32.Cohen, J., Krishnamoorthy, G., & Wright, A. M., “Corporate governance and the audit process”, Contemporary accounting research, 19 (2002) 4, 573-594.Ettredge, M. 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Abstract:

Abstract Motivation Quantitative structure-activity relationship (QSAR) analysis is commonly used in drug discovery. Collaborations among pharmaceutical institutions can lead to a better performance in QSAR prediction, however, intellectual property and related financial interests remain substantially hindering inter-institutional collaborations in QSAR modeling for drug discovery. Results For the first time, we verified the feasibility of applying the horizontal federated learning (HFL), which is a recently developed collaborative and privacy-preserving learning framework to perform QSAR analysis. A prototype platform of federated-learning-based QSAR modeling for collaborative drug discovery, i.e. FL-QSAR, is presented accordingly. We first compared the HFL framework with a classic privacy-preserving computation framework, i.e. secure multiparty computation to indicate its difference from various perspective. Then we compared FL-QSAR with the public collaboration in terms of QSAR modeling. Our extensive experiments demonstrated that (i) collaboration by FL-QSAR outperforms a single client using only its private data, and (ii) collaboration by FL-QSAR achieves almost the same performance as that of collaboration via cleartext learning algorithms using all shared information. Taking together, our results indicate that FL-QSAR under the HFL framework provides an efficient solution to break the barriers between pharmaceutical institutions in QSAR modeling, therefore promote the development of collaborative and privacy-preserving drug discovery with extendable ability to other privacy-related biomedical areas. Availability and implementation The source codes of FL-QSAR are available on the GitHub: https://github.com/bm2-lab/FL-QSAR. Supplementary information Supplementary data are available at Bioinformatics online.

Abstract:

IntroductionBritish initiatives to manage both the number of arrivals of asylum seekers and the experiences of those who arrive have burgeoned in recent years. The budget dedicated to asylum seeker management increased from £357 million in 1998-1999 to £1.71 billion in 2004-2005, making the Immigration and Nationality Directorate (IND) the second largest concern of the Home Office behind the Prison Service in 2005 (Back et al). The IND was replaced in April 2007 by the Border and Immigration Agency (BIA), whose expenditure exceeded £2 billion in 2007-2008 (BIA). Perhaps as a consequence the number of asylum seekers applying to the UK has fallen dramatically, illustrating the continuing influence of exclusionary state policies despite the globalisation and transnationalisation of migrant flows (UNHCR; Koser).One of the difficulties with the study of asylum seekers is the persistent risk that, by employing the term ‘asylum seeker’, research conducted into their experiences will contribute towards the exclusion of a marginalised and abject group of people, precisely by employing a term that emphasises the suspended recognition of a community (Nyers). The ‘asylum seeker’ is a figure defined in law in order to facilitate government-level avoidance of humanitarian obligations by emphasising the non-refugeeness of asylum claimants (Tyler). This group is identified as supplicant to the state, positioning the state itself as a legitimate arbiter. It is in this sense that asylum seekers suffer a degree of cruel optimism (Berlant) – wishing to be recognised as a refugee while nevertheless subject to state-defined discourses, whatever the outcome. The term ‘forced migrant’ is little better, conveying a de-humanising and disabling lack of agency (Turton), while the terms ‘undocumented migrant’, ‘irregular migrant’ and ‘illegal migrant’ all imply a failure to conform to respectable, desirable and legitimate forms of migration.Another consequence of these co-opted and politically subjugating forms of language is their production of simple imagined geographies of migration that position the foreigner as strange, unfamiliar and incapable of communication across this divide. Such imaginings precipitate their own responses, most clearly expressed in the blunt, intrusive uses of space and time in migration governance (Lahav and Guiraudon; Cohen; Guild; Gronendijk). Various institutions exist in Britain that function to actually produce the imagined differences between migrants and citizens, from the two huge, airport-like ‘Asylum Screening Units’ in Liverpool and London where asylum seekers can lodge their claims, to the 12 ‘Removal Centres’ within which soon-to-be deported asylum seekers are incarcerated and the 17 ‘Hearing Centres’ at which British judges preside over the precise legal status of asylum applicants.Less attention, however, has been given to the tension between mobility and stillness in asylum contexts. Asylum seeker management is characterised by a complex combination of enforced stillness and enforced mobility of asylum seeking bodies, and resistance can also be understood in these terms. This research draws upon 37 interviews with asylum seekers, asylum activists, and government employees in the UK conducted between 2005 and 2007 (see Gill) and distils three characteristics of stillness. First, an association between stillness and safety is clearly evident, exacerbated by the fear that the state may force asylum seekers to move at any time. Second, stillness of asylum seekers in a physical, literal sense is intimately related to their psychological condition, underscoring the affectual properties of stillness. Third, the desire to be still, and to be safe, precipitates various political strategies that seek to secure stillness, meaning that stillness functions as more than an aspiration, becoming also a key political metric in the struggle between the included and excluded. In these multiple and contradictory ways stillness is a key factor that structures asylum seekers’ experiences of migration. Governing through Mobility The British state utilises both stillness and mobility in the governance of asylum seeking bodies. On the one hand, asylum seekers’ personal freedoms are routinely curtailed both through their incarceration and through the requirements imposed upon them by the state in terms of ‘signing in’ at local police stations, even when they are not incarcerated, throughout the time that they are awaiting a decision on their claim for asylum (Cwerner). This requirement, which consists of attending a police station to confirm the continuing compliance of the asylum seeker, can vary in frequency, from once every month to once every few days.On the other hand, the British state employs a range of strategies of mobility that serve to deprive asylum seeking communities of geographical stillness and, consequently, also often undermines their psychological stability. First, the seizure of asylum seekers and transportation to a Removal Centre can be sudden and traumatic, and incarceration in this manner is becoming increasingly common (Bacon; Home Office). In extreme cases, very little or no warning is given to asylum seekers who are taken into detention, and so-called ‘dawn raids’ have been organised in order to exploit an element of surprise in the introduction of asylum seekers to detention (Burnett). A second source of forced mobility associated with Removal Centres is the transfer of detainees from one Removal Centre to another for a variety of reasons, from the practical constraints imposed by the capacities of various centres, to differences in the conditions of centres themselves, which are used to form a reward and sanction mechanism among the detainee population (Hayter; Granville-Chapman). Intra-detention estate transfers have increased in scope and significance in recent years: in 2004/5, the most recent financial year for which figures are available, the British government spent over £6.5 million simply moving detainees from one secure facility to another within the UK (Hansard, 2005; 2006).Outside incarceration, a third source of spatial disruption of asylum seekers in the UK concerns their relationship with accommodation providers. Housing is provided to asylum seekers as they await a decision on their claim, but this housing is provided on a ‘no-choice’ basis, meaning that asylum seekers who are not prepared to travel to the accommodation that is allocated to them will forfeit their right to accommodation (Schuster). In other words, accommodation is contingent upon asylum seekers’ willingness to be mobile, producing a direct trade-off between the attractions of accommodation and stillness. The rationale for this “dispersal policy”, is to draw asylum seekers away from London, where the majority of asylum seekers chose to reside before 2000. The maintenance of a diverse portfolio of housing across the UK is resource intensive, with the re-negotiation of housing contracts worth over a £1 billion a constant concern (Noble et al). As these contracts are renegotiated, asylum seekers are expected to move in response to the varying affordability of housing around the country. In parallel to the system of deportee movements within the detention estate therefore, a comparable system of movement of asylum seekers around the UK in response to urban and regional housing market conditions also operates. Stillness as SanctuaryIn all three cases, the psychological stress that movement of asylum seekers can cause is significant. Within detention, according to a series of government reports into the conditions of removal centres, one of the recurring difficulties facing incarcerated asylum seekers is incomprehension of their legal status (e.g. HMIP 2002; 2008). This, coupled with very short warning of impending movements, results in widespread anxiety among detained asylum seekers that they may be deported or transferred imminently. Outside detention, the fear of snatch squads of police officers, or alternatively the fear of hate crimes against asylum seekers (Tyler), render movement in the public realm a dangerous practice in the eyes of many marginalised migrants. The degree of uncertainty and the mental and emotional demands of relocation introduced through forced mobility can have a damaging psychological effect upon an already vulnerable population. Expressing his frustration at this particular implication of the movement of detainees, one activist who had provided sanctuary to over 20 asylum seekers in his community outlined some of the consequences of onward movement.The number of times I’ve had to write panic letters saying you know you cannot move this person to the other end of the country because it destabilises them in terms of their mental health and it is abusive. […] Their solicitors are here, they’re in process, in legal process, they’ve got a community, they’ve got friends, they may even have a partner or a child here and they would still move them.The association between governance, mobility and trepidation highlights one characteristic of stillness in the asylum seeking field: in contra-distinction to the risk associated with movement, to be still is very often to be safe. Given the necessity to flee violence in origin countries and the tendency for destination country governments to require constant re-positioning, often backed-up with the threat of force, stillness comes to be viewed as offering a sort of sanctuary. Indeed, the Independent Asylum Commission charity that has conducted a series of reviews of asylum seekers’ treatment in the UK (Hobson et al.), has recently suggested dispensing with the term ‘asylum’ in favour of ‘sanctuary’ precisely because of the positive associations with security and stability that the latter provides. To be in one place for a sustained period allows networks of human trust and reciprocity to develop which can form the basis of supportive community relationships. Another activist who had accompanied many asylum seekers through the legal process spoke passionately about the functions that communities can serve in asylum seekers’ lives.So you actually become substitute family […] I think it’s what helps people in the midst of trauma when the future is uncertain […] to find a community which values them, which accepts them, which listens to them, where they can begin to find a place and touch a creative life again which they may not have had for years: it’s enormously important.There is a danger in romanticising the benefits of community (Joseph). Indeed, much of the racism and xenophobia directed towards asylum seekers has been the result of local community hostilities towards different national and ethnic groups (Boswell). For many asylum seekers, however, the reciprocal relations found in communities are crucially important to their well-being. What is more, the inclusion of asylum seekers into communities is one of the most effective anti-state and anti-deportation strategies available to activists and asylum seekers alike (Tyler), because it arrests the process of anonymising and cordoning asylum seekers as an hom*ogenous group, providing instead a chance for individuals to cast off this label in favour of more ‘humane’ characteristics: families, learning, friendship, love.Strategies for StillnessFor this reason, the pursuit of stillness among asylum seekers is both a human and political response to their situations – stillness becomes a metric in the struggle between abject migrants and the state. Crucial to this political function is the complex relationship between stillness and social visibility: if an asylum seeker can command their own stillness then they can also have greater influence over their public profile, either in order to develop it or to become less conspicuous.Tyler argues that asylum seekers are what she calls a ‘hypervisible’ social group, referring to the high profile association between a fictional, dehumanised asylum seeking figure and a range of defamatory characteristics circulated by the popular printed press. Stillness can be used to strategically reduce this imposed form of hypervisibility, and to raise awareness of real asylum seeker stories and situations. This is achieved by building community coalitions, which require physically and socially settled asylum seeking families and communities. Asylum advocacy groups and local community support networks work together in the UK in order to generate a genuine public profile of asylum seekers by utilising local and national newspapers, staging public demonstrations, delivering speeches, attending rallies and garnering support among local organisations through art exhibitions, performances and debates. Some activist networks specialise explicitly in supporting asylum seekers in these endeavours, and sympathetic networks of journalists, lawyers, doctors and radio producers combine their expertise with varying degrees of success.These sorts of strategies can produce strong loyalties between local communities and the asylum seekers in their midst, precisely because, through their co-presence, asylum seekers cease to be merely asylum seekers, but become active and valued members of communities. One activist who had helped to organise the protection of an asylum seeker in a church described some of the preparations that had been made for the arrival of immigration task forces in her middle class parish.There were all sorts of things we practiced: if they did break through the door what would we do? We set up a telephone tree so that each person would phone two or three people. We had I don’t know how many cars outside. We arranged a safe house, where we would hide her. We practiced getting her out of the room into a car […] We were expecting them to come at any time. We always had people at the back […] guarding, looking at strangers who might be around and [name] was never, ever allowed to be on her own without a whole group of people completely surrounding her so she could feel safe and we would feel safe. Securing stillness here becomes more than simply an operation to secure geographic fixity: it is a symbolic struggle between state and community, crystallising in specific tactics of spatial and temporal arrangement. It reflects the fear of further forced movement, the abiding association between stillness and safety, and the complex relationship between community visibility and an ability to remain still.There are, nevertheless, drawbacks to these tactics that suggest a very different relationship between stillness and visibility. Juries can be alienated by loud tactics of activism, meaning that asylum seekers can damage their chances of a sympathetic legal hearing if they have had too high a profile. Furthermore, many asylum seekers do not have the benefits of such a dedicated community. An alternative way in which stillness becomes political is through its ability to render invisible the abject body. Invisibility is taken to mean the decision to ‘go underground’, miss the appointments at local police stations and attempt to anticipate the movements of immigration removal enforcement teams. Perversely, although this is a strategy for stillness at the national or regional scale, mobile strategies are often employed at finer scales in order to achieve this objective. Asylum seekers sometimes endure extremely precarious and difficult conditions of housing and subsistence moving from house to house regularly or sleeping and living in cars in order to avoid detection by authorities.This strategy is difficult because it involves a high degree of uncertainty, stress and reliance upon the goodwill of others. One police officer outlined the situation facing many ‘invisible’ asylum seekers as one of poverty and desperation:Immigration haven’t got a clue where they are, they just can’t find them because they’re sofa surfing, that’s living in peoples coffee shops … I see them in the coffee shop and they come up and they’re bloody starving! Despite the difficulties associated with this form of invisibility, it is estimated that this strategy is becoming increasingly common in the UK. In 2006 the Red Cross estimated that there were some 36 000 refused and destitute asylum seekers in England, up from 25 000 the previous year, and reported that their organisation was having to provide induction tours of soup kitchens and night shelters in order to alleviate the conditions of many claimants in these situations (Taylor and Muir). Conclusion The case of asylum seekers in the UK illustrates the multiple, contradictory and splintered character of stillness. While some forms of governance impose stillness upon asylum seeking bodies, in the form of incarceration and ‘signing in’ requirements, other forms of governance impose mobility either within detention or outside it. Consequently stillness figures in the responses of asylum seeking communities in various ways. Given the unwelcome within-country movement of asylum seekers, and adding to this the initial fact of their forced migration from their home countries, the condition of stillness becomes desirable, promising to bring with it stability and safety. These promises contrast the psychological disruption that further mobility, and even the threat of further mobility, can bring about. This illustrates the affectual qualities both of movement and of stillness in the asylum-seeking context. Literal stillness is associated with social and emotional stability that complicates the distinction between real and emotional spaces. While this is certainly not the case uniformly – incarceration and inhibited personal liberties have opposite consequences – the promises of stillness in terms of stability and sanctuary are clearly significant because this desirability leads asylum advocates and asylum seekers to execute a range of political strategies that seek to ensure stillness, either through enhanced or reduced forms of social visibility.The association of mobility with freedom that typifies much of the literature surrounding mobility needs closer inspection. At least in some situations, asylum seekers pursue geographical stillness for the political and psychological benefits it can offer, while mobility is both employed as a subjugating strategy by states and is itself actively resisted by those who constitute its targets.ReferencesBack, Les, Bernadette Farrell and Erin Vandermaas. A Humane Service for Global Citizens. London: South London Citizens, 2005.Bacon, Christine. 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London: Home Office, 2007. 6 Mar. 2009 ‹http://press.homeoffice.gov.uk/press-releases/asylum-removals-figures›. Joseph, Miranda. Against the Romance of Community. Minnesota: U of Minnesota P, 2002.Koser, Khalid. “Refugees, Trans-Nationalism and the State.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 33 (2007): 233—54.Lahav, Gallya, and Virginie Guiraudon. “Comparative Perspectives on Border Control: Away from the Border and outside the State”. Wall around the West: State Borders and Immigration Controls in North America and Europe. Eds. Gallya Lahav and Virginie Guiraudon. The Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000. 55—77.Noble, Gill, Alan Barnish, Ernie Finch, and Digby Griffith. A Review of the Operation of the National Asylum Support Service. London: Home Office, 2004. Nyers, Peter. "Abject Cosmopolitanism: The Politics of Protection in the Anti-Deportation Movement." Third World Quarterly 24.6 (2003): 1069—93.Schuster, Lisa. "A Sledgehammer to Crack a Nut: Deportation, Detention and Dispersal in Europe." Social Policy & Administration 39.6 (2005): 606—21.Taylor, Diane, and Hugh Muir. “Red Cross Aids Failed Asylum Seekers” UK News. The Guardian 9 Jan. 2006. 6 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/2006/jan/09/immigrationasylumandrefugees.uknews›.Turton, David. Conceptualising Forced Migration. University of Oxford Refugee Studies Centre Working Paper 12 (2003). 6 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.rsc.ox.ac.uk/PDFs/workingpaper12.pdf›.Tyler, Imogen. “'Welcome to Britain': The Cultural Politics of Asylum.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 9.2 (2006): 185—202.United Nations High Commission for Refugees. Refugees by Numbers 2006 Edition. Geneva: UNHCR, 2006.

Abstract:

When characters in the Fox Television sitcom The Mindy Project call Mindy Lahiri fat, Mindy sees it as a case of misidentification. She reminds the character that she is a “petite Asian woman,” that she has large, beautiful breasts, that she has nothing in common with fat people, and the terms “chubbster” and “BBW – Big Beautiful Woman” are offensive and do not apply to her. Mindy spends some of each episode on her love for food and more food, and her hatred of fitness regimes, while repeatedly falling for meticulously fit men. She dates, has a string of failed relationships, adventurous sexual techniques, a Bridget Jones-scale search for perfect love, and yet admits to shame in showing her naked body to lovers. Her contradictory feelings about food and body image mirror our own confusions, and reveal the fear and fascination we feel for fat in our fat-obsessed culture. I argue that by creating herself as sexy, successful, popular, sporadically confident and insecure, Mindy works against stigmas that attach both to big women – women who are considered big in comparison to the societal size-zero ideal – and women who have historically been seen as belonging to “primitive” or colonized cultures, and therefore she disrupts the conflation of thinness to civilization. In this article, I look at the performance of fat and ethnic identity on American television, and examine the bodily mechanisms through which Mindy disrupts these. I argue that Mindy uses issues of fat and body image to disrupt stereotypical iterations of race. In the first part of the paper, I look at the construction of South Asian femininity in American pop culture, to set up the discussion of fat, gender and race as interrelated performative categories. Race, Gender, Performativity As Judith Butler says of gender, “performativity must be understood not as a singular or deliberate ‘act,’ but, rather as the reiterative and citational practice by which discourse produces the effects that it names” (Bodies, 2). Bodies produce and perform their gender through repeating and imitating norms of clothing, body movement, choices in gesture, action, mannerism, as well as gender roles. They do so in such a way that the discourses and histories that are embedded in them start to seem natural; they are seen to be the truth, instead of as actions that have a history. These choices do not just reflect or reveal gender, but rather produce and create it. Nadine Ehlers takes performativity into the realm of race. Ehlers says that “racial performativity always works within and through the modalities of gender and sexuality, and vice versa, and these categories are constituted through one another” (65). In this sense, neither race nor gender are produced or iterated without also producing their interrelationship. They are in fact produced through this interrelationship. So, for example, when studying the performativity of black bodies, you would need to specify whether you are looking at black femininity or masculinity. And on the other hand, when studying gender, it is important to specify gender where? And when? You couldn’t simply pry open the link between race and gender and expect to successfully theorize either on its own. Mindy’s performance of femininity, including her questions about body image and weight, her attractive though odd clothing choices, her search for love, these are all bound to her iteration of race. She often explains her body through defining herself as Asian. Yet, I suggest in a seeming contradiction that her othering of herself as a big woman (relative to normative body size for women in American film and television) who breaks chairs when she sits on them and is insecure about her body, keeps the audience from othering her because of race. Her weight, clumsiness, failures in love, her heartbreaks all make her a “normal” woman. They make her easy to identify with. They suggest that she is just a woman, an American woman, instead of othering her as a South Asian woman, or a woman from a “primitive”, colonized or minority culture.Being South Asian on American Television Mindy Lahiri (played by writer, producer and actor Mindy Kaling) is a successful American obstetrician/gynaecologist, who works in a successful practice in New York. She breaks stereotypes of South Asian women that are repeated in American television and film. Opposite to the stereotype of the traditional, dutiful South Asian who agrees to an arranged marriage, and has little to say for him or herself beyond academic achievement that is generally seen in American and British media, Mindy sleeps with as many men as she can possibly fit into a calendar year, is funny, self-deprecating, and has little interest in religion, tradition or family, and is obsessed with popular culture. The stereotypical characteristics of South Asians in the popular British media, listed by Anne Ciecko (69), include passive, law-abiding, following traditional gender roles and traditions, living in the “pathologized” Asian family, struggling to find self-definitions that incorporate their placement as both belonging to and separate from British culture. Similarly, South Asian actors on American television often play vaguely-comic doctors and lawyers, seemingly with no personal life or sexual desire. They are simply South Asians, with no further defining personality traits or quirks. It is as if being South Asian overrides any other character trait. They are rarely in lead roles, and Mindy is certainly the first South Asian-American woman to have her own sitcom, in which she plays the lead. What do South Asians on American television look and sound like? In her study on performativity of race and gender, Ehlers looks at various constructions of black femininity, and suggests that black femininity is often constructed in the media in terms of promiscuity and aggression (83), and, I would add, the image of the mama with the big heart and even bigger bosom. Contrary to black femininity, South Asian femininity in American media is often repressed, serious, concerned with work and achievement or alternatively with menial roles, with little in terms of a personal or sexual life. As Shilpa S. Dave says in her book on South Asians in American television, most South Asians that appear in American television are shown as immigrants with accents (8). That is what makes them recognizably different and other, more so even than any visual identification. It is much more common to see immigrants of Chinese or Korean descent in American television as people with American accents, as people who are not first generation immigrants. South Asians, on the other hand, almost always have South Asian accents. There are exceptions to this rule, however, the exceptions are othered and/or made more mainstream using various mechanisms. Neela in ER (played by Parminder Nagra) and Cece in New Girl (played by Hannah Simone) are examples of this. In both instances the characters are part of either an ensemble cast, or in a supporting role. Neela is a step removed from American and South Asian femininity, in that she is British, with a British accent – she is othered, but this othering makes her more mainstream than the marking that takes place with a South Asian accent. The British accent and a tragic marriage, I would say, allow her to have a personal and sexual life, beyond work. Cece goes through an arranged marriage scenario, full with saris and a South Asian wedding that is the more recognized and acceptable narrative for South Asian women in American media. The characters are made more acceptable and recognizable through these mechanisms. Bhoomi K. Thakore, in an article on the representation of South Asians in American television, briefly explains that after the 1965 Immigration and Nationality act, highly-educated South Asians could immigrate to the United States, either to get further education, or as highly skilled workers (149) – a phenomenon often called “brain-drain.” In addition, says Thakore, family members of these educated South Asians immigrated to the States as well, and these were people that were less educated and worked often in convenience stores and motels. Thakore suggests that immigrants to the United States experience a segmented assimilation, meaning that not all immigrants (first and second generation) will assimilate to the same extent or in the same way. I would say from my own experience that the degree to which immigrants can assimilate into American society often depends on not only financial prospects or education, but also attractiveness, skin tone, accent, English-speaking ability, interests and knowledge of American popular culture, interest in an American way of life and American social customs, and so on. Until recently, I would say that South Asian characters in American television shows have tended to represent either first-generation immigrants with South Asian accents and an inability or lack of desire to assimilate fully into American society, or second-generation immigrants whose personal and sexual lives are never part of the narrative. Examples of the former include South Asians who play nameless doctors and cops in American television. Kal Penn’s character Lawrence Kutner in the television series House is an example of the latter. Kutner, one of the doctors on Dr. House’s team, did not have a South Asian accent. However, he also had no personal narrative. All doctors on House came with their relationship troubles and baggage, their emotional turmoil, their sexual and romantic ups and downs – all but Kutner, whose suicide in the show (when he left it to join the Obama administration) is framed around the question – do we ever really know the people we see every day? Yet, we do know the other doctors on House. But we never know anything about Kutner’s private life. His character is all about academic knowledge and career achievement. This is the stereotype of the South Asian character in American television. Yet, Mindy, with her American accent, sees herself as American, doesn’t obsess about race or skin colour, and has no signs of a poor-me narrative in the way she presents herself. She does not seem to have any diasporic longings or group belongings. Mindy doesn’t ignore race on the show. In fact, she deploys it strategically. She describes herself as Asian on more than one occasion, often to explain her size, her breasts and femininity, and in one episode she goes to a party because she expects to see black sportsmen there, and she explains, “It’s a scientific fact that black men love South Asian girls.” Her production of her femininity is inextricably bound up with race. However, Mindy avoids marking herself as a racial minority by making her quest for love and her confusions about body image something all women can identify with. But she goes further in that she does not place herself in a diaspora community, she does not speak in a South Asian accent, she doesn’t hide her personal life or the contours of her body, and she doesn’t harp on parents who want her to get married. By not using the usual stereotypes of South Asians and Asians on American television, while at the same time acknowledging race, I suggest that she makes herself a citizen of the alleged “melting pot” as the melting pot should be, a hybrid space for hybrid identities. Mindy constructs herself as an American woman, and suggests that being a racial minority is simply part of the experience of being American. I am not suggesting that this reflects the reality of experience for many women in the USA who belong to ethnic minorities. I am suggesting that Mindy is creating a possible or potential reality, in which neither size nor being a racial minority are causes for shame. In a scene in the second season, a police officer chastises Mindy for prescribing birth control to his young daughter. He charges out of her office, and she follows him in to the street. She is wearing a version of her usual gear – a check-pinafore, belted over a printed shirt – her shoulders curved forward, arms folded, in the characteristic posture of the big-breasted, curvy woman. She screams at the officer for his outdated views on birth-control. He questions if she even has kids, suggesting that she knows nothing about raising them. She says, “How dare you? Do I look like a woman who’s had kids? I have the hips of an eleven-year-old boy.” She then informs him that she wolfed down a steak sandwich at lunch, has misgivings about the outfit she is wearing, and says that she is not a sex-crazed lunatic. He charges her for public female hysteria. She screams after him as he drives off, “Everyone see this!” She holds up the citation. “It’s for walking, while being a person of colour.” She manages in the space of a two-minute clip to deploy race, size and femininity, without shame or apology, and with humour. It is interesting to note that, contrary to her persona on the show, in interviews in the media, Kaling suggests that she is not that concerned with the question of weight. She says that though she would like to lose fifteen pounds, she is not hung up on this quest. On the other hand, she suggests that she considers herself a role model for minority women. In fact, in real life she makes the question of race as something more important to her than weight – which is opposite to the way she treats the two issues in her television show. I suggest that in real life, Kaling projects herself as a feminist, as someone not so concerned about size and weight, an intelligent woman who is concerned about race. On the show, however, she plays an everywoman, for whom weight is a much bigger deal than race. Neither persona is necessarily real or assumed – rather, they both reveal the complexities by which race, gender and body size constitute each other, and become cruxes for identification and misidentification. Is It Civilized to Be Fat? When Mindy and her colleague Danny Castellano get together in the second season of the show, you find yourself wondering how on earth they are going to sustain this sitcom, without an on-again/off-again romance, or one that takes about five years to start. When Danny does not want to go public with the relationship, Mindy asks him if he is ashamed of her. Imagine one of the Friends or Sex in the City women asking this question to see just how astonishing it is for a successful, attractive woman to ask a man if he is ashamed to be seen with her. She doesn’t say is it because of my weight, yet the question hangs in the air. When Danny does break up with her, again Mindy feels all the self-disgust of a woman rejected for no clear reason. As Amy Erdman Farrell suggests in her book on fat in American culture and television, fat people are not expected to find love or success. They are expected to be self-deprecating. They are supposed to expect rejection and failure. She says that not only do fat people bear a physical but also a character stigma, in that not only are they considered visually unappealing, but this comes with the idea that they have uncontrolled desires and urges (7-10). Kaling suggests through her cleverly-woven writing that it is because of her body image that Mindy feels self-loathing when Danny breaks up with her. She manages again to make her character an everywoman. Not a fat South Asian woman, but simply an American woman who feels all the shame that seems to go with weight and body image in American culture. However, this assumed connection of fat with immorality and laziness goes a step further. Farrell goes on to say that fat denigration and ethnic discrimination are linked, that popularity and the right to belong and be a citizen are based both on body size and ethnicity. Says Farrell, “our culture assigns many meanings to fatness beyond the actual physical trait – that a person is gluttonous, or filling a deeply disturbed psychological need, or is irresponsible and unable to control primitive urges” (6) – psychological traits that have historically been used to describe people in colonized cultures. Farrell provides an intriguing analysis of Oprah Winfrey and her public ups and downs with weight. She suggests that Winfrey’s public obsession with her own weight, and her struggles with it, are an attempt to be an “everywoman”, to be someone all and not only black women can identify with. Says Farrell, “in order to deracinate herself, to prove that ‘anyone’ can make it, Winfrey must lose weight. Otherwise, the weight of all that fat will always, de facto, mark her as a ‘black woman’, with all the accompanying connotations of inferior, primitive, bodily and out of control” (126). She goes on to say that, “Since the end of the 19th century, fatness has … served as a potent signifier of the line between the primitive and the civilized, feminine and masculine, ethnicity and whiteness, poverty and wealth, hom*osexuality and heterosexuality, past and future” (126). This suggests that Winfrey’s public confrontations with the question of weight help the women in the audience identify with her as a woman, rather than as a black woman. In a volume on fat studies, Farrell explains that health professionals have further demarcated lines between “civilization and primitive cultures, whiteness and blackness, sexual restraint and sexual promiscuity, beauty and ugliness, progress and the past” (260). She suggests that fat is not just part of discourses on health and beauty, but also intelligence, enterprise, work ethics, as well as race, ethnicity, sexuality and class. These connections are of course repeated in media representations, across media genres and platforms. In women’s magazines, an imperative towards weightloss comes hand-in-hand with the search for love, a woman’s ability to satisfy a man’s as well as her own desires, and with success in glamorous jobs. Sitcom couples on American television often feature men who are ineffectual but funny slobs, married to determined, fit women who are mainly homemakers, and in fact, responsible for the proper functioning of the family, and consequentially, society. In general, bigger women in American and British media are on a quest both for love and weight loss, and the implication is that deep-seated insecurities are connected to both weight gain, as well as failures in love, and that only a resolution of these insecurities will lead to weight loss, which will further lead to success in love. Films such as My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Bridget Jones’s Diary are examples of this prevailing narrative. Thakore investigates the changing image of South Asians on American television, suggesting that South Asians are represented more and more frequently, and in increasingly more central roles. However, Thakore suggests that, “all women of colour deal with hegemonic skin tone ideologies in their racial/ethnic communities, with lighter skin tone and Caucasian facial features considered more appealing and attractive … . As media producers favour casting women who are attractive, so too do the same media producers favour casting women of colour who are attractive in terms of their proximity to White physical characteristics” (153). Similarly, Lee and Vaught suggest that in American popular culture, “both White women and women of colour are represented as reflecting a White ideal or aesthetic. These women conform to a body ideal that reflects White middle class ideals: exceedingly thin, long, flowing hair, and voluptuous” (458). She goes on to say that Asian American women would need to take on a White middle class standing and a simultaneous White notion of the exotic in order to assimilate. For Mindy, then, fat allows her to be an everywoman, but also allows her to adopt her own otherness as a South Asian, and make it her own. This trend shows some signs of changing, however, and I expect that women like Lena Dunham in the HBO comedy Girls and Mindy Kaling are leading the march towards productions of diverse femininities that are at the same time iterated as attractive and desirable. On The Hollywood Reporter, when asked about the more ludicrous questions or comments she faces on social media, Kaling puts on a male voice and says, “You’re ugly and fat, it’s so refreshing to watch!” and “We’re used to skinny people, and you’re so ugly, we love it!” On David Letterman, she mentions having dark skin, and says that lazy beach holidays don’t work for her because she doesn’t understand the trend for tanning, and she can’t really relax. Mindy’s confusions about her weight and body image make her a woman for everyone – not just for South Asian women. Whereas Kaling’s concern over the question of race – and her relative lack of concern over weight – make her a feminist, a professional writer, a woman with a conscience. These personas interweave. They question both normative performances of gender and race, and question the historical conflation of size and minority identity with shame and immorality. Butler suggests that gender is “the repeated stylisation of the body” (Gender, 33). She argues that gender roles can be challenged through a “subversive reiteration” of gender (Gender, 32). In this way, women like Dunham and Kaling, through their deployment of diverse female bodies and femininities, can disrupt the normative iteration of gender and race. Their production of femininity in bodies that are attractive (just not normatively so) has more than just an impact on how we look at fat. They bring to us women that are flawed, assertive, insecure, confident, contradictory, talented, creative, that make difficult choices in love and work, and that don’t make an obsession with weight or even race their markers of self worth.References Bridget Jones’s Diary. Dir. Sharon Maguire. Miramax and Universal Pictures, 2001. Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. London: Routledge, 1990. Butler, Judith. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex. London: Routledge, 1993. Ciecko, Anne. “Representing the Spaces of Diaspora in Contemporary British Films by Women Directors.” Cinema Journal 38.3 (Spring 1999): 67-90. Dave, Shilpa S. Indian Accents: Brown Voice and Racial Performance in American Television. U of Illinois, 2013. Ehlers, Nadine. Racial Imperatives: Discipline, Performativity, and Struggles against Subjection. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012. ER. Warner Bros. Television. NBC, 1994-2009. Farrell, Amy. “‘The White Man’s Burden’”: Female Sexuality, Tourist Postcards, and the Place of the Fat Woman in Early 20th-Century U.S. Culture.” In Esther Rothblum and Sondra Solovay (eds.), The Fat Studies Reader. New York: New York University Press, 2009. Farrell, Amy Erdman. Fat Shame: Stigma and the Fat Body in American Culture. New York: New York University Press, 2011. Friends. Warner Bros. Television. NBC, 1994-2004. Girls. HBO Entertainment and Apatow Productions. HBO, 2012-present. House. Universal Television. Fox, 2004-2012. Lee, Stacey J., and Sabina Vaught. “‘You Can Never Be Too Rich or Too Thin’: Popular and Consumer Culture and the Americanization of Asian American Girls and Young Women.” The Journal of Negro Education 72.4 (2003): 457-466. My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Dir. Joel Zwick. Playtone, 2002. New Girl. 20th Century Fox. Fox, 2011-present. Nicholson, Rebecca. “Mindy Kaling: ‘I Wasn’t Considered Attractive or Funny Enough to Play Myself.’” The Observer 1 June 2014. ‹http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2014/jun/01/mindy-kaling-project›. Sex in the City. Warner Bros. Television and HBO Original Programming. HBO, 1998-2004. Strauss, Elissa. “Why Mindy Kaling – Not Lena Dunham – Is the Body Positive Icon of the Moment.” The Week 22 April 2014. ‹http://theweek.com/article/index/260126/why-mindy-kaling-mdash-not-lena-dunham-mdash-is-the-body-positive-icon-of-the-moment›. Thakore, Bhoomi K. “Must-See TV: South Asian Characterizations in American Popular Media.” Sociology Compass 8.2 (2014): 149-156. The Mindy Project. Universal Television, 3 Arts Entertainment, Kaling International. Fox, 2012-present. Ugly Betty. ABC Studios. ABC, 2006-2010. YouTube. “Mindy Kaling on David Letterman.” 29 April 2013. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8K1ye2gnJw›. YouTube. “Mindy on Being Called Fat and Ugly on Social Media.” The Hollywood Reporter 14 June 2014. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ockt-BeMOWk›. YouTube. “Chris Messina: ‘I Think Mindy Kaling’s Beautiful.’” HuffPost Live 24 April 2014. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HtCjGNERKQ›.

Abstract:

Introduction The term monster might have its roots in the Latin word monere (to warn), but it has since evolved to have various symbolic meanings, from a terrifying mythical creature to a person of extreme cruelty. No matter the flexibility in use, the term is mostly meant to be derogatory (Asma). As Gilmore puts it, monsters “embody all that is dangerous and horrible in the human imagination” (1). However, it may be argued that monsters sometimes perform the much-needed work of defining and policing our norms (Mittman and Hensel). Since their archetype is predisposed to transgressing boundaries of human integrity (Gilmore), they help establish deviation between human and in-human. Their cognition and action are considered ‘other’ (Kearney) and a means with which people can understand what is right and wrong, and what is divergent from appropriate ways of being. The term monster need not even refer to the werewolves, ogres, vampires, zombies and the like that strike fear in audiences through their ‘immoral, heinous or unjust’ appearance or behaviours. Rather, the term monster can be, and has been, readily applied as a metaphor to describe the unthinkable, unethical, and brutal actions of human beings (Beville 5). Inadvertently, “through their bodies, words, and deeds, monsters show us ourselves” (Mittman and Hensel 2), or what we consider monstrous about ourselves. Therefore, humans acting in ways that deviate from societal norms and standards can be viewed as monstrous. This is evident in the representations of public relations practitioners in media offerings. In the practice of public relations, ethical standards are advocated as the norm, and deviating from them considered unprofessional (Fawkes), and as we contend: monstrous. However, the practice has long suffered a negative stereotypical perception of being deceptive, and with public relations roles receiving less screen time than shows and films about lawyers, accountants, teachers and the like, these few derogatory depictions can distort how audiences view the occupation (Johnston). Depictions of professions (lawyers, cops, journalists, etc.) tend to be cliché, but our contention is that fewer depictions of public relations practitioners on screen further limit the possibility for diverse depictions. The media can have a socialising impact and can influence audiences to view the content they consume as a reflection of the real world around them (Chandler). Television, in particular, with its capacity to prompt heuristic processing in audiences (Shurm), has messages that can be easily decoded by people of various literacies as they become immersed in the viewing experiences (Gerbner and Gross). These messages gain potency because, despite being set in fictional worlds, they can be understood as reflective of the world and audiences’ experiences of it (Gerbner and Gross). Tsetsura, Bentley, and Newcomb add that popular stories recounted in the media have authoritative power and can offer patterns of meaning that shape individual perceptions. Admittedly, as Stuart Hall suggests, media offerings can be encoded with ideologies and representations that are considered appropriate according to the dominant elite, but these may not necessarily be decoded as preferred meanings. In other words, those exposed to stories of monstrous public relations practitioners can agree with such a position, oppose this viewpoint, or remain neutral, but this is dependent on individual experiences. Without other frames of reference, it could be that viewers of negative portrayals of public relations accept the encoded representation that inevitably does a disservice to the profession. When the representations of the field of public relations suggest, inaccurately, that the industry is dominated by men (Johnston), and women practitioners are shown as slick dressers who control and care little about ethics (Dennison), the distortions can adversely impact on the identities of public relations practitioners and on how they are collectively viewed (Tsetsura et al.). Public relations practitioners view this portrayal as the ‘other’ and tend to distance the ideal self from it, continuing to be stuck in the dichotomy of saints and sinners (Fawkes). Our observation of television offerings such as Scandal, Flack, Call My Agent!, Absolutely Fabulous, Sex and the City, You’re the Worst, and Emily in Paris reveals how television programmes continue to perpetuate the negative stereotypes about public relations practice, where practitioners are anything but ethical—therefore monstrous. The characters, mostly well-groomed women, are shown as debased, liars and cheaters who will subvert ethical standards for personal and professional gain. Portrayals of Public Relations Practitioners in Television and Media According to Miller, the eight archetypical traits identified in media representations of public relations practitioners are: ditzy, obsequious, cynical, manipulative, money-minded, isolated, accomplished, or unfulfilled. In later research, Yoon and Black found that television representations of public relations tended to suggest that people in these roles were heartless, manipulative bullies, while Lambert and White contend that the depiction of the profession has improved to be more positive, but nonetheless continues to do a disservice to the practice by presenting female workers, especially, as “shallow but loveable” (18). We too find that public relations practitioners continue to be portrayed as morally ambiguous characters who are willing to break ethical codes of conduct to suit the needs of their clients. We discuss three themes prevalent as popular tropes in television programmes that characterise public relations practitioners as monstrous. To Be or Not to Be a Slick and Skilful Liar? Most television programmes present public relations practitioners as slick and skilful liars, who are shown as well-groomed and authoritative, convinced that they are lying only to protect their clients. In fact, in most cases the characters are shown to not only believe but also advocate to their juniors that ‘a little bit of lying’ is almost necessary to maintain client relationships and ensure campaign success. For example, in the British drama Flack, the main character of Robyn (played by Anna Paquin) is heard advising her prodigy “just assume we are lying to everyone”. The programmes also feature characters who are in dilemma about the monstrous expectations from their roles, struggling to accept that that they engage in deception as part of their jobs. However, most of them are presented as somewhat of an ugly duckling or the modest character in the programme, who is not always rational or in an explicit position of power. For example, Emily from Emily in Paris (played by Lily Collins), while working as a social media manager, regularly questions the approaches taken by the firm she works for. Her boss Sylvie Grateux (played by Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu), who embodies the status quo, is constantly disapproving of Emily’s lack of sophisticated self-presentation, among other aspects. In the episode ‘Faux Amis’, Sylvie quips “it’s not you personally. It’s everything you stand for. You’re the enemy of luxury because luxury is defined by sophistication and taste, not emilyinparis”. Similarly, in the first episode of Call My Agent!, Samuel Kerr (played by Alain Rimoux), the head of a film publicity firm, solves the conundrum faced by his anxious junior Gabriel (played by Grégory Montel) by suggesting that he lie to his client about the real reason why she lost the film. When a modestly dressed Gabriel questions how he can lie to someone he cares for, Samuel, towering over him in an impeccable suit and a confident demeanour, advises “who said anything about lying? Don’t lie. Simply don’t tell her the truth”. However, the subtext here is that the lie is to protect the client from unnecessary hurt and in doing so nurtures the client relationship. So, it lets the audience decide the morality of lying here. It may be argued that moral ambiguity may not necessarily be monstrous. Such grey characters are often crafted because they allow audiences to relate more readily to themselves by encouraging what Hawkins refers to as mental play. Audiences are less interested in the black and white of morality and veer towards shows such as Call My Agent! where storylines hone in on the need to do bad for the greater good. In these ways, public relations practitioners still transgress moral standards but are less likely to be considered monstrous because the impact and effect on others is utilitarian in nature. It is also interesting to note that in these programmes physical appearance is made to play a crucial role in showcasing the power and prestige of the senior public relations practitioner. This focus on attire can tend to further perpetuate unfavourable stereotypes about public relations practitioners being high income earners (Grandien) who are styled with branded apparel but lacking in substance and morals (Fröhlich and Peters). Promiscuous Women The urge to attract audiences to a female character can also lead to developing and cementing unfavourable stereotypes of public relations practitioners as uninhibited women who live on blurred lines between personal and professional. These characters are not portrayed as inherently bad, but instead are found to indulge in lives of excess. In her definition of the monstrous, Arumugam suggests that excess and insatiable appetites direct the monster’s behaviour, and Kearney outlines that this uncontainable excess is what signals the difference between humans and others. Such excess is readily identifiable in the character of Patsy Stone (played by Joanna Lumley) in Absolutely Fabulous. She is an alcoholic, regularly uses recreational drugs, is highly promiscuous, and chain-smokes throughout the series. She is depicted as prone to acting deceptively to maintain her vices. In Flack, Robyn is shown as regularly snorting cocaine and having sex with her clients. Those reviewing the show highlight how it will attract those interested in “its dark, acidic sense of humour” (Greene) while others condemn it because it emphasises the “depraved publicist” trope (Knibbs) and call it “one of the worst TV shows ever made” even though it is trying to highlight concerns raised in the MeToo movement about how men need to respect women (McGurk). Female characters such as Robyn, with her willingness to question why a client has not tried to sleep with her, appear to undermine the empowerment of the movement rather than support it, and continue to maintain the archetypes that those working in the field of public relations abhor. Similarly, Samantha Jones (played by Kim Cattrell) of Sex and the City is portrayed as sexually liberated, and in one episode another character describes Samantha’s vagin* as “the hottest spot in town: it’s always open”. In many ways Samantha’s sexual behaviour reflects a post-feminist narrative of empowerment, agency, and choice, but it could also be read as a product of being a public relations practitioner frequenting parties and bars as she rubs shoulders with clients, celebrities, and high-profile businesspeople. To this end, Patsy, Samantha, and Robyn glamourise public relations and paint it as simply an extension of their liberated and promiscuous selves, with little care for any expectation of professionalism or work ethic. This is also in stark contrast to the reality, where women often tend to occupy technical roles that see much of their time spent in doing the hard yards of publicity and promotion (Krugler). Making Others Err Public relations practitioners are not just shown as being morally ambiguous themselves, but often quite adept at making others do deceitful acts on their behalf, thus nonchalantly oppressing others to get their way. For example, although lauded for elevating an African-American woman to the lead role despite the show maintaining misrepresentations of race (Lambert), the main character of Olivia Pope (played by Kerry Washington) in the television programme Scandal regularly subverts the law for her clients despite considering herself one of the “good guys” and wearing a “white hat”. Over the course of seven seasons, Olivia Pope is found to rig elections, plant listening devices in political figures’ offices, bribe, threaten, and conduct an affair with the President. In some cases, she calls on the services of her colleague Huck to literally, and figuratively, get rid of the barriers in the way of protecting her clients. For example, in season one’s episode Crash and Burn she asks Huck to torture a suspect for information about a dead client. Her willingness to request such actions of her friend and colleague, regardless of perceived good motivations, reinforces Mittman’s categorisation that monsters are identified by their effect and impact on others. Here, the impact includes the torturing of a suspect and the revisiting of psychological trauma by Huck’s character. Huck struggles to overcome his past as a killer and spends much of the show trying to curb his monstrous tendencies which are often brought on by PR woman Olivia’s requests. Although she is sometimes striving for justice, Olivia’s desire for results can lead her to act monstrously, which inadvertently contributes to the racist and sexist ideologies that have long been associated with monsters and perceptions of the Other. Across time and space, certain ethnic groups, such as those of African descent, have been associated with the demonic (Cohen). Similarly, all that is feminine often needs to be discarded as the monster to conform to the patriarchal order of society (Creed). Therefore, Olivia Pope’s monstrous behaviour not only does a disservice to representations of public relations practitioners, but also inadvertently perpetuates negative and inaccurate stereotypes about women of African American descent. Striving to be Ethical The majority of public relations practitioners are encouraged, and in some cases expected, to conform to ethical guidelines to practice and gain respect, admiration, and in-group status. In New Zealand, those who opt to become members of the Public Relations Institute of New Zealand (PRINZ) are required to abide by the association’s code of ethics. The code stipulates that members are bound to act in ways that serve public interests by ensuring they are honest, disclose conflict of interests, follow the law, act with professionalism, ensure openness and privacy are maintained, and uphold values of loyalty, fairness, and independence (PRINZ). Similarly, the Global Alliance of Public Relations and Communication Management that binds practitioners together identifies nine guiding principles that are to be adhered to to be recognised as acting ethically. These include obeying laws, working in the public’s interest, ensuring freedom of speech and assembly, acting with integrity, and upholding privacy in sensitive matters (to name a few). These governing principles are designed to maintain ethical practice in the field. Of course, the trouble is that not all who claim to practice public relations become members of the local or global governing bodies. This implies that professional associations like PRINZ are not able to enforce ethics across the board. In New Zealand alone, public relations consultants have had to offer financial reparations for acting in defamatory ways online (Fisher), or have been alleged to have bribed an assault victim to prevent the person giving evidence in a court case (Hurley). Some academics have accused the industry of being engaged in organised lying (Peaco*ck), but these are not common, nor are these moral transgressors accepted into ethical bodies that afford practitioners authenticity and legitimacy. In most cases, public relations practitioners view their role as acting as the moral conscience of the organisations they support (Schauster, Neill, Ferrucci, and Tandoc). Furthermore, they rated better than the average adult when it came to solving ethical dilemmas through moral reasoning (Schuaster et al.). Additionally, training of practitioners through guidance of mentors has continued to contribute to the improved ethical ratings of public relations. What these findings suggest is that the monsters of public relations portrayed on our television screens are exaggerations that are not reflective of most of the practice. Women of Substance, But Not Necessarily Power Exploring the role of women in public relations, Topic, Cunha, Reigstad, Jele-Sanchez, and Moreno found that female practitioners were subordinated to their male counterparts but were found to be more inclined to practice two-way communication, offer balanced perspectives, opt to negotiate, and build relationships through cooperation. The competitiveness, independence, and status identified in popular media portrayals were found to be exhibited more by male practitioners, despite there being more women in the public relations industry than men. As Fitch argues, popular culture continues to suggest that men dominate public relations, and their preferred characteristics end up being those elements that permeate the media messages, regardless of instances where the lead character is a woman or the fact that feminist values of “loyalty, ethics, morality, [and] fairness” are advocated by female practitioners in real life (Vardeman-Winter and Place 333). Additionally, even though public relations is a feminised field, female practitioners struggle to break the glass ceiling, with male practitioners dominating executive positions and out-earning women (Pompper). Interestingly, in public relations, power is not just limited due to gender but also area of practice. In her ethnographic study of the New Zealand practice, Sissons found that practitioners who worked in consultancies were relatively powerless vis-à-vis their clients, and often this asymmetry negatively affected the practitioner’s decision-making. This implies that in stark contrast to the immoral, glamourous, and authoritative depiction of public relations women in television programmes, in reality they are mired by the struggles of a gendered occupation. Accordingly, they are not in fact in a position to have monstrous power over and impact on others. Therefore, one of the only elements the shows seem to capture and emphasise is that public relations is an occupation that specialises in image management; but what these shows contribute to is an ideology that women are expected to look and carry themselves in particular ways, ultimately constructing aesthetic standards that can diminish women’s power and self-esteem. Conclusion Miller’s archetypes may be over twenty years old, but the trend towards obsequious, manipulative, and cynical television characters remains. Although there have been identifiable shifts to loveable, yet shallow, public relations practitioners, such as Alexis Rose on Schitt’s Creek, the appeal of monstrous public relations practitioners remains. As Cohen puts it, monsters reveal to audiences “what a member of that society can become when those same dictates are rejected, when the authority of leaders or customs disintegrates and the subordination of individual to hierarchy is lost” (68). In other words, audiences enjoy watching the stories of metaphorical monsters because they exhibit the behaviours that are expected to be repressed in human beings; they depict what happens when the social norms of society are disturbed (Levina and Bui). At the very least, these media representations can act, much as monster narratives do, as a cautionary tale on how not to think and act to remain accepted as part of the in-group rather than being perceived as the Other. As Mittman and Hensel argue, society can learn much from monsters because monsters exist within human beings. According to Cohen, they offer meaning about the world and can teach audiences so they can learn, in this case, how to be better. Although the representations of public relations in television can offer insights into roles that are usually most effective when they are invisible (Chorazy and Harrington), the continued negative stereotypes of public relations practitioners can adversely impact on the industry if people are unaware of the practices of the occupation, because lacking a reference point limits audiences’ opportunities to critically evaluate the media representations. This will certainly harm the occupation by perpetuating existing negative stereotypes of charming and immoral practitioners, and perhaps add to its struggles with gendered identity and professional legitimacy. References Absolutely Fabulous. Created by Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French. 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Abstract:

In post-socialist China, gender norms are marked by rising divorce rates (Kleinman et al.), shifting attitudes towards sex (Farrer; Yan), and a growing commercialisation of sex (Zheng). These phenomena have been understood as indicative of market reforms unhinging past gender norms. In the socialist period, the radical politics of the time moulded women as gender neutral even as state policies emphasised their feminine roles in maintaining marital harmony and stability (Evans). These ideas around domesticity bear strong resemblance to pre-socialist understandings of womanhood and family that anchored Chinese society before the Communists took power in 1949. In this pre-socialist understanding, women were categorised into a hierarchy that defined their rights as wives, mothers, concubines, and servants (Ebrey and Watson; Wolf and Witke). Women who transgressed these categories were regarded as potentially dangerous and powerful enough to break up families and shake the foundations of Chinese society (Ahern). This paper explores the extent to which understandings of Chinese femininity have been reconfigured in the context of China’s post-1979 development, particularly after the 2000s.The popular television dramas Chinese Style Divorce (2004, Divorce), Dwelling Narrowness (2009, Dwelling), and Divorce Lawyers (2014, Lawyers) are set against this socio-cultural backdrop. The production of these shows is regulated by the China State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television (SARFT), who has the power to grant or deny production and distribution permits. Post-production, the dramas are sold to state-owned television stations for distribution (Yu 36). Haiqing Yu summarises succinctly the state of Chinese media: “Chinese state manipulation and interference in the media market has seen the party-state media marketized but not weakened, media control decentralized but not reduced, and the media industry commercialized but not privatized” (42). Shot in one of the biggest cities in Shandong, Qingdao, Divorce focuses on Doctor Song Jianping and his schoolteacher wife Lin Xiaofeng and the conflicts between Song and Lin, who quits her job to become a stay-at-home mom after her husband secures a high-paying job in a foreign-invested hospital. Lin becomes paranoid and volatile, convinced that their divorced neighbour Xiao Li is having an affair with Song. Refusing to explain the situation, Song is willing to give her a divorce but fights over guardianship of their son. In the end, it is unconfirmed whether they reconcile or divorce. Divorce was recognised as TV Drama of the Year in 2004 and the two leads also won awards for their acting. Reruns of the show continue to air. According to Hui Faye Xiao, “It is reported that many college students viewed this TV show as a textbook on married life in urban settings” (118). Dwelling examines the issue of skyrocketing housing prices and the fates of the Guo sisters, Haizao and Haiping, who moved from rural China to the competitive economically advanced metropolis. Haiping is obsessed with buying an apartment while her younger sister becomes the mistress of a corrupt official, Song Siming. Both sisters receive favours from Song, which leads to Haiping’s success in purchasing a home. However, Haizao is less fortunate. She has a miscarriage and her uterus removed while Song dies in a car accident. Online responses from the audience praise Dwelling for its penetrating and realistic insights into the complex web of familial relationships navigated by Chinese people living in a China under transformation (Xiao, “Woju”). Dwelling was taken off the air when a SARFT official criticised the drama for violating state-endorsed “cultural standards” in its explicit discussions of sex and negative portrayals of government officials (Hung, “State” 156). However, the show continued to be streamed online and it has been viewed and downloaded more than 100 million times (Yu 34). In Lawyers, Luo Li and Chi Haidong are two competing divorce lawyers in Beijing who finally tie the knot. Chi was a happily married man before catching his wife with her lover. Newly divorced, he moves into the same apartment building as Luo and the drama focuses on a series of cases they handle, most of which involve extramarital affairs. Lawyers has been viewed more than 1.6 billion times online (v.qq.com) and received the China Huading award for “favourite television drama” in 2015. Although these dramas contain some conventional elements of domestic melodramas, such as extramarital affairs and domestic disputes, they differ from traditional Chinese television dramas because they do not focus on the common trope of fraught mother-in-law and daughter-in-law relationships.Centred on the politics of family ethics, these hugely popular dramas present the transformation in gender norms as a struggle between post-socialist and pre-socialist understandings of femininity. On the one hand, these dramas celebrate the emergence of a post-socialist femininity that is independent, economically successful, and sexually liberated, epitomising this new understanding of womanhood in the figures of single women and mistresses. On the other hand, the dramas portray these post-socialist women in perpetual conflict with wives and mothers who propound a pre-socialist form of femininity that is sexually conservative and defined by familial relationships, and is economically less viable in the market economy. Focusing on depictions of femininity in these dramas, this paper offers a comparative analysis into the extent to which gender norms have been reconfigured in post-socialist China. It approaches these television dramas as a pedagogical device (Brady) and pays particular attention to the ways through which different categories of women interrogated their rights as single women, mistresses, wives, and mothers. In doing so, it illuminates the politics through which a liberal post-socialist femininity unleashed by market transformation is controlled in order to protect the integrity of the family and maintain social order. Post-Socialist Femininity Unleashed: Single Women and Mistresses A woman’s identity is inextricably linked to her marital status in Chinese society. In pre-socialist China, women relied on men as providers and were expected to focus on contributing to her husband’s family (Ebrey and Watson; Wolf and Witke). This pre-socialist positioning of women within the private realm of the family, though reinterpreted, continued to resonate in the socialist period when women were expected to fulfil marital obligations as wives and participate in the public domain as revolutionaries (Evans). While the pressure to marry has not disappeared in post-socialist China, as the derogatory term “leftover women” (single women over the age of 27) indicates, there are now more choices for single women living in metropolitan cities who are highly educated and financially independent. They can choose to remain single, get married, or become mistresses. Single women can be regarded as a threat to wives because the only thing holding them back from becoming mistresses is their morals. The 28-year-old “leftover woman” Luo Li (Lawyers) is presented as morally superior to single women who choose to become mistresses (Luo Meiyuan and Shi Jiang) and therefore deserving of a happy ending because she breaks up with her boss as soon as she discovers he is married. Luo Li quits to set up a law firm with her friend Tang Meiyu. Both women are beautiful, articulate, intelligent, and sexually liberated, symbolising unleashed post-socialist femininity. Part of the comic relief in Lawyers is the subplot of Luo’s mother trying to introduce her to “eligible” bachelors such as the “PhD man” (Episodes 20–21). Luo is unwilling to lower her standards to escape the stigma of being a “leftover woman” and she is rewarded for adhering to her ideals in the end when she convinces the marriage-phobic Chi Haidong to marry her after she rejects a marriage proposal from her newly divorced ex-lover. While Luo Li refuses to remain a mistress, many women do not subscribe to her worldview. Mistresses have existed throughout Chinese history in the form of concubines and courtesans. A wealthy and powerful man was expected to have concubines, who were usually from lower socio-economic backgrounds (Ebrey and Watson; Liu). Mistresses, now referred to as xiaosan, have become a heated topic in post-socialist China where they are regarded as having the power to destroy families by transgressing moral boundaries. Some argue that the phenomenon is a result of the market-driven economy where women who desire a financially stable life use their sexuality to seek rich married men who lust for younger mistresses as symbols of power. Ruth Y.Y. Hung characterises the xiaosan phenomenon as a “horrendous sex trade [that is] a marker of neoliberal market economies in the new PRC” (“Imagination” 100). A comparison of the three dramas reveals a transformation in the depiction of mistresses over the last decade. While Xiao Li (Divorce) is never “confirmed” as Song Jianping’s mistress, she flirts with him and crosses the boundaries of a professional relationship, posing a threat to the stability of Song’s family life. Although Haizao (Dwelling) is university-educated and has a stable, if low-paying job, she chooses to break up with her earnest caring fiancé to be the mistress of the middle-aged Song Siming who offers her material benefits in the form of “loans” she knows she will never be able to repay, a fancy apartment to live in, and other “gifts” such as dining at expensive restaurants and shopping at big malls. While the fresh-faced Haizao exhibits a physical transformation after becoming Song’s mistress, demonstrated through her newly permed hair coupled with an expensive red coat, mistresses in Lawyers do not change in this way. Dong Dahai’s mistress, the voluptuous Luo Meiyuan is already a successful career woman who flaunts her perfect makeup, long wavy hair, and body-hugging dresses (Episodes 12–26). She exudes sexual confidence but her relationship is not predicated on receiving financial favours in return for sexual ones. She tells Dong’s wife that the only “third person” in a relationship is the “unloved” one (Episode 15). Another mistress who challenges old ideas of the power dynamic of the rich man and financially reliant young woman is the divorced Shi Jiang, Tang Meiyu’s former classmate, who becomes the mistress of Tang’s husband (Cao Qiankun) without any moral qualms, even though she knows that her friend is pregnant with his child. A powerful businesswoman, Shi is the owner of a high-end bar that Cao frequents after losing his job. Unable to tell his wife the truth, he spends most days wandering around and is unable to resist Shi’s advances because she claims to have loved him since their university days and that she understands him. In this relationship, Shi has taken on the role traditionally assigned to men: she is the affluent powerful one who is able to manipulate the downtrodden unemployed man by “lending” him money in his time of need, offering him a job at her bar (Episode 17), and eventually finding him a new job through her connections (Episodes 23–24). When Cao leaves home after Tang finds out about the affair, Shi provides him with a place to stay (Episode 34). Because the viewers are positioned to root for Tang due to her role as the female lead’s best friend, Shi is immediately set up as one of the villains, although she is portrayed in a more sympathetic light after she reveals to Cao that she was forced to give up her son to her ex-husband in America (who cheated on her) in order to finalise her divorce (Episode 29).The portrayal of different mistresses in Lawyers signals a transformation in the representation of gender compared to Divorce and Dwelling, because the women are less naïve than Haizao, financially well-off because of their business acumen, and much more outspoken and determined to fight for what they want. On the surface these women are depicted as more liberated and free from gender hierarchies and sexual oppression. Hung describes xiaosan as “an active if constrained agent . . . whose new mode of life has become revealingly defensible and publicly acceptable in socioeconomic terms that reflect the moral changes that follow economic reforms” (“State” 166). However, the closure of these storylines suggest that although more complex reasons for becoming a mistress have been explored in the new drama, mistresses are still regarded as a threat to social stability and therefore punished, challenging Hung’s argument about the “acceptability” of mistresses in post-socialist China. Post-Socialist Femininity Restrained: Wives and MothersCountering these liberal forms of post-socialist femininity are portrayals of righteous wives and exemplary mothers. These depictions articulate a moral positioning grounded in pre-socialist and socialist understandings of a woman’s place in Chinese society. These portrayals of moral women check the transgressive powers of single women and mistresses with the potential to break families up. More importantly, they remind the audience of desired gender norms that retain the integrity of the family and anchor a society undergoing rapid transformation.The three dramas portray wives who are stridently righteous in their confrontations with women they perceive as a threat to their families. These women find moral justification for the violence they inflict on transgressors from cultural understandings of their rights as wives. Lin Xiaofeng (Divorce) repeatedly challenges Xiao Li to explain the “logic” underlying her actions when she discovers that Xiao accompanied Song Jianping to a wedding (Episode 14). The “logic” Lin refers to is a cultural understanding that it is her right as wife to accompany Song to public events and not Xiao’s. By transgressing this moral boundary, Xiao accords Lin the moral authority to cast doubt on her abilities as a doctor in a public confrontation. It also provides moral justification for Lin to slap Xiao when she suggests that Lin is an embarrassment to her husband, an argument that underscores Lin’s failure and challenges her moral authority as wife. Jiang Miaomiao (Dwelling) draws on similar cultural understandings when she appears at the apartment Haizao shares with Song Siming (Episode 33). Jiang positions herself in the traditional role of a wife as a household manager (Ebrey) whose responsibilities include paying Song’s mistresses. She puts Haizao into a subordinate position by arguing that since Haizao is less than a mistress and slightly better than a prostitute, she is not worth the money Song has given her. When Haizao refuses to return the money a tussle ensues, causing Haizao to have a miscarriage. Likewise, Miao Jinxiu (Lawyers) draws on similar cultural understandings of a wife’s position when she laments popular arguments that depict mistresses such as Luo Meiyuan as usurping the superior position of wives like herself who are less attractive and able to navigate the market economy. Miao describes these arguments as “inverting black into white” (Episode 19). She publicly humiliates Luo by throwing paint on her at a charity event (Episode 17) and covers Luo’s car with posters labelling Luo a “slu*t,” “prostitute,” and “shameless” (Episode 18). Miao succeeds in “winning” her husband back. The public violence Miao inflicts on Luo and her success in protecting her marriage are struggles to reinforce the boundaries defining the categories of wife and mistress as these limits become increasingly challenged in China. In contrast to the violent strategies that Lin, Jiang, and Miao adopt, Tang Meiyu resists Shi Jiang’s destructive powers by reminding her errant husband of the emotional warmth of their family. She asks him, “Do you still remember telling me what the nicest sound is at home?” For Cao, the best sounds are Tang’s laughter, their baby’s cries, the sound of the washing machine, and the flushing of their leaky toilet (Episode 43). The couple reconciles and even wins a lottery that cements their “happy ending.” By highlighting the warmth of their family, Tang reminds Cao of her rightful place as wife, restrains Shi from breaking up the couple, and protects the integrity of the family. It is by drawing on deeply entrenched cultural understandings of the rights of wives that these women find the moral authority to challenge, restrain, and control the transgressive powers of mistresses and single women. The dramas’ portrayals of mothers further reinforce the sense that there is a need to restrain liberal forms of post-socialist femininity embodied by errant daughters who transgress the moral boundaries of the family. Lin Xiaofeng’s mother (Divorce) assumes the role of the forgiving wife and mother. She not only forgives Lin’s father for having an affair but raises Lin, her husband’s love child, as her own (Episode 23). On her deathbed, she articulates the values underlying her acceptance of this transgression, namely that one needs to be “a little kinder, more tolerant, and a little muddleheaded” when dealing with matters of the family. Her forgiveness bears fruit in the form of the warm companionship and support she enjoys with Lin’s father. This sends a strong pedagogical message to the audience that it is possible for a marriage to remain intact if one is willing to forgive. In contrast, Haizao’s mother (Dwelling) adopts the role of the disciplinary mother. She attempts to beat Haizao with a coat hanger when she finds out that her daughter is pregnant with Song Siming’s child (Episode 31). She describes Haizao’s decision as “the wrong path” and is emphatic that abortion is the only way to right this wrong. She argues that abortion will allow her daughter to start life anew in a relationship she describes as “open and aboveboard,” which will culminate in marriage. When Haizao rejects her mother’s disciplining, her lover dies in a car accident and she has a miscarriage. She loses her ability to speak for two months after these double tragedies and pays the ultimate price, losing her reproductive abilities. Luo Li’s mother (Lawyers), Li Chunhua, extends this pedagogical approach by adopting the role of public counsellor as a talk show host. Li describes Luo’s profession as “wicked” because it focuses on separating the family (Episode 9). Instead, she promotes reconciliation as an alternative. She counsels couples to remain together by propounding traditional family values, such as the need for daughters-in-law to consider the filial obligations of sons when managing their relationship with their mothers-in-law (Episode 25). Her rising ratings and the effectiveness of her strategy in bringing estranged couples like Miao Jinxiu and Dong Dahai back together (Episode 26) challenges the transgressive powers of mistresses by preventing the separation of families. More importantly, as with Haizao’s and Lin’s mothers, the moral force of Li’s position and the alternatives to divorce that she suggests draw on pre-socialist and socialist understandings of family values that underscore the sanctity of marriage to the audience. By reminding errant daughters of deeply embedded cultural standards of what it means to be a woman in Chinese society, these mothers are moral exemplars who restrain the potentiality of daughters becoming mistresses. ConclusionMarket reforms have led to a transformation in understandings of womanhood in post-socialist China. Depictions of mistresses and single women as independent, economically successful, and sexually liberated underscores the emergence of liberal forms of post-socialist femininity. Although adept at navigating the new market economy, these types of post-socialist women threaten the integrity of the family and need to be controlled. Moral arguments articulated by wives and mothers restrain the potentially destructive powers of post-socialist womanhood by drawing on deeply embedded understandings of the rights of women shaped in pre-socialist China. It is by disciplining liberal forms of post-socialist femininity such that they fit back into deeply embedded gender hierarchies that social order is restored. By illuminating the moral politics undergirding relationships between women in post-socialist China, the dramas discussed underscore the continued significance of television as a pedagogical device through which desired gender norms are popularised. These portrayals of the struggles between liberal forms of post-socialist femininity and conservative pre-socialist understandings of womanhood as lived in everyday life serve to communicate the importance of protecting the integrity of the family and maintaining social stability in order for China to continue to pursue development. ReferencesAhern, Emily. “The Power and Pollution of Chinese Women.” Women in Chinese Society. Eds. Margery Wolf et al. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1975. 193–214. Brady, Anne-Marie. Marketing Dictatorship: Propaganda and Thought Work in Contemporary China. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007. China Huading Award. “Top 100 TV Series Satisfaction Survey.” 9 Aug. 2015. Chinese Style Divorce. Writ. Wang Hailing. Dir. Shen Yan. Beijing Jindun Xintong Film & Television Culture, 2004. Divorce Lawyers. Writ. Chen Tong. Dir. Yang Wenjun. JSTV, 2014. Dwelling Narrowness. Writ. Liu Liu, Teng Huatao, Cao Dun. Dir. Teng Huatao. Shanghai Media Group, 2009. Ebrey, Patricia. The Inner Quarters: Marriage and the Lives of Chinese Women in the Sung Period. Berkeley: U of California P, 1993.Ebrey, Patricia, and Rubie Watson, eds. Marriage and Inequality in Chinese Society. Berkeley: U of California P, 1991. Evans, Harriet. Women and Sexuality in China: Dominant Discourses of Female Sexuality since 1949. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997. Farrer, James. Opening Up: Youth Sex Culture and Market Reform in Shanghai. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2002. Hung, Ruth Y.Y. “The State and the Market: Chinese TV Serials and the Case of Woju (Dwelling Narrowness).” boundary 2 38.2 (2011): 155–187. ———. “Imagination in the Box: Woju’s Realism and the Representation of Xiaosan.” Television, Sex and Society: Analyzing Contemporary Representations. Eds. Basil Glynn et al. New York: Continuum, 2012. 89–105. Kleinman, Arthur, et al. “Introduction: Remaking the Moral Person in a New China.” Deep China: What Anthropology and Psychiatry Tell Us about China Today. Eds. Arthur Kleinman et al. Berkeley: U of California P, 2011. 1–35.Liu, Jieyu. “Gender and Sexuality.” Understanding Chinese Society. 2nd ed. Ed. Xiaowei Zang. London: Routledge, 2016. 53–66. Wolf, Margery, and Roxane Witke, eds. Women in Chinese Society. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1975. Xiao, f*cking. “Woju Is a Sting Aimed at Reality.” ChinaNews.com.cn, 19 Nov. 2009. Xiao, Hui Faye. Marital Strife in Contemporary Chinese Literature and Visual Culture. Seattle: U of Washington P, 2014. Yu, Haiqing. “Dwelling Narrowness: Chinese Media and Their Disingenuous Neoliberal Logic.” Continuum 25.1 (2011): 33–46. Yan, Yunxiang. Private Life under Socialism: Love, Intimacy, and Family Change in a Chinese Village, 1949–1999. Stanford: Stanford UP, 2003. Zheng, Tiantian. Red Lights: The Lives of Sex Workers in Postsocialist China. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2009.

Abstract:

The first two months of 2021 saw Google and Facebook ‘go dark’ in terms of news content on the Australia versions of their platforms. In January, Google ran a so-called “experiment” which removed or demoted current news in the search results available to a segment of Australian users. While Google was only darkened for some, in February news on Facebook went completely dark, with the company banning all news content and news sharing for users within Australian. Both of these instances of going dark occurred because of the imminent threat these platforms faced from the News Media Bargaining Code legislation that was due to be finalised by the Australian parliament. This article examines how both Google and Facebook responded to the draft Code, focussing on their threats to go dark, and the extent to which those threats were carried out. After exploring the context which produced the threats of going dark, this article looks at their impact, and how the Code was reshaped in light of those threats before it was finally legislated in early March 2021. Most importantly, this article outlines why Google and Facebook were prepared to go dark in Australia, and whether they succeeded in trying to prevent Australia setting the precedent of national governments dictating the terms by which digital platforms should pay for news content. From the Digital Platforms Inquiry to the Draft Code In July 2019, the Australian Treasurer released the Digital Platforms Inquiry Final Report which had been prepared by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC). It outlined a range of areas where Australian law, policies and practices were not keeping pace with the realities of a digital world of search giants, social networks, and streaming media. Analysis of the submissions made as part of the Digital Platforms Inquiry found that the final report was “primarily framed around the concerns of media companies, particularly News Corp Australia, about the impact of platform companies’ market dominance of content distribution and advertising share, leading to unequal economic bargaining relationships and the gradual disappearance of journalism jobs and news media publishers” (Flew et al. 13). As such, one of the most provocative recommendations made was the establishment of a new code that would “address the imbalance in the bargaining relationship between leading digital platforms and news media businesses” (Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, Digital Platforms Inquiry 16). The ACCC suggested such a code would assist Australian news organisations of any size in negotiating with Facebook, Google and others for some form of payment for news content. The report was released at a time when there was a greatly increased global appetite for regulating digital platforms. Thus the battle over the Code was watched across the world as legislation that had the potential to open the door for similar laws in other countries (Flew and Wilding). Initially the report suggested that the digital giants should be asked to develop their own codes of conduct for negotiating with news organisations. These codes would have then been enforced within Australia if suitably robust. However, after months of the big digital platforms failing to produce meaningful codes of their own, the Australian government decided to commission their own rules in this arena. The ACCC thus prepared the draft legislation that was tabled in July 2020 as the Australian News Media Bargaining Code. According to the ACCC the Code, in essence, tried to create a level playing field where Australian news companies could force Google and Facebook to negotiate a ‘fair’ payment for linking to, or showing previews of, their news content. Of course, many commentators, and the platforms themselves, retorted that they already bring significant value to news companies by referring readers to news websites. While there were earlier examples of Google and Facebook paying for news, these were largely framed as philanthropy: benevolent digital giants supporting journalism for the good of democracy. News companies and the ACCC argued this approach completely ignored the fact that Google and Facebook commanded more than 80% of the online advertising market in Australia at that time (Meade, “Google, Facebook and YouTube”). Nor did the digital giants acknowledge their disruptive power given the bulk of that advertising revenue used to flow to news companies. Some of the key features of this draft of the Code included (Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, “News Media Bargaining Code”): Facebook and Google would be the (only) companies initially ‘designated’ by the Code (i.e. specific companies that must abide by the Code), with Instagram included as part of Facebook. The Code applied to all Australian news organisations, and specifically mentioned how small, regional, and rural news media would now be able to meaningfully bargain with digital platforms. Platforms would have 11 weeks after first being contacted by a news organisation to reach a mutually negotiated agreement. Failure to reach agreements would result in arbitration (using a style of arbitration called final party arbitration which has both parties present a final offer or position, with an Australian arbiter simply choosing between the two offers in most cases). Platforms were required to give 28 days notice of any change to their algorithms that would impact on the ways Australian news was ranked and appeared on their platform. Penalties for not following the Code could be ten million dollars, or 10% of the platform’s annual turnover in Australia (whichever was greater). Unsurprisingly, Facebook, Google and a number of other platforms and companies reacted very negatively to the draft Code, with their formal submissions arguing: that the algorithm change notifications would give certain news companies an unfair advantage while disrupting the platforms’ core business; that charging for linking would break the underlying free nature of the internet; that the Code overstated the importance and reach of news on each platform; and many other objections were presented, including strong rejections of the proposed model of arbitration which, they argued, completely favoured news companies without providing any real or reasonable limit on how much news organisations could ask to be paid (Google; Facebook). Google extended their argument by making a second submission in the form of a report with the title ‘The Financial Woes of News Publishers in Australia’ (Shapiro et al.) that argued Australian journalism and news was financially unsustainable long before digital platforms came along. However, in stark contrast the Digital News Report: Australia 2020 found that Google and Facebook were where many Australians found their news; in 2020, 52% of Australians accessed news on social media (up from 46% the year before), with 39% of Australians getting news from Facebook, and that number jumping to 49% when specifically focusing on news seeking during the first COVID-19 pandemic peak in April 2021 (Park et al.). The same report highlighted that 43% of people distrust news found on social media (with a further 29% neutral, and only 28% of people explicitly trusting news found via social media). Moreover, 64% of Australians were concerned about misinformation online, and of all the platforms mentioned in the survey, respondents were most concerned about Facebook as a source of misinformation, with 36% explicitly indicating this was the place they were most concerned about encountering ‘fake news’. In this context Facebook and Google battled the Code by launching a public relations campaigns, appealing directly to Australian consumers. Google Drives a Bus Across Australia Google’s initial response to the draft Code was a substantial public relations campaign which saw the technology company advocating against the Code but not necessarily the ideas behind it. Google instead posited their own alternative way of paying for journalism in Australia. On the main Google search landing page, the usually very white surrounds of the search bar included the text “Supporting Australian journalism: a constructive path forward” which linked to a Google page outlining their version of a ‘Fair Code’. Popup windows appeared across many of Google’s services and apps, noting Google “are willing to pay to support journalism”, with a button labelled ‘Hear our proposal’. Figure 1: Popup notification on Google Australia directing users to Google’s ‘A Fair Code’ proposal rebutting the draft Code. (Screen capture by author, 29 January 2021) Google’s popups and landing page links were visible for more than six months as the Code was debated. In September 2020, a Google blog post about the Code was accompanied by a YouTube video campaign featuring Australia comedian Greta Lee Jackson (Google Australia, Google Explains Arbitration). Jackson used the analogy of Google as a bus driver, who is forced to pay restaurants for delivering customers to them, and then pay part of the running costs of restaurants, too. The video reinforced Google’s argument that the draft Code was asking digital platforms to pay potentially enormous costs for news content without acknowledging the value of Google bringing readers to the news sites. However, the video opened with the line that “proposed laws can be confusing, so I'll use an analogy to break it down”, setting a tone that would seem patronising to many people. Moreover, the video, and Google’s main argument, completely ignored the personal data Google receives every time a user searches for, or clicks on, a news story via Google Search or any other Google service. If Google’s analogy was accurate, then the bus driver would be going through every passenger’s bag while they were on the bus, taking copies of all their documents from drivers licenses to loyalty cards, keeping a record of every time they use the bus, and then using this information to get advertisers to pay for a tailored advertisem*nt on the back of the seat in front of every passenger, every time they rode the bus. Notably, by the end of March 2021, the video had only received 10,399 views, which suggests relatively few people actually clicked on it to watch. In early January 2021, at the height of the debate about the Code, Google ran what they called “an experiment” which saw around 1% of Australian users suddenly only receive “older or less relevant content” when searching for news (Barnet, “Google’s ‘Experiment’”). While ostensibly about testing options for when the Code became law, the unannounced experiment also served as a warning shot. Google very effectively reminded users and politicians about their important role in determining which news Australian users find, and what might happen if Google darkened what they returned as news results. On 21 January 2021, Mel Silva, the Managing Director and public face of Google in Australia and New Zealand gave public testimony about the company’s position before a Senate inquiry. Silva confirmed that Google were indeed considering removing Google Search in Australia altogether if the draft Code was not amended to address their key concerns (Silva, “Supporting Australian Journalism: A Constructive Path Forward An Update on the News Media Bargaining Code”). Google’s seemingly sudden escalation in their threat to go dark led to articles such as a New York Times piece entitled ‘An Australia with No Google? The Bitter Fight behind a Drastic Threat’ (Cave). Google also greatly amplified their appeal to the Australian public, with a video featuring Mel Silva appearing frequently on all Google sites in Australia to argue their position (Google Australia, An Update). By the end of March 2021, Silva’s video had been watched more than 2.2 million times on YouTube. Silva’s testimony, video and related posts from Google all characterised the Code as: breaking “how Google search works in Australia”; creating a world where links online are paid for and thus both breaking Google and “undermin[ing] how the web works”; and saw Google offer their News Showcase as a viable alternative that, in Google’s view, was “a fair one” (Silva, “Supporting Australian Journalism”). Google emphasised submissions about the Code which backed their position, including World Wide Web inventor Tim Berners-Lee who agreed that the idea of charging for links could have a more wide-reaching impact, challenging the idea of a free web (Leaver). Google also continued to release their News Showcase product in other parts of the world. They emphasised that there were existing arrangements for Showcase in Australia, but the current regulatory uncertainty meant it was paused in Australia until the debates about the Code were resolved. In the interim, news media across Australia, and the globe, were filled with stories speculating what an Australia would look like if Google went completely dark (e.g. Cave; Smyth). Even Microsoft weighed in to supporting the Code and offer their search engine Bing as a viable alternative to fill the void if Google really did go dark (Meade, “Microsoft’s Bing”). In mid-February, the draft Code was tabled in Australian parliament. Many politicians jumped at the chance to sing the Code’s praises and lament the power that Google and Facebook have across various spheres of Australian life. Yet as these speeches were happening, the Australian Treasurer Josh Frydenberg was holding weekend meetings with executives from Google and Facebook, trying to smooth the path toward the Code (Massola). In these meetings, a number of amendments were agreed to, including the Code more clearly taking in to account any existing deals already on the table before it became law. In these meetings the Treasurer made in clear to Google that if the deals done prior to the Code were big enough, he would consider not designating Google under the Code, which in effect would mean Google is not immediately subject to it (Samios and Visentin). With that concession in hand Google swiftly signed deals with over 50 Australian news publishers, including Seven West Media, Nine, News Corp, The Guardian, the ABC, and some smaller publishers such as Junkee Media (Taylor; Meade, “ABC Journalism”). While the specific details of these deals were not made public, the deals with Seven West Media and Nine were both reported to be worth around $30 million Australian dollars (Dudley-Nicholson). In reacting to Google's deals Frydenberg described them as “generous deals, these are fair deals, these are good deals for the Australian media businesses, deals that they are making off their own bat with the digital giants” (Snape, “‘These Are Good Deals’”). During the debates about the Code, Google had ultimately ensured that every Australian user was well aware that Google was, in their words, asking for a “fair” Code, and before the Code became law even the Treasurer was conceding that Google’s was offering a “fair deal” to Australian news companies. Facebook Goes Dark on News While Google never followed through on their threat to go completely dark, Facebook took a very different path, with a lot less warning. Facebook’s threat to remove all news from the platform for users in Australia was not made explicit in their formal submissions the draft of the Code. However, to be fair, Facebook’s Managing Director in Australia and New Zealand Will Easton did make a blog post at the end of August 2020 in which he clearly stated: “assuming this draft code becomes law, we will reluctantly stop allowing publishers and people in Australia from sharing local and international news on Facebook and Instagram” (Easton). During the negotiations in late 2020 Instagram was removed as an initial target of the Code (just as YouTube was not included as part of Google) along with a number of other concessions, but Facebook were not sated. Yet Easton’s post about removing news received very little attention after it was made, and certainly Facebook made no obvious attempt to inform their millions of Australian users that news might be completely blocked. Hence most Australians were shocked when that was exactly what Facebook did. Facebook’s power has, in many ways, always been exercised by what the platform’s algorithms display to users, what content is most visible and equally what content is made invisible (Bucher). The morning of Wednesday, 17 February 2021, Australian Facebook users awoke to find that all traditional news and journalism had been removed from the platform. Almost all pages associated with news organisations were similarly either disabled or wiped clean, and that any attempt to share links to news stories was met with a notification: “this post can’t be shared”. The Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison reacted angrily, publicly lamenting Facebook’s choice to “unfriend Australia”, adding their actions were “as arrogant as they were disappointing”, vowing that Australia would “not be intimidated by big tech” (Snape, “Facebook Unrepentant”). Figure 2: Facebook notification appearing when Australians attempted to share news articles on the platform. (Screen capture by author, 20 February 2021) Facebook’s news ban in Australia was not limited to official news pages and news content. Instead, their ban initially included a range of pages and services such as the Australian Bureau of Meteorology, emergency services pages, health care pages, hospital pages, services providing vital information about the COVID-19 pandemic, and so forth. The breadth of the ban may have been purposeful, as one of Facebook’s biggest complaints was that the Code defined news too broadly (Facebook). Yet in the Australian context, where the country was wrestling with periodic lockdowns and the Coronavirus pandemic on one hand, and bushfires and floods on the other, the removal of these vital sources of information showed a complete lack of care or interest in Australian Facebook users. Beyond the immediate inconvenience of not being able to read or share news on Facebook, there were a range of other, immediate, consequences. As Barnet, amongst others, warned, a Facebook with all credible journalism banned would almost certainly open the floodgates to a tide of misinformation, with nothing left to fill the void; it made Facebook’s “public commitment to fighting misinformation look farcical” (Barnet, “Blocking Australian News”). Moreover, Bossio noted, “reputational damage from blocking important sites that serve Australia’s public interest overnight – and yet taking years to get on top of user privacy breaches and misinformation – undermines the legitimacy of the platform and its claimed civic intentions” (Bossio). If going dark and turning off news in Australia was supposed to win the sympathy of Australian Facebook users, then the plan largely backfired. Yet as with Google, the Australian Treasurer was meeting with Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook executives behind closed doors, which did eventually lead to changes before the Code was finally legislated (Massola). Facebook gained a number of concessions, including: a longer warning period before a Facebook could be designated by the Code; a longer period before news organisations would be able to expect negotiations to be concluded; an acknowledgement that existing deals would be taken in to account during negotiations; and, most importantly, a clarification that if Facebook was to once again block news this would both prevent them being subject to the Code and was not be something the platform could be punished for. Like Google, though, Facebook’s biggest gain was again the Treasurer making it clear that by making deals in advance on the Code becoming law, it was likely that Facebook would not be designated, and thus not subject to the Code at all (Samios and Visentin). After these concessions the news standoff ended and on 23 February the Australian Treasurer declared that after tense negotiations Facebook had “refriended Australia”; the company had “committed to entering into good-faith negotiations with Australian news media businesses and seeking to reach agreements to pay for content” (Visentin). Over the next month there were some concerns voiced about slow progress, but then major deals were announced between Facebook and News Corp Australia, and with Nine, with other deals following closely (Meade, “Rupert Murdoch”). Just over a week after the ban began, Facebook returned news to their platform in Australia. Facebook obviously felt they had won the battle, but Australia Facebook users were clearly cannon fodder, with their interests and wellbeing ignored. Who Won? The Immediate Aftermath of the Code After the showdowns with Google and Facebook, the final amendments to the Code were made and it was legislated as the News Media and Digital Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code (Australian Treasury), going into effect on 2 March 2021. However, when it became legally binding, not one single company was ‘designated’, meaning that the Code did not immediately apply to anyone. Yet deals had been struck, money would flow to Australian news companies, and Facebook had returned news to its platform in Australia. At the outset, Google, Facebook, news companies in Australia and the Australian government all claimed to have won the battle over the Code. Having talked up their tough stance on big tech platforms when the Digital Platforms Inquiry landed in 2019, the Australian Government was under public pressure to deliver on that rhetoric. The debates and media coverage surrounding the Code involved a great deal of political posturing and gained much public attention. The Treasurer was delighted to see deals being struck that meant Facebook and Google would pay Australian news companies. He actively portrayed this as the government protecting Australia’s interest and democracy. The fact that the Code was leveraged as a threat does mean that the nuances of the Code are unlikely to be tested in a courtroom in the near future. Yet as a threat it was an effective one, and it does remain in the Treasurer’s toolkit, with the potential to be deployed in the future. While mostly outside the scope of this article, it should definitely be noted that the biggest winner in the Code debate was Rupert Murdoch, executive chairman of News Corp. They were the strongest advocates of regulation forcing the digital giants to pay for news in the first place, and had the most to gain and least to lose in the process. Most large news organisations in Australia have fared well, too, with new revenue flowing in from Google and Facebook. However, one of the most important facets of the Code was the inclusion of mechanisms to ensure that regional and small news publishers in Australia would be able to negotiate with Facebook and Google. While some might be able to band together and strike terms (and some already have) it is likely that many smaller news companies in Australia will miss out, since the deals being struck with the bigger news companies appear to be big enough to ensure they are not designated, and thus not subject to the Code (Purtill). A few weeks after the Code became law ACCC Chair Rod Sims stated that the “problem we’re addressing with the news media code is simply that we wanted to arrest the decline in money going to journalism” (Kohler). On that front the Code succeeded. However, there is no guarantee the deals will mean money will support actual journalists, rather than disappearing as extra corporate profits. Nor is there any onus on Facebook or Google to inform news organisations about changes to their algorithms that might impact on news rankings. Also, as many Australia news companies are now receiving payments from Google and Facebook, there is a danger the news media will become dependent on that revenue, which may make it harder for journalists to report on the big tech giants without some perceptions of a conflict of interest. In a diplomatic post about the Code, Google thanked everyone who had voiced concerns with the initial drafts of the legislation, thanked Australian users, and celebrated that their newly launched Google News Showcase had “two million views of content” with more than 70 news partners signed up within Australia (Silva, “An Update”). Given that News Showcase had already begun rolling out elsewhere in the world, it is likely Google were already aware they were going to have to contribute to the production of journalism across the globe. The cost of paying for news in Australia may well have fallen within the parameters Google had already decided were acceptable and inevitable before the debate about the Code even began (Purtill). In the aftermath of the Code becoming legislation, Google also posted a cutting critique of Microsoft, arguing they were “making self-serving claims and are even willing to break the way the open web works in an effort to undercut a rival” (Walker). In doing so, Google implicitly claimed that the concessions and changes to the Code they had managed to negotiate effectively positioned them as having championed the free and open web. At the end of February 2021, in a much more self-congratulatory post-mortem of the Code entitled “The Real Story of What Happened with News on Facebook in Australia”, Facebook reiterated their assertion that they bring significant value to news publishers and that the platform receives no real value in return, stating that in 2020 Facebook provided “approximately 5.1 billion free referrals to Australian publishers worth an estimated AU$407 million to the news industry” (Clegg). Deploying one last confused metaphor, Facebook argued the original draft of the Code was “like forcing car makers to fund radio stations because people might listen to them in the car — and letting the stations set the price.” Of course, there was no mention that following that metaphor, Facebook would have bugged the car and used that information to plaster the internal surfaces with personalised advertising. Facebook also touted the success of their Facebook News product in the UK, albeit without setting a date for the rollout of the product in Australia. While Facebook did concede that “the decision to stop the sharing of news in Australia appeared to come out of nowhere”, what the company failed to do was apologise to Australian Facebook users for the confusion and inconvenience they experienced. Nevertheless, on Facebook’s own terms, they certainly positioned themselves as having come out winners. Future research will need to determine whether Facebook’s actions damaged their reputation or encouraged significant numbers of Australians to leave the platform permanently, but in the wake of a number of high-profile scandals, including Cambridge Analytica (Vaidhyanathan), it is hard to see how Facebook’s actions would not have further undermined consumer trust in the company and their main platform (Park et al.). In fighting the Code, Google and Facebook were not just battling the Australian government, but also the implication that if they paid for news in Australia, they likely would also have to do so in other countries. The Code was thus seen as a dangerous precedent far more than just a mechanism to compel payment in Australia. Since both companies ensured they made deals prior to the Code becoming law, neither was initially ‘designated’, and thus neither were actually subject to the Code at the time of writing. The value of the Code has been as a threat and a means to force action from the digital giants. How effective it is as a piece of legislation remains to be seen in the future if, indeed, any company is ever designated. For other countries, the exact wording of the Code might not be as useful as a template, but its utility to force action has surely been noted. Like the inquiry which initiated it, the Code set “the largest digital platforms, Google and Facebook, up against the giants of traditional media, most notably Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation” (Flew and Wilding 50). Yet in a relatively unusual turn of events, both sides of that battle claim to have won. At the same time, EU legislators watched the battle closely as they considered an “Australian-style code” of their own (Dillon). Moreover, in the month immediately following the Code being legislated, both the US and Canada were actively pursuing similar regulation (Baier) with Facebook already threatening to remove news and go dark for Canadian Facebook users (van Boom). For Facebook, and Google, the battle continues, but fighting the Code has meant the genie of paying for news content is well and truly out of the bottle. References Australian Competition and Consumer Commission. Digital Platforms Inquiry: Final Report. 25 July 2019. <https://www.accc.gov.au/focus-areas/inquiries/digital-platforms-inquiry/final-report-executive-summary>. ———. “News Media Bargaining Code: Draft Legislation.” Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, 22 July 2020. <https://www.accc.gov.au/focus-areas/digital-platforms/news-media-bargaining-code/draft-legislation>. Australian Treasury. Treasury Laws Amendment (News Media and Digital Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code) Act 2021. Attorney-General’s Department, 2 Mar. 2021. <https://www.legislation.gov.au/Details/C2021A00021/Html/Text>. Baier, Jansen. “US Could Allow News Distribution Fees for Google, Facebook.” MediaFile, 31 Mar. 2021. <http://www.mediafiledc.com/us-could-allow-news-distribution-fees-for-google-facebook/>. Barnet, Belinda. “Blocking Australian News Shows Facebook’s Pledge to Fight Misinformation Is Farcical.” The Guardian, 18 Feb. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2021/feb/18/blocking-australian-news-shows-facebooks-pledge-to-fight-misinformation-is-farcical>. ———. “Google’s ‘Experiment’ Hiding Australian News Just Shows Its Inordinate Power.” The Guardian, 14 Jan. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2021/jan/14/googles-experiment-hiding-australian-news-just-shows-its-inordinate-power>. Bossio, Diana. “Facebook Has Pulled the Trigger on News Content — and Possibly Shot Itself in the Foot.” The Conversation, 18 Feb. 2021. <http://theconversation.com/facebook-has-pulled-the-trigger-on-news-content-and-possibly-shot-itself-in-the-foot-155547>. Bucher, Taina. “Want to Be on the Top? Algorithmic Power and the Threat of Invisibility on Facebook.” New Media & Society 14.7 (2012): 1164–80. DOI:10.1177/1461444812440159. Cave, Damien. “An Australia with No Google? The Bitter Fight behind a Drastic Threat.” The New York Times, 22 Jan. 2021. <https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/22/business/australia-google-facebook-news-media.html>. Clegg, Nick. “The Real Story of What Happened with News on Facebook in Australia.” About Facebook, 24 Feb. 2021. <https://about.fb.com/news/2021/02/the-real-story-of-what-happened-with-news-on-facebook-in-australia/>. Dillon, Grace. “EU Contemplates Australia-Style Media Bargaining Code; China Imposes New Antitrust Rules.” ExchangeWire.com, 9 Feb. 2021. <https://www.exchangewire.com/blog/2021/02/09/eu-contemplates-australia-style-media-bargaining-code-china-imposes-new-antitrust-rules/>. Dudley-Nicholson, Jennifer. “Google May Escape Laws after Spending Spree.” The Daily Telegraph, 17 Feb. 2021. <https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/national/google-may-escape-tough-australian-news-laws-after-a-lastminute-spending-spree/news-story/d3b37406bf279ff6982287d281d1fbdd>. Easton, Will. “An Update about Changes to Facebook’s Services in Australia.” About Facebook, 1 Sep. 2020. <https://about.fb.com/news/2020/08/changes-to-facebooks-services-in-australia/>. Facebook. Facebook Response to the Australian Treasury Laws Amendment (News Media and Digital Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code) Bill 2020. 28 Aug. 2020. <https://www.accc.gov.au/system/files/Facebook_0.pdf>. Flew, Terry, et al. “Return of the Regulatory State: A Stakeholder Analysis of Australia’s Digital Platforms Inquiry and Online News Policy.” The Information Society 37.2 (2021): 128–45. DOI:10.1080/01972243.2020.1870597. Flew, Terry, and Derek Wilding. “The Turn to Regulation in Digital Communication: The ACCC’s Digital Platforms Inquiry and Australian Media Policy.” Media, Culture & Society 43.1 (2021): 48–65. DOI:10.1177/0163443720926044. Google. Draft News Media and Platforms Mandatory Bargaining Code: Submissions in Response. 28 Aug. 2020. <https://www.accc.gov.au/system/files/Google_0.pdf>. Google Australia. An Update from Google on the News Media Bargaining Code. 2021. YouTube. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHypeuHePEI>. ———. Google Explains Arbitration under the News Media Bargaining Code. 2020. YouTube. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Io01W3migk>. Kohler, Alan. “The News Bargaining Code Is Officially Dead.” The New Daily, 16 Mar. 2021. <https://thenewdaily.com.au/news/2021/03/17/alan-kohler-news-bargaining-code-dead/>. Leaver, Tama. “Web’s Inventor Says News Media Bargaining Code Could Break the Internet. He’s Right — but There’s a Fix.” The Conversation, 21 Jan. 2021. <http://theconversation.com/webs-inventor-says-news-media-bargaining-code-could-break-the-internet-hes-right-but-theres-a-fix-153630>. Massola, James. “Frydenberg, Facebook Negotiating through the Weekend.” The Sydney Morning Herald, 20 Feb. 2021. <https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/frydenberg-facebook-negotiating-through-the-weekend-on-new-media-laws-20210219-p573zp.html>. Meade, Amanda. “ABC Journalism to Appear on Google’s News Showcase in Lucrative Deal.” The Guardian, 22 Feb. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/media/2021/feb/23/abc-journalism-to-appear-on-googles-showcase-in-lucrative-deal>. ———. “Google, Facebook and YouTube Found to Make Up More than 80% of Australian Digital Advertising.” The Guardian, 23 Oct. 2020. <http://www.theguardian.com/media/2020/oct/23/google-facebook-and-youtube-found-to-make-up-more-than-80-of-australian-digital-advertising>. ———. “Microsoft’s Bing Ready to Step in If Google Pulls Search from Australia, Minister Says.” The Guardian, 1 Feb. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2021/feb/01/microsofts-bing-ready-to-step-in-if-google-pulls-search-from-australia-minister-says>. ———. “Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp Strikes Deal as Facebook Agrees to Pay for Australian Content.” The Guardian, 15 Mar. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/media/2021/mar/16/rupert-murdochs-news-corp-strikes-deal-as-facebook-agrees-to-pay-for-australian-content>. Park, Sora, et al. Digital News Report: Australia 2020. Canberra: News and Media Research Centre, 16 June 2020. DOI:10.25916/5ec32f8502ef0. Purtill, James. “Facebook Thinks It Won the Battle of the Media Bargaining Code — but So Does the Government.” ABC News, 25 Feb. 2021. <https://www.abc.net.au/news/science/2021-02-26/facebook-google-who-won-battle-news-media-bargaining-code/13193106>. Samios, Zoe, and Lisa Visentin. “‘Historic Moment’: Treasurer Josh Frydenberg Hails Google’s News Content Deals.” The Sydney Morning Herald, 17 Feb. 2021. <https://www.smh.com.au/business/companies/historic-moment-treasurer-josh-frydenberg-hails-google-s-news-content-deals-20210217-p573eu.html>. Shapiro, Carl, et al. The Financial Woes of News Publishers in Australia. 27 Aug. 2020. <https://www.accc.gov.au/system/files/Google%20Annex.PDF>. Silva, Mel. “An Update on the News Media Bargaining Code.” Google Australia, 1 Mar. 2021. <http://www.google.com.au/google-in-australia/an-open-letter/>. ———. “Supporting Australian Journalism: A Constructive Path Forward – An Update on the News Media Bargaining Code.” Google Australia, 22 Jan. 2021. <https://about.google/intl/ALL_au/google-in-australia/jan-6-letter/>. Smyth, Jamie. “Australian Companies Forced to Imagine Life without Google.” Financial Times, 9 Feb. 2021. <https://www.ft.com/content/fa66e8dc-afb1-4a50-8dfa-338a599ad82d>. Snape, Jack. “Facebook Unrepentant as Prime Minister Dubs Emergency Services Block ‘Arrogant.’” ABC News, 18 Feb. 2021. <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-02-18/facebook-unrepentant-scott-morrison-dubs-move-arrogant/13169340>. ———. “‘These Are Good Deals’: Treasurer Praises Google News Deals amid Pressure from Government Legislation.” ABC News, 17 Feb. 2021. <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-02-17/treasurer-praises-good-deals-between-google-news-seven/13163676>. Taylor, Josh. “Guardian Australia Strikes Deal with Google to Join News Showcase.” The Guardian, 20 Feb. 2021. <http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2021/feb/20/guardian-australia-strikes-deal-with-google-to-join-news-showcase>. Vaidhyanathan, Siva. Antisocial Media: How Facebook Disconnects Us and Undermines Democracy. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2018. Van Boom, Daniel. “Facebook Could Block News in Canada like It Did in Australia.” CNET, 29 Mar. 2021. <https://www.cnet.com/news/facebook-could-block-news-in-canada-like-it-did-in-australia/>. Visentin, Lisa. “Facebook Refriends Australia after Last-Minute Changes to Media Code.” The Sydney Morning Herald, 23 Feb. 2021. <https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/government-agrees-to-last-minute-amendments-to-media-code-20210222-p574kc.html>. Walker, Kent. “Our Ongoing Commitment to Supporting Journalism.” Google, 12 Mar. 2021. <https://blog.google/products/news/google-commitment-supporting-journalism/>.

Abstract:

Graffiti remains a particularly resilient aspect of the contemporary urban landscape and as a pillar of Hip-Hop culture enjoys an enduring popularity as a subject of academic inquiry.1 As the practice of graffiti is so historically broad it is within the context of Hip-Hop culture that I will limit my observations. In this tradition, graffiti is often rationalised as either a rebellious attempt at territorial reclamation by an alienated subculture or reduced to a practice of elaborate attention seeking. This type of account is offered in titles such as Nelson George's Hip-Hop America (George 1998, 14-15) and David Toop's Rap Attack series (Toop 2000, 11-14). Whilst I am in accord with their respective analyses of graffiti's role as a territorial practice, these discussions concentrate on graffiti's social significance and neglect the immanent logistical processes that precede artistic practice. A Deleuze-Guattarian approach would emphasise the process over the final product, as they believe, '[w]riting has nothing to do with signifying. It has to do with surveying, mapping, even realms that are yet to come' (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 4-5).2 This undermines the self-contained approach to graffiti as artistic signification and offers a more encompassing approach to investigating the graffiti writers' desire to physically connect with the architecture of the city. It was William Upski Wimsatt's 'underground bestseller' Bomb the Suburbs that inspired my Deleuze-Guattarian perspective on the processes behind graffiti. After reading the testimonies of the author and his peers about the niceties of underground graffiti writing, I was struck by the profound affective relations to technology they described. Many discussions of graffiti, academic or otherwise, relegate the artists' exploration of the urban environment and its technologies to be of secondary importance to the production of the artwork itself. Wimsatt's affectionate account of a city discovered via graffiti writing appeared to have resonance with the Deleuze-Guattarian concept of 'becoming'. For Deleuze (both alone and in conjunction with Felix Guattari), the concept of 'becoming' was a complex redefinition, or perhaps destruction, of the traditional dichotomy between 'subject' and 'object'. Baring in mind that this concept was developed across the breadth of his work, here I offer a concise, and perhaps more readily accessible definition of 'becoming' from Claire Colebrook's Gilles Deleuze: 'The human becomes more than itself - by becoming-hybrid with what is not itself. This creates 'lines of flight'; from life itself we imagine all the becomings of life, using the human power of imagination to overcome the human' (Colebrook 2001, 129). Using 'becoming' as a conceptual approach provides a rather more productive consideration of the graffiti writers' endeavours rather than simply reducing their status to simple archetypes such as 'criminal', 'rebel' or even 'visual artist'. In this way we could look at their ongoing and active engagement with the city's architecture as an ongoing 'becoming' with urban technologies. This is manifest in the graffiti writers' willingness to break the law and even risk physical danger in order to find new ways of moving about the city. Bomb the Suburbs outlines the trials and tribulations of Chicago based, 'old school' graffiti artist Wimsatt who writes about his first-hand observations on the decaying urban environment within major US cities. Bomb the Suburbs is both a handbook of Hip-Hop culture, as well as an astute piece of social analysis. Wimsatt's approach is self-consciously provocative, and shining through all the revolutionary rhetoric is essentially a love affair with the city and its technologies. 'As a writer, there is nothing I love better, nowhere in the city I love more, than the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority). Whether it's climbing on the tracks, playing in the tunnels, or just chillin' in between cars, I think of the CTA as my personal jungle gym. The fact is, we graffiti writers have a very close relationship with the train lines. Yet it is our goal to f*ck them up' (Wimsatt 1994, 143). Such an extraordinary physical relationship with the city's technology obviously surpasses the general public's more mundane interactions. The amount of dedication required by the graffiti writers to scale buildings, trains and bridges, obviously goes beyond a mere desire of exposure for their art. Hence I regard the writers as having perhaps the strongest affective bond with the city of any resident, as their pioneering of unorthodox navigational feats requires a level of commitment that far exceeds the rest of the population. Thus the artistry justifies the means of the exploratory process and the graffiti merely serves as a premise to interact with the city's architecture. Wimsatt's enthusiastic account of the CTA infers the desire to realise new interactions that surpass the rather more average ambition of getting on and off at the right stops. An inordinate amount of attention to potential vehicles of exposure, such as the city's rail system becomes a requirement of any self-respecting graffiti writer. Hence they acquire an intricate knowledge of the logistical processes that keep the city's transportation system ticking over. Detailed knowledge of platforms, schedules, right up to employee shift changes are necessary and each of these aspects in turn open out into a variety of assemblages that offer insight into the inner workings of the city. Unfortunately for these urban explorers, their unorthodox interactions with the city architecture are invariably considered 'illegal', and reminiscent of the Foucauldian assertion, the transgression of law only adds to affective investment. This transgression of 'the law', also offers potential for new becomings, and the graffiti writers, in turn, acquire a 'virtual' nature as 'becoming-criminal' or 'becoming-hero', even perhaps perpetuating the struggle for an alternative 'becoming-law'. Hence the dour reflection at the end of Wimsatt's quote which highlights his exasperation over the underlying political tensions that conspire toward his beloved rail system's destruction. It is perhaps the barriers, both physical and legal that are placed between the writers and their beloved lines, which fosters the type of emotional displacement that incites such revenge. To prove that the law can't contain their desire, the writers ironically destroy the city's property so that the technology will forever bear the mark of their challenge. Wimsatt doesn't advocate this destruction, but rather he is trying to implore other writers to see the error of their ways, 'If we love trains, then bombing the CTA is biting the hand that feeds us' (Wimsatt 1994, 143). His idealistic alternative is to 'bomb the suburbs' (for the uninitiated the bombing they refer to is of the acrylic as opposed to the explosive kind) to symbolically deflect attention from the rail yards and into the homes of the indifferent. 'Bomb The Suburbs means let's celebrate the city. Let's celebrate the ghetto and the few people who aren't running away from it. Let's stop f*cking up the city. Let's stop f*cking up the ghetto. Let's start defending it and making it work for us' (11). Emphasising the division between the urban and suburban way of life, Wimsatt beckons graffiti writers to 'bomb the suburbs' in what I perceive, as an unorthodox means of inclusion. This call to violate suburban property is purely a scare tactic, an avenue that Wimsatt admits he is not keen to explore (143). This contempt for the suburbs is directed at what is perceived as its residents' collective escape from an inclusive dialogue. The graffiti artists are frustrated over the suburban residents' economic control of their inner city space and they have no accessible political vehicle to voice this complaint. In the minds of the graffiti writers, the suburban population is ungrateful, as the technology such as the CTA is taken for granted, or not even used at all. Wimsatt hates the insular culture of the car owning commuters that symbolise the suburban condition. They are deemed to pollute the city and will subsequently be the first to retreat from any adversity as their collective goal has been to acquire the means to take an out of sight, out of mind approach to urban life. Thus, Wimsatt blames the suburban population for the continuing malaise suffered by inner city residents. Their collective exodus to the suburbs has negatively impacted on city funding and continues to erode the quality of life of its inhabitants. Wimsatt's admonition of the suburban condition begins in the introduction on the front cover of the book stating, 'The suburbs is more than just an unfortunate geographical location, it is an unfortunate state-of-mind. It's the American state-of-mind, founded on fear, conformity, shallowness of character, and dullness of imagination.' Yet Wimsatt would have difficulty convincing his posse of writers to 'bomb the suburbs' for a solely political purpose as the attributes of the city that make it so accessible conversely makes the suburbs logistically difficult to conquer. By his own admission the pleasure of graffiti writing lies in the thrill of exploring the city's architecture as this process in its entirety forms an affective assemblage. For Deleuze and Guattari these 'affects are becomings' (Deleuze and Guattari 1987, 256), perhaps simply understood as the affective intensities that influence our movement through the world, and this is how the graffiti writers integrate themselves into the matrix of the city assemblage. Furthermore, Deleuze and Guattari offer that art consists of blocs of affects and percepts and that its role is to draw attention to these processes (Deleuze and Guattari 1994, 163-199), '[a]ffects are sensible experiences in their singularity, liberated from organising systems of representation' (Colebrook 2001, 22). Thus graffiti operates on a purely affective level and the works of its anonymous authors, whose collective texts are often indecipherable, appear to have little cultural relevance to the general public. This is demonstrative of a Deleuze-Guattarian reading where graffiti's significance as 'writing' is actually negligible. The pragmatic significance of graffiti in terms of territorial marking is its role as a refrain, providing infinite transference of signification. The refrains create relations of corresponding affective assemblages and in this way the graffiti is able to generate a range of audience positions. Whilst it may indicate signify a hostile environment for some, it similarly provides information to others or is perhaps merely treated with indifference. To this extent the recollections of Wimsatt and his peers recall Deleuzean empiricism and its 'commitment to experience,' as '[o]ne way of thinking empiricism is to see all life as a flow and connection of interacting bodies, or 'desiring machines'. These connections form regularities, which can then be organised through 'social machines' (Colebrook 2001, 89). Graffiti consciously draws attention to its procedure thus creating corresponding affective assemblages, and the ensuing relations inform audience opinions. Many would contend that graffiti is inherently destructive and would necessarily disagree with my claim that it derives from a love of the city. Dissenting opinion is invariably based on relative aesthetic merits and as a result will always be inconclusive. The only thing that can be tangibly measured is the ownership of capital and in this context graffiti will always remain the visual sign of a losing battle. Graffiti is the evidence of its writers' respective status as 'ghosts in the machine'. Presented in terms of information theory, we could view graffiti as feedback, either signal or noise depending on how you are positioned. As a permanent fixture of the urban environment it is indicative of a city that is all but running smoothly. The nature of this underlying antagonism is elaborated in Houston A Baker jr's Black Studies, Rap and the Academy where graffiti is 'perceived as the ethnic pollution of public space' by the 'other' (Baker 1993, 43). Baker then proceeds to the heart of the matter, questioning the values inherent in the regulation of public space, 'the contest was urbanely proprietorial: Who owns the public spaces? What constitutes information and what constitutes noise? Just what is visually and audibly pure and what precisely is noise pollution or graffiti?'. He contends that community opinion over such aesthetic maintenance of the public space will continue to be dominated by corporate capital. 'Urban public spaces of the late twentieth century are spaces of audiovisual contest. It's something like this: My billboards and neon and handbills and high-decibel-level television advertising are purely for the public good. Your boom boxes and graffiti are evil pollutants. Erase them, shut them down! (43)' Graffiti writers are fully aware that any attempt for consensus over aesthetics is futile as the urban subcultures have little political clout. Their ongoing battle is a vain attempt at seeking alternate ways to access this public space and will continue to sustain casualties both architectural and human. Thus the visibility of graffiti on a train line provides an affective assemblage that is as intrinsic to the network as the tracks themselves. As public property3 the railway is installed to serve the collective population and graffiti writers, it can be argued, just seek to use it in an unorthodox manner. Their work is undoubtedly just as creative and perhaps less objectionable than most billboard ads. Advertising on the other hand, represents the collusion of private property ownership that informs public opinion. This view perpetuates the 'reasonable' assumption that advertisem*nts are an acceptable use of the public space based on the 'logic' that they are spatially contained and regulated by capital. Alienated from that sphere of capital ownership, graffiti impinges on this private stranglehold of public aesthetics. In this capacity graffiti artists invite a momentary existential awakening, drawing attention to our internalised self-regulation. It is such conditioning that in turn may provoke us to mouth an obligatory 'tut tut'. Yet, running into this visual 'other' requires self-reflection, caught up in our daily routine we are oblivious to our physical surroundings and only realise what we are missing when it has been tampered with. The writers' unorthodox interaction with city architecture questions our fetishizing of blank walls, and our instilled lack of practical interaction with our surrounds. Nevertheless, the reality is that graffiti signifies to a large percentage of the population a sense of danger, a side effect that Wimsatt is indeed aware and is trying to discourage. Bomb the Suburbs is concerned with mapping out relations within the city's delicate ecosystem and how the mere act of graffiti affects a feedback loop that ends up in the pockets of the corporates: 'Every time we fat cap an outside, or even scratch-bomb a window, we've got guys with last names like Ford, Toyota, and Isuzu with us all the way, cheering us on - we're helping them f*ck up public transportation for free' (Wimsatt 1994, 142). So the more graffiti, the fewer people ride the subway and will instead continue to buy cars and perpetuate the urban/suburban divide. Wimsatt and his peers are embittered that those who actually own most of the city care so little about it that they leave for the suburbs every night, to retreat from the 'urban noise' epitomised by graffiti culture to one of secluded suburban silence. Hence Wimsatt's enthusiasm for a communal project of graffiti led urban renewal believing it will liven up neglected and plain forgotten parts of the city (104). He goes out of his way to visit the more ravaged and neglected cities in the US, dreaming of how graffiti could help promote reinvestment, both emotional and financial, back into the heart of the city. Wimsatt also realises this can only be achieved with the grass roots support of the graffiti writing community themselves. 'I'm not even going to talk about the train yards. Yes, they're easy, but you're not allowed to bomb them as a personal favor to me. Cleveland is struggling not to become another Detroit and scare all its capital off to the suburbs. If you're going to do graffiti in Cleveland, do it to help Cleveland back up, not to kick it while it's down' (43). Yet his vision of urban renewal is one that scorns permission for legal designs (113) as the impetus for this project must derive organically from the graffiti writers' collective process of observation via urban exploration. For them, legal design defeats the purpose of this empirical process, and for this reason the artists believe there is no challenge in doing 'pieces' in the easy spots as a necessary part of the process requires the 'becoming' with the urban environment. The graffiti writers' lifestyle is itself an experimental project intended as a direct challenge on the 'conventional' epitomised by suburban existence. The graffiti markings operate as Deleuze-Guattarian 'lines of flight' that indicate that there are alternate ways of moving about the city, replete with a set of refrains to indicate the existence of a suitably alternative culture. We are aware that the smooth running of the urban capitalist machine requires the striations that demarcate no-go areas and territories forbidden to pubic access. To paraphrase Deleuze and Guattari, that in order to run smoothly, you have to striate, and there is a lot of wasted space created in the process. The graffiti writers merely seek to claw back these neglected territories. Notes 1. The following list is provided as a guide, and is by no means considered exhaustive, of some of the key texts employed in my research: Castleman, Craig. Getting Up: Subway Graffiti in New York. New York: MIT Press, 1984; Chalfant, Henry, and James Prigoff. Spraycan Art. New York, N.Y.: Thames and Hudson, 1987; Baker, Houston A. Black Studies, Rap, and the Academy. Black Literature and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993; Wimsatt, William 'Upski'. Bomb the Suburbs. New York: Soft Skull Press, 1994; George, Nelson. Hip Hop America. London: Penguin, 1998; Poschardt, Ulf. DJ Culture. Trans. Shaun Whiteside. London: Quartet Books, 1998; Light, Alan. The Vibe History of Hip Hop. Three Rivers Press, New York, 1999; Ogg, Alex, and David Upshal. The Hip-Hop Years: A History of Rap. London: Channel 4 Books, 1999; Toop, David. Rap Attack # 3: African Rap to Global Hip Hop. London: Serpent's Tail, 2000; Gonzales, Michael A. 'Hip-Hop Nation: From Rockin' the House to Planet Rock' in Crossroads. Seattle, Marquand Books, 2000. 2. Note: The relation of this quote to the practice of graffiti writing was previously outlined in Richard Higgins article 'Machines, Big and Little' available at http://www.arts.monash.edu.au/gsandss/sl... My discovery of this essay occurred during my research and whilst my own analysis takes a different approach I am obviously compelled to acknowledge my familiarity with this excellent piece of work. 3. Although this situation is rapidly changing as railway's status as public property is being slowly compromised as its running is increasingly handled by the private sector. References Baker, Houston A. jr. (1993) Black Studies, Rap, and the Academy. Black Literature and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Castleman, Craig. (1984) Getting Up: Subway Graffiti in New York. New York: MIT Press. Chalfant, Henry, and James Prigoff. (1987) Spraycan Art. New York, N.Y.: Thames and Hudson. Colebrook, Claire. (2001) Gilles Deleuze. London: Routledge. Deleuze, Gilles, and Félix Guattari. (1987) A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. London: Athlone Press. Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. (1994) What Is Philosophy? Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Graham Burchill. New York: Columbia University Press. George, Nelson. (1998) Hip Hop America. London: Penguin. Gonzales, Michael A. (2000) 'Hip-Hop Nation: From Rockin' the House to Planet Rock.' Crossroads. Seattle: Marquand Books. Light, Alan. (1999) The Vibe History of Hip Hop. Three Rivers Press, New York. Ogg, Alex, and David Upshal. (1999) The Hip-Hop Years: A History of Rap. London: Channel 4 Books. Poschardt, Ulf. (1998) DJ Culture. Trans. Shaun Whiteside. London: Quartet Books. Toop, David. (2000) Rap Attack # 3: African Rap to Global Hip Hop. London: Serpent's Tail. Wimsatt, William. (1994) 'Upski'. Bomb the Suburbs. New York: Soft Skull Press. Links http://www.arts.monash.edu.au/gsandss/slavic/papers/rhizome.html. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Scannell, John. "Becoming-City" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/becoming.php>. Chicago Style Scannell, John, "Becoming-City" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/becoming.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Bennett, Simon A.. (2002) A City Divided. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/divided.php> ([your date of access]).

Abstract:

Introduction In November 2020, upon learning that the company’s Covid-19 vaccine trial had been successful, the head of Pfizer’s Vaccine Research and Development, Kathrin Jansen, celebrated with champagne – “some really good stuff” (Cohen). Bubbles seem to go naturally with celebration, and champagne is fundamentally associated with bubbles. Yet, until the late-seventeenth century, champagne was a still wine, and it only reached the familiar levels of bubbliness in the late-nineteenth century (Harding). During this period and on into the early twentieth century, “champagne” was in many ways created, defined, and defended. A “champagne bubble” was created, within which the “nature” of champagne was contested and constructed. Champagne today is the result of hundreds of years of labour by many sorts of bubble-makers: those who make the bubbly drink, and those who construct, maintain, and defend the champagne bubble. In this article, I explore some elements of the champagne bubble, in order to understand both its fragility and rigidity over the years and today. Creating the Champagne Bubble – the Labour of Centuries It is difficult to separate the physical from the mythical as regards champagne. Therefore the categorisations below are always overlapping, and embedded in legal, political, economic, and socio-cultural factors. Just as assemblage – the mixing of wine from different grapes – is an essential element of champagne wine, the champagne bubble may be called heterogeneous assemblage. Indeed, the champagne bubble, as we will see below, is a myriad of different sorts of bubbles, such as terroir, appellation, myth and brand. And just as any assemblage, its heterogeneous elements exist and operate in relation to each other. Therefore the “champagne bubble” discussed here is both one and many, all of its elements fundamentally interconnected, constituting that “one” known as “champagne”. It is not my intention to be comprehensive of all the elements, historical and contemporary. Indeed, that would not be possible within such a short article. Instead, I seek to demonstrate some of the complexity of the champagne bubble, noting the elaborate labour that has gone into its creation. The Physical Champagne and Champagne – from Soil to Bubbles Champagne means both a legally protected geographical area (Champagne), and the wine (here: champagne) produced in this area from grapes defined as acceptable: most importantly pinot noir, pinot meunier (“black” grapes), and chardonnay (“white” grape). The method of production, too, is regulated and legally protected: méthode champenoise. Although the same method is used in numerous locations, these must be called something different: metodo classico (Italy), método tradicional (Spain), Methode Cap Classique (South Africa). The geographical area of Champagne was first legally defined in 1908, when it only included the areas of Marne and Aisne, leaving out, most importantly, the area of Aube. This decision led to severe unrest and riots, as the Aube vignerons revolted in 1911, forcing the inclusion of “zone 2”: Aube, Haute-Marne, and Seine-et-Marne (Guy). Behind these regulations was a surge in fraudulent production in the early twentieth century, as well as falling wine prices resulting from increasing supply of cheap wines (Colman 18). These first appellations d’origine had many consequences – they proved financially beneficial for the “zone 1”, but less so for the “zone 2”. When both these areas were brought under the same appellation in 1927, the financial benefits were more limited – but this may have been due to the Great Depression triggered in 1929 (Haeck et al.). It is a long-standing belief that the soil and climate of Champagne are key contributors to the quality of champagne wines, said to be due to “conditions … most suitable for making this type of wine” (Simon 11). Already in the end of the nineteenth century, the editor of Vigneron champenois attributed champagne’s quality to “a fortunate combination of … chalky soil … [and] unrivalled exposure [to the sun]” (Guy 119) among other things. Factors such as soil and climate, commonly included in and expressed through the idea of terroir, undoubtedly influence grapes and wines made thereof, but the extent remains unproven. Indeed, terroir itself is a very contested concept (Teil; Inglis and Almila). It is also the case that climate change has had, and will continue to have, devastating effects on wine production in many areas, while benefiting others. The highly successful English sparkling wine production, drawing upon know-how from the Champagne area, has been enabled by the warming climate (Inglis), while Champagne itself is at risk of becoming too hot (Robinson). Champagne is made through a process more complicated than most wines. I present here the bare bones of it, to illustrate the many challenges that had to be overcome to enable its production in the scale we see today. Freshly picked grapes are first pressed and the juice is fermented. Grape juice contains natural yeasts and therefore will ferment spontaneously, but fermentation can also be started with artificial yeasts. In fermentation, alcohol and carbon dioxide (CO2) are formed, but the latter usually escapes the liquid. The secret of champagne is its second fermentation, which happens in bottles, after wines from different grapes and/or vineyards have been blended for desired characteristics (assemblage). For the second fermentation, yeast and sugar are added. As the fermentation happens inside a bottle, the CO2 that is created does not escape, but dissolves into the wine. The average pressure inside a champagne bottle in serving temperature is around 5 bar – 5 times the pressure outside the bottle (Liger-Belair et al.). The obvious challenge this method poses has to do with managing the pressure. Exploding bottles used to be a common problem, and the manner of sealing bottles was not very developed, either. Seventeenth-century developments in bottle-making, and using corks to seal bottles, enabled sparkling wines to be produced in the first place (Leszczyńska; Phillips 137). Still today, champagne comes in heavy-bottomed bottles, sealed with characteristically shaped cork, which is secured with a wire cage known as muselet. Scientific innovations, such as calculating the ideal amount of sugar for the second fermentation in 1836, also helped to control the amount of gas formed during the second fermentation, thus making the behaviour of the wine more predictable (Leszczyńska 265). Champagne is characteristically a “manufactured” wine, as it involves several steps of interference, from assemblage to dosage – sugar added for flavour to most champagnes after the second fermentation (although there are also zero dosage champagnes). This lends champagne particularly suitable for branding, as it is possible to make the wine taste the same year after year, harvest after harvest, and thus create a distinctive and recognisable house style. It is also possible to make champagnes for different tastes. During the nineteenth century, champagnes of different dosage were made for different markets – the driest for the British, the sweetest for the Russians (Harding). Bubbles are probably the most striking characteristic of champagne, and they are enabled by the complicated factors described above. But they are also formed when the champagne is poured in a glass. Natural impurities on the surface of the glass provide channels through which the gas pockets trapped in the wine can release themselves, forming strains of rising bubbles (Liger-Belair et al.). Champagne glasses have for centuries differed from other wine glasses, often for aesthetic reasons (Harding). The bubbles seem to do more than give people aesthetic pleasure and sensory experiences. It is often claimed that champagne makes you drunk faster than other drinks would, and there is, indeed, some (limited) research showing that this may well be the case (Roberts and Robinson; Ridout et al.). The Mythical Champagne – from Dom Pérignon to Modern Wonders Just as the bubbles in a champagne glass are influenced by numerous forces, so the metaphorical champagne bubble is subject to complex influences. Myth-creation is one of the most significant of these. The origin of champagne as sparkling wine is embedded in the myth of Dom Pérignon of Hautvillers monastery (1638–1715), who according to the legend would have accidentally developed the bubbles, and then enthusiastically exclaimed “I am drinking the stars!” (Phillips 138). In reality, bubbles are a natural phenomenon provoked by winter temperatures deactivating the fermenting yeasts, and spring again reactivating them. The myth of Dom Pérignon was first established in the nineteenth century and quickly embraced by the champagne industry. In 1937, Moët et Chandon launched a premium champagne called Dom Pérignon, which enjoys high reputation until this day (Phillips). The champagne industry has been active in managing associations connected with champagne since the nineteenth century. Sparkling champagnes had already enjoyed fashionability in the later seventeenth and early eighteenth century, both in the French Court, and amongst the British higher classes. In the second half of the nineteenth century, champagne found ever increasing markets abroad, and the clientele was not aristocratic anymore. Before the 1860s, champagne’s association was with high status celebration, as well as sexual activity and seduction (Harding; Rokka). As the century went on, and champagne sales radically increased, associations with “modernity” were added: “hot-air balloons, towering steamships, transcontinental trains, cars, sports, and other ‘modern’ wonders were often featured in quickly proliferating champagne advertising” (Rokka 280). During this time, champagne grew both drier and more sparkling, following consumer tastes (Harding). Champagne’s most important markets in later nineteenth century included the UK, where the growing middle classes consumed champagne for both celebration and hospitality (Harding), the US, where (upper) middle-class women were served champagne in new kinds of consumer environments (Smith; Remus), and Russia, where the upper classes enjoyed sweeter champagne – until the Revolution (Phillips 296). The champagne industry quickly embraced the new middle classes in possession of increasing wealth, as well as new methods of advertising and marketing. What is remarkable is that they managed to integrate enormously varied cultural thematics and still retain associations with aristocracy and luxury, while producing and selling wine in industrial scale (Harding; Rokka). This is still true today: champagne retains a reputation of prestige, despite large-scale branding, production, and marketing. Maintaining and Defending the Bubble: Formulas, Rappers, and the Absolutely Fabulous Tipplers The falling wine prices and increasing counterfeit wines coincided with Europe’s phylloxera crisis – the pest accidentally brought over from North America that almost wiped out all Europe’s vineyards. The pest moved through Champagne in the 1890s, killing vines and devastating vignerons (Campbell). The Syndicat du Commerce des vins de Champagne had already been formed in 1882 (Rokka 280). Now unions were formed to fight phylloxera, such as the Association Viticole Champenoise in 1898. The 1904 Fédération Syndicale des Vignerons was formed to lobby the government to protect the name of Champagne (Leszczyńska 266) – successfully, as we have seen above. The financial benefits from appellations were certainly welcome, but short-lived. World War I treated Champagne harshly, with battle lines stuck through the area for years (Guy 187). The battle went on also in the lobbying front. In 1935, a new appellation regime was brought into law, which came to be the basis for all European systems, and the Comité National des appellations d'origine (CNAO) was founded (Colman 1922). Champagne’s protection became increasingly international, and continues to be so today under EU law and trade deals (European Commission). The post-war recovery of champagne relied on strategies used already in the “golden years” – marketing and lobbying. Advertising continued to embrace “luxury, celebration, transport (extending from air travel to the increasingly popular automobile), modernity, sports” (Guy 188). Such advertisem*nt must have responded accurately to the mood of post-war, pre-depression Europe. Even in the prohibition US it was known that the “frivolous” French women might go as far as bathe in champagne, like the popular actress Mistinguett (Young 63). Curiously, in the 1930s Soviet Russia, “champagne” (not produced in Champagne) was declared a sign of good living, symbolising the standard of living that any Soviet worker had access to (at least in theory) (Gronow). Today, the reputation of champagne is fiercely defended in legal terms. This is not only in terms of protection against other sparkling wine making areas, but also in terms of exploitation of champagne’s reputation by actors in other commercial fields, and even against mass market products containing genuine champagne (Mahy and d’Ath; Schneider and Nam). At the same time, champagne has been widely “democratised” by mass production, enabled partly by increasing mechanisation and scientification of champagne production from the 1950s onwards (Leszczyńska 266). Yet champagne retains its association with prestige, luxury, and even royalty. This has required some serious adaptation and flexibility. In what follows, I look into three cultural phenomena that illuminate processes of such adaptation: Formula One (F1) champagne spraying, the 1990s sitcom Absolutely Fabulous, and the Cristal racism scandal in 2006. The first champagne bottle is said to have been presented to F1 grand prix winner in Champagne in 1950 (Wheels24). Such a gesture would have been fully in line with champagne’s association with cars, sport, and modernity. But what about the spraying? Surely that is not in line with the prestige of the wine? The first spraying is attributed to Jo Siffert in 1966 and Dan Gurney in 1967, the former described as accidental, the latter as a spontaneous gesture of celebration (Wheels24; Dobie). Moët had become the official supplier of F1 champagnes in 1966, and there are no signs that the new custom would have been problematic for them, as their sponsorship continued until 1999, after which Mumm sponsored the sport for 15 years. Today, the champagne to be popped and sprayed is Chanson, in special bottles “coated in the same carbon fibre that F1 cars are made of” (Wheels24). Such an iconic status has the spraying gained that it features in practically all TV broadcasts concerning F1, although non-alcoholic substitute is used in countries where sale of alcohol is banned (Barker et al., “Quantifying”; Barker et al., “Alcohol”). As disturbing as the champagne spraying might look for a wine snob, it is perfectly in line with champagne’s marketing history and entrepreneurial spirit shown since the nineteenth century. Nor is it unheard of to let champagne spray. The “art” of sabrage, opening champagne bottle with a sable, associated with glamour, spectacle, and myth – its origin is attributed to Napoleon and his officers – is perfectly acceptable even for the snob. Sparkling champagne was always bound up with joy and celebration, not a solemn drink, and the champagne bubble was able to accommodate middle classes as well as aristocrats. This brings us to our second example, the British sitcom Absolutely Fabulous. The show, first released in 1992, featured two women, “Eddy” (Jennifer Saunders) and “Patsy” (Joanna Lumley), who spent their time happily smoking, taking drugs, and drinking large quantities of “Bolly” (among other things). Bollinger champagne may have initially experienced “a bit of a shock” for being thus addressed, but soon came to see the benefits of fame (French). In 2005, they hired PR support to make better use of the brand’s “Ab Fab” recognisability, and to improve its prestige reputation in order to justify their higher price range (Cann). Saunders and Lumley were warmly welcomed by the Bollinger house when filming for their champagne tour Absolutely Champers (2017). It is befitting indeed that such controversial fame came from the UK, the first country to discover sparkling champagne outside France (Simon 48), and where the aspirational middle classes were keen to consume it already in the nineteenth century (Harding). More controversial still is the case of Cristal (made by Louis Roederer) and the US rap world. Enthusiastically embraced by the “bling-bling” world of (black) rappers, champagne seems to fit their ethos well. Cristal was long favoured as both a drink and a word in rap lyrics. But in 2006, the newly appointed managing director at the family owned Roederer, Frédéric Rouzaud, made comments considered racist by many (Woodland). Rouzard told in an interview with The Economist that the house observed the Cristal-rap association “with curiosity and serenity”. He reportedly continued: “but what can we do? We can’t forbid people from buying it. I’m sure Dom Pérignon or Krug would be delighted to have their business”. It was indeed those two brands that the rapper Jay-Z replaced Cristal with, when calling for a boycott on Cristal. It would be easy to dismiss Rouzard’s comments as snobbery, or indeed as racism, but they merit some more reflection. Cristal is the premium wine of a house that otherwise does not enjoy high recognisability. While champagne’s history involves embracing new sorts of clientele, and marketing flexibly to as many consumer groups as possible (Rokka), this was the first spectacular crossing of racial boundaries. It was always the case that different houses and their different champagnes were targeted at different clienteles, and it is apparent that Cristal was not targeted at black rap artists. Whereas Bollinger was able to turn into a victory the questionable fame brought by the white middle-class association of Absolutely Fabulous, the more prestigious Cristal considered the attention of the black rapper world more threatening and acted accordingly. They sought to defend their own brand bubble, not the larger champagne bubble. Cristal’s reputation seems to have suffered little – its 2008 vintage, launched in 2018, was the most traded wine of that year (Schultz). Jay-Z’s purchase of his own champagne brand (Armand de Brignac, nicknamed Ace of Spades) has been less successful reputation-wise (Greenburg). It is difficult to break the champagne bubble, and it may be equally difficult to break into it. Conclusion In this article, I have looked into the various dilemmas the “bubble-makers” of Champagne encountered when fabricating what is today known as “champagne”. There have been moments of threat to the bubble they formed, such as in the turn of nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and eras of incomparable success, such as from the 1860s to 1880s. The discussion has demonstrated the remarkable flexibility with which the makers and defenders of champagne have responded to challenges, and dealt with material, socio-cultural, economic, and other problems. It feels appropriate to end with a note on the current challenge the champagne industry faces: Covid-19. The pandemic hit champagne sales exceptionally hard, leaving around 100 million bottles unsold (Micallef). This was not very surprising, given the closure of champagne-selling venues, banning of public and private celebrations, and a general mood not particularly prone to (or even likely to frown upon) such light-hearted matters as glamour and champagne. Champagne has survived many dramatic drops in sales during the twentieth century, such as the Great Depression of the 1930s, and the post-financial crisis collapse in 2009. Yet they seem to be able to make astonishing recoveries. Already, there are indicators that many people consumed more champagne during the festive end-of-year season than in previous years (Smithers). For the moment, it looks like the champagne bubble, despite its seeming fragility, is practically indestructible, no matter how much its elements may suffer under various pressures and challenges. References Barker, Alexander, Magdalena Opazo-Breton, Emily Thomson, John Britton, Bruce Granti-Braham, and Rachael L. Murray. “Quantifying Alcohol Audio-Visual Content in UK Broadcasts of the 2018 Formula 1 Championship: A Content Analysis and Population Exposure.” BMJ Open 10 (2020): e037035. <https://bmjopen.bmj.com/content/10/8/e037035>. Barker, Alexander B., John Britton, Bruce Grant-Braham, and Rachael L. Murray. “Alcohol Audio-Visual Content in Formula 1 Television Broadcasting.” BMC Public Health 18 (2018): 1155. <https://bmcpublichealth.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12889-018-6068-3>. Campbell, Christy. 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Abstract:

IntroductionIn 1802 George Howe (1769-1821), the recently appointed Government Printer, published Australia’s first book. The following year he established Australia’s first newspaper; an enterprise that ran counter to all the environmental factors of the day, including: 1) issues of logistics and a lack of appropriate equipment and basic materials to produce a regularly issued newspaper; 2) issues resulting from the very close supervision of production and the routine censorship by the Governor; and 3) issues associated with the colony’s primary purposes as a military outpost and as a penal settlement, creating conflicts between very different readerships. The Sydney Gazette was, critically for Howe, the only newspaper in the infant city for over two decades. Alternative voices would not enter the field of printed media until the 1820s and 1830s. This article briefly explores the birth of an Australian industry and looks at how a very modest newspaper overcame a range of serious challenges to ignite imaginations and lay a foundation for media empires.Government Printer The first book published in Australia was the New South Wales General Standing Orders and General Orders (1802), authorised by Governor Philip Gidley King for the purposes of providing a convenient, single-volume compilation of all Government Orders, issued in New South Wales, between 1791 and 1802. (As the Australian character has been described as “egalitarian, anti-authoritarian and irreverent” [D. Jones 690], it is fascinating that the nation’s first published book was a set of rules.) Prescribing law, order and regulation for the colony the index reveals the desires of those charged with the colony’s care and development, to contain various types of activities. The rules for convicts were, predictably, many. There were also multiple orders surrounding administration, animal husbandry as well as food stuffs and other stores. Some of the most striking headings in the index relate to crime. For example, in addition to headings pertaining to courts there are also headings for a broad range of offences from: “BAD Characters” to “OFFENSIVE Weapons – Again[s]t concealing” (i-xii). The young colony, still in its teenage years, was, for the short-term, very much working on survival and for the long-term developing ambitious plans for expansion and trade. It was clear though, through this volume, that there was no forgetting the colony of New South Wales was first, and foremost, a penal settlement which also served as a military outpost. Clear, too, was the fact that not all of those who were shipped out to the new colony were prepared to abandon their criminal careers which “did not necessarily stop with transportation” (Foyster 10). Containment and recidivism were matters of constant concern for the colony’s authorities. Colonial priorities could be seen in the fact that, when “Governor Arthur Phillip brought the first convicts (548 males and 188 females) to Port Jackson on 26 January 1788, he also brought a small press for printing orders, rules, and regulations” (Goff 103). The device lay dormant on arrival, a result of more immediate concerns to feed and house all those who made up the First Fleet. It would be several years before the press was pushed into sporadic service by the convict George Hughes for printing miscellaneous items including broadsides and playbills as well as for Government Orders (“Hughes, George” online). It was another convict (another man named George), convicted at the Warwick Assizes on March 1799 (Ferguson vi) then imprisoned and ultimately transported for shoplifting (Robb 15), who would transform the small hand press into an industry. Once under the hand of George Howe, who had served as a printer with several London newspapers including The Times (Sydney Gazette, “Never” 2) – the printing press was put to much more regular use. In these very humble circ*mstances, Australia’s great media tradition was born. Howe, as the Government Printer, transformed the press from a device dedicated to ephemera as well as various administrative matters into a crucial piece of equipment that produced the new colony’s first newspaper. Logistical Challenges Governor King, in the year following the appearance of the Standing Orders, authorised the publishing of Australia’s first newspaper, The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser. The publication history of The Sydney Gazette, in a reflection of some of the challenges faced by the printer, is erratic. First published on a Saturday from 5 March 1803, it quickly changed to a Sunday paper from 10 April 1803. Interestingly, Sunday “was not an approved day for the publication of newspapers, and although some English publishers had been doing so since about 1789, Sunday papers were generally frowned upon” (Robb 58). Yet, as argued by Howe a Sunday print run allowed for the inclusion of “the whole of the Ship News, and other Incidental Matter, for the preceeding week” (Sydney Gazette, “To the Public” 1).The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser Vol. 1, No. 1, 5 March 1803 (Front Page)Call Number DL F8/50, Digital ID a345001, State Library of New South WalesPublished weekly until 1825, then bi-weekly until 1827 before coming out tri-weekly until 20 October 1842 (Holden 14) there were some notable pauses in production. These included one in 1807 (Issue 214, 19 April-Issue 215, 7 June) and one in 1808-1809 (Issue 227, 30 August-Issue 228, 15 May) due to a lack of paper, with the latter pause coinciding with the Rum Rebellion and the end of William Bligh’s term as Governor of New South Wales (see: Karskens 186-88; Mundle 323-37). There was, too, a brief attempt at publishing as a daily from 1 January 1827 which lasted only until 10 February of that year when the title began to appear tri-weekly (Kirkpatrick online; Holden 14). There would be other pauses, including one of two weeks, shortly before the final issue was produced on 20 October 1842. There were many problems that beset The Sydney Gazette with paper shortages being especially challenging. Howe regularly advertised for: “any quantity” of Spanish paper (e.g.: Sydney Gazette, “Wanted to Purchase” 4) and needing to be satisfied “with a variety of size and colour” (P.M. Jones 39). In addition, the procurement of ink was so difficult in the colony, that Howe often resorted to making his own out of “charcoal, gum and shark oil” (P.M. Jones 39).The work itself was physically demanding and papers printed during this period, by hand, required a great deal of effort with approximately “250 sheets per hour … [the maximum] produced by a printer and his assistant” (Robb 8). The printing press itself was inadequate and the subject of occasional repairs (Sydney Gazette, “We Have” 2). Type was also a difficulty. As Gwenda Robb explains, traditionally six sets of an alphabet were supplied to a printer with extras for ‘a’, ‘e’, ‘r’ and ‘t’ as well as ‘s’. Without ample type Howe was required to improvise as can be seen in using a double ‘v’ to create a ‘w’ and an inverted ‘V’ to represent a capital ‘A’ (50, 106). These quirky work arounds, combined with the use of the long-form ‘s’ (‘∫’) for almost a full decade, can make The Sydney Gazette a difficult publication for modern readers to consume. Howe also “carried the financial burden” of the paper, dependent, as were London papers of the late eighteenth century, on advertising (Robb 68, 8). Howe also relied upon subscriptions for survival, with the collection of payments often difficult as seen in some subscribers being two years, or more, in arrears (e.g.: Sydney Gazette, “Sydney Gazette” 1; Ferguson viii; P.M. Jones 38). Governor Lachlan Macquarie granted Howe an annual salary, in 1811, of £60 (Byrnes 557-559) offering some relief, and stability, for the beleaguered printer.Gubernatorial Supervision Governor King wrote to Lord Hobart (then Secretary of State for War and the Colonies), on 9 May 1803: it being desirable that the settlers and inhabitants at large should be benefitted by useful information being dispersed among them, I considered that a weekly publication would greatly facilitate that design, for which purpose I gave permission to an ingenious man, who manages the Government printing press, to collect materials weekly, which, being inspected by an officer, is published in the form of a weekly newspaper, copies of which, as far as they have been published, I have the honor to enclose. (85)In the same letter, King wrote: “to the list of wants I have added a new fount of letters which may be procured for eight or ten pounds, sufficient for our purpose, if approved of” (85). King’s motivations were not purely altruistic. The population of the colony was growing in Sydney Cove and in the outlying districts, thus: “there was an increasing administrative need for information to be disseminated in a more accessible form than the printed handbills of government orders” (Robb 49). There was, however, a need for the administration to maintain control and the words “Published By Authority”, appearing on the paper’s masthead, were a constant reminder to the printer that The Sydney Gazette was “under the censorship of the Secretary to the Governor, who examined all proofs” (Ferguson viii). The high level of supervision, worked in concert with the logistical difficulties described above, ensured the newspaper was a source of great strain and stress. All for the meagre reward of “6d per copy” (Ferguson viii). This does not diminish Howe’s achievement in establishing a newspaper, an accomplishment outlined, with some pride, in an address printed on the first page of the first issue:innumerable as the Obstacles were which threatened to oppose our Undertaking, yet we are happy to affirm that they were not insurmountable, however difficult the task before us.The utility of a PAPER in the COLONY, as it must open a source of solid information, will, we hope, be universally felt and acknowledged. (Sydney Gazette, “Address” 1)Howe carefully kept his word and he “wrote nothing like a signature editorial column, nor did he venture his personal opinions, conscious always of the powers of colonial officials” (Robb 72). An approach to reportage he passed to his eldest son and long-term assistant, Robert (1795-1829), who later claimed The Sydney Gazette “reconciled in one sheet the merits of the London Gazette in upholding the Government and the London Times in defending the people” (Walker 10). The censorship imposed on The Sydney Gazette, by the Governor, was lifted in 1824 (P.M. Jones 40), when the Australian was first published without permission: Governor Thomas Brisbane did not intervene in the new enterprise. The appearance of unauthorised competition allowed Robert Howe to lobby for the removal of all censorship restrictions on The Sydney Gazette, though he was careful to cite “greater dispatch and earlier publication, not greater freedom of expression, as the expected benefit” (Walker 6). The sudden freedom was celebrated, and still appreciated many years after it was given:the Freedom of the Press has now been in existence amongst us on the verge of four years. In October 1824, we addressed a letter to the Colonial Government, fervently entreating that those shackles, under which the Press had long laboured, might be removed. Our prayer was attended to, and the Sydney Gazette, feeling itself suddenly introduced to a new state of existence, demonstrated to the Colonists the capabilities that ever must flow from the spontaneous exertions of Constitutional Liberty. (Sydney Gazette, “Freedom” 2)Early Readerships From the outset, George Howe presented a professional publication. The Sydney Gazette was formatted into three columns with the front page displaying a formal masthead featuring a scene of Sydney and the motto “Thus We Hope to Prosper”. Gwenda Robb argues the woodcut, the first produced in the colony, was carved by John W. Lewin who “had plenty of engraving skills” and had “returned to Sydney [from a voyage to Tahiti] in December 1802” (51) while Roger Butler has suggested that “circ*mstances point to John Austin who arrived in Sydney in 1800” as being the engraver (91). The printed text was as vital as the visual supports and every effort was made to present full accounts of colonial activities. “As well as shipping and court news, there were agricultural reports, religious homilies, literary extracts and even original poetry written by Howe himself” (Blair 450). These items, of course, sitting alongside key Government communications including General Orders and Proclamations.Howe’s language has been referred to as “florid” (Robb 52), “authoritative and yet filled with deference for all authority, pompous in a stiff, affected eighteenth century fashion” (Green 10) and so “some of Howe’s readers found the Sydney Gazette rather dull” (Blair 450). Regardless of any feelings towards authorial style, circulation – without an alternative – steadily increased with the first print run in 1802 being around 100 copies but by “the early 1820s, the newspaper’s production had grown to 300 or 400 copies” (Blair 450).In a reflection of the increasing sophistication of the Sydney-based reader, George Howe, and Robert Howe, would also publish some significant, stand-alone, texts. These included several firsts: the first natural history book printed in the colony, Birds of New South Wales with their Natural History (1813) by John W. Lewin (praised as a text “printed with an elegant and classical simplicity which makes it the highest typographical achievement of George Howe” [Wantrup 278]); the first collection of poetry published in the colony First Fruits of Australian Poetry (1819) by Barron Field; the first collection of poetry written by a Australian-born author, Wild Notes from the Lyre of a Native Minstrel (1826) by Charles Tompson; and the first children’s book A Mother’s Offering to Her Children: By a Lady, Long Resident in New South Wales (1841) by Charlotte Barton. The small concern also published mundane items such as almanacs and receipt books for the Bank of New South Wales (Robb 63, 72). All against the backdrop of printing a newspaper.New Voices The Sydney Gazette was Australia’s first newspaper and, critically for Howe, the only newspaper for over two decades. (A second paper appeared in 1810 but the Derwent Star and Van Diemen’s Land Intelligencer, which only managed twelve issues, presented no threat to The Sydney Gazette.) No genuine, local rival entered the field until 1824, when the Australian was founded by barristers William Charles Wentworth and Robert Wardell. The Monitor debuted in 1826, followed the Sydney Herald in 1831 and the Colonist in 1835 (P.M. Jones 38). It was the second title, the Australian, with a policy that asserted articles to be: “Independent, yet consistent – free, yet not licentious – equally unmoved by favours and by fear” (Walker 6), radically changed the newspaper landscape. The new paper made “a strong point of its independence from government control” triggering a period in which colonial newspapers “became enmeshed with local politics” (Blair 451). This new age of opinion reflected how fast the colony was evolving from an antipodean gaol into a complex society. Also, two papers, without censorship restrictions, without registration, stamp duties or advertisem*nt duties meant, as pointed out by R.B. Walker, that “in point of law the Press in the remote gaol of exile was now freer than in the country of origin” (6). An outcome George Howe could not have predicted as he made the long journey, as a convict, to New South Wales. Of the early competitors, the only one that survives is the Sydney Herald (The Sydney Morning Herald from 1842), which – founded by immigrants Alfred Stephens, Frederick Stokes and William McGarvie – claims the title of Australia’s oldest continuously published newspaper (Isaacs and Kirkpatrick 4-5). That such a small population, with so many pressing issues, factions and political machinations, could support a first newspaper, then competitors, is a testament to the high regard, with which newspaper reportage was held. Another intruder would be The Government Gazette. Containing only orders and notices in the style of the London Gazette (McLeay 1), lacking any news items or private advertisem*nts (Walker 19), it was first issued on 7 March 1832 (and continues, in an online format, today). Of course, Government orders and other notices had news value and newspaper proprietors could bid for exclusive rights to produce these notices until a new Government Printer was appointed in 1841 (Walker 20).Conclusion George Howe, an advocate of “reason and common sense” died in 1821 placing The Sydney Gazette in the hands of his son who “fostered religion” (Byrnes 557-559). Robert Howe, served as editor, experiencing firsthand the perils and stresses of publishing, until he drowned in a boating accident in Sydney Harbour, in 1829 leaving the paper to his widow Ann Howe (Blair 450-51). The newspaper would become increasingly political leading to controversy and financial instability; after more changes in ownership and in editorial responsibility, The Sydney Gazette, after almost four decades of delivering the news – as a sole voice and then as one of several alternative voices – ceased publication in 1842. During a life littered with personal tragedy, George Howe laid the foundation stone for Australia’s media empires. His efforts, in extraordinary circ*mstances and against all environmental indicators, serve as inspiration to newspapers editors, proprietors and readers across the country. He established the Australian press, an institution that has been described asa profession, an art, a craft, a business, a quasi-public, privately owned institution. It is full of grandeurs and faults, sublimities and pettinesses. It is courageous and timid. It is fallible. It is indispensable to the successful on-going of a free people. (Holden 15)George Howe also created an artefact of great beauty. The attributes of The Sydney Gazette are listed, in a perfunctory manner, in most discussions of the newspaper’s history. The size of the paper. The number of columns. The masthead. The changes seen across 4,503 issues. Yet, consistently overlooked, is how, as an object, the newspaper is an exquisite example of the printed word. There is a physicality to the paper that is in sharp contrast to contemporary examples of broadsides, tabloids and online publications. Concurrently fragile and robust: its translucent sheets and mottled print revealing, starkly, the problems with paper and ink; yet it survives, in several collections, over two centuries since the first issue was produced. The elegant layout, the glow of the paper, the subtle crackling sound as the pages are turned. The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser is an astonishing example of innovation and perseverance. It provides essential insights into Australia’s colonial era. It is a metonym for making words matter. AcknowledgementsThe author offers her sincere thanks to Geoff Barker, Simon Dwyer and Peter Kirkpatrick for their comments on an early draft of this paper. The author is also grateful to Bridget Griffen-Foley for engaging in many conversations about Australian newspapers. ReferencesBlair, S.J. “Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser.” A Companion to the Australian Media. Ed. Bridget Griffen-Foley. North Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2014.Butler, Roger. Printed Images in Colonial Australia 1801-1901. Canberra: National Gallery of Australia, 2007.Byrnes, J.V. “Howe, George (1769–1821).” Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography: 1788–1850, A–H. Canberra: Australian National University, 1966. 557-559. Ferguson, J.A. “Introduction.” The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser: A Facsimile Reproduction of Volume One, March 5, 1803 to February 26, 1804. Sydney: The Trustees of the Public Library of New South Wales in Association with Angus & Robertson, 1963. v-x. Foyster, Elizabeth. “Introduction: Newspaper Reporting of Crime and Justice.” Continuity and Change 22.1 (2007): 9-12.Goff, Victoria. “Convicts and Clerics: Their Roles in the Infancy of the Press in Sydney, 1803-1840.” Media History 4.2 (1998): 101-120.Green, H.M. “Australia’s First Newspaper.” Sydney Morning Herald, 11 Apr. 1935: 10.Holden, W. Sprague. Australia Goes to Press. Detroit: Wayne State UP, 1961. “Hughes, George (?–?).” Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography: 1788–1850, A–H. Canberra: Australian National University, 1966. 562. Isaacs, Victor, and Rod Kirkpatrick. Two Hundred Years of Sydney Newspapers. Richmond: Rural Press, 2003. Jones, Dorothy. “Humour and Satire (Australia).” Encyclopedia of Post-Colonial Literatures in English. 2nd ed. Eds. Eugene Benson and L.W. Conolly. London: Routledge, 2005. 690-692.Jones, Phyllis Mander. “Australia’s First Newspaper.” Meanjin 12.1 (1953): 35-46. Karskens, Grace. The Colony: A History of Early Sydney. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2010. King, Philip Gidley. “Letter to Lord Hobart, 9 May 1803.” Historical Records of Australia, Series 1, Governors’ Despatches to and from England, Volume IV, 1803-1804. Ed. Frederick Watson. Sydney: Library Committee of the Commonwealth Parliament, 1915.Kirkpatrick, Rod. Press Timeline: 1802 – 1850. Canberra: National Library of Australia, 2011. 6 Jan. 2017 <https://www.nla.gov.au/content/press-timeline-1802-1850>. McLeay, Alexander. “Government Notice.” The New South Wales Government Gazette 1 (1832): 1. Mundle, R. Bligh: Master Mariner. Sydney: Hachette, 2016.New South Wales General Standing Orders and General Orders: Selected from the General Orders Issued by Former Governors, from the 16th of February, 1791, to the 6th of September, 1800. Also, General Orders Issued by Governor King, from the 28th of September, 1800, to the 30th of September, 1802. Sydney: Government Press, 1802. Robb, Gwenda. George Howe: Australia’s First Publisher. Kew: Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2003.Spalding, D.A. Collecting Australian Books: Notes for Beginners. 1981. Mawson: D.A. Spalding, 1982. The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser. “Address.” 5 Mar. 1803: 1.———. “To the Public.” 2 Apr. 1803: 1.———. “Wanted to Purchase.” 26 June 1803: 4.———. “We Have the Satisfaction to Inform Our Readers.” 3 Nov. 1810: 2. ———. “Sydney Gazette.” 25 Dec. 1819: 1. ———. “The Freedom of the Press.” 29 Feb. 1828: 2.———. “Never Did a More Painful Task Devolve upon a Public Writer.” 3 Feb. 1829: 2. Walker, R.B. The Newspaper Press in New South Wales, 1803-1920. Sydney: Sydney UP, 1976.Wantrup, Johnathan. Australian Rare Books: 1788-1900. Sydney: Hordern House, 1987.

Abstract:

For the past twenty years, academics and other social commentators have, by and large, shared the view that the phase of modernity through which we are currently passing is defined by two interrelated catalysts of change: the physical movement of people and the virtual movement of information around the globe. As we enter the second decade of the new millennium, it is certainly a timely moment to reflect upon the ways in which the prognoses of the scholars and scientists writing in the late twentieth century have come to pass, especially since—during the time this special issue has been in press—the revolutions that are gathering pace in the Arab world appear to be realising the theoretical prediction that the ever-increasing “flows” of people and information would ultimately bring about the end of the nation-state and herald an era of transnationalism (Appadurai, Urry). For writers like Arjun Appadurai, moreover, the concept of diaspora was key to grasping how this new world order would take shape, and how it would operate: Diasporic public spheres, diverse amongst themselves, are the crucibles of a postnational political order. The engines of their discourse are mass media (both interactive and expressive) and the movement of refugees, activists, students, laborers. It may be that the emergent postnational order proves not to be a system of hom*ogeneous units (as with the current system of nation-states) but a system based on relations between heterogeneous units (some social movements, some interest groups, some professional bodies, some non-governmental organizations, some armed constabularies, some judicial bodies) ... In the short run, as we can see already, it is likely to be a world of increased incivility and violence. In the longer run, free from the constraints of the nation form, we may find that cultural freedom and sustainable justice in the world do not presuppose the uniform and general existence of the nation-state. This unsettling possibility could be the most exciting dividend of living in modernity at large. (23) In this editorial, we would like to return to the “here and now” of the late 1990s in which theorists like Arjun Appaduri, Ulrich Beck, John Urry, Zygmunt Bauman, Robert Robertson and others were “imagining” the consequences of both globalisation and glocalisation for the twenty-first century in order that we may better assess what is, indeed, coming to pass. While most of their prognoses for this “second modernity” have proven remarkably accurate, it is their—self-confessed—inability to forecast either the nature or the extent of the digital revolution that most vividly captures the distance between the mid-1990s and now; and it is precisely the consequences of this extraordinary technological revolution on the twin concepts of “glocality” and “diaspora” that the research featured in this special issue seeks to capture. Glocal Imaginaries Appadurai’s endeavours to show how globalisation was rapidly making itself felt as a “structure of feeling” (Williams in Appadurai 189) as well as a material “fact” was also implicit in our conceptualisation of the conference, “Glocal Imaginaries: Writing/Migration/Place,” which gave rise to this special issue. This conference, which was the culmination of the AHRC-funded project “Moving Manchester: Literature/Migration/Place (2006-10)”, constituted a unique opportunity to gain an international, cross-disciplinary perspective on urgent and topical debates concerning mobility and migration in the early twenty-first century and the strand “Networked Diasporas” was one of the best represented on the program. Attracting papers on broadcast media as well as the new digital technologies, the strand was strikingly international in terms of the speakers’ countries of origin, as is this special issue which brings together research from six European countries, Australia and the Indian subcontinent. The “case-studies” represented in these articles may therefore be seen to constitute something of a “state-of-the-art” snapshot of how Appadurai’s “glocal imaginary” is being lived out across the globe in the early years of the twenty-first century. In this respect, the collection proves that his hunch with regards to the signal importance of the “mass-media” in redefining our spatial and temporal coordinates of being and belonging was correct: The third and final factor to be addressed here is the role of the mass-media, especially in its electronic forms, in creating new sorts of disjuncture between spatial and virtual neighborhoods. This disjuncture has both utopian and dystopian potentials, and there is no easy way to tell how these may play themselves out in the future of the production of locality. (194) The articles collected here certainly do serve as testament to the “bewildering plethora of changes in ... media environments” (195) that Appadurai envisaged, and yet it can clearly also be argued that this agent of glocalisation has not yet brought about the demise of the nation-state in the way (or at the speed) that many commentators predicted. Digital Diasporas in a Transnational World Reviewing the work of the leading social science theorists working in the field during the late 1990s, it quickly becomes evident that: (a) the belief that globalisation presented a threat to the nation-state was widely held; and (b) that the “jury” was undecided as to whether this would prove a good or bad thing in the years to come. While the commentators concerned did their best to complexify both their analysis of the present and their view of the future, it is interesting to observe, in retrospect, how the rhetoric of both utopia and dystopia invaded their discourse in almost equal measure. We have already seen how Appadurai, in his 1996 publication, Modernity at Large, looks beyond the “increased incivility and violence” of the “short term” to a world “free from the constraints of the nation form,” while Roger Bromley, following Agamben and Deleuze as well as Appadurai, typifies a generation of literary and cultural critics who have paid tribute to the way in which the arts (and, in particular, storytelling) have enabled subjects to break free from their national (af)filiations (Pearce, Devolving 17) and discover new “de-territorialised” (Deleuze and Guattari) modes of being and belonging. Alongside this “hope,” however, the forces and agents of globalisation were also regarded with a good deal of suspicion and fear, as is evidenced in Ulrich Beck’s What is Globalization? In his overview of the theorists who were then perceived to be leading the debate, Beck draws distinctions between what was perceived to be the “engine” of globalisation (31), but is clearly most exercised by the manner in which the transformation has taken shape: Without a revolution, without even any change in laws or constitutions, an attack has been launched “in the normal course of business”, as it were, upon the material lifelines of modern national societies. First, the transnational corporations are to export jobs to parts of the world where labour costs and workplace obligations are lowest. Second, the computer-generation of worldwide proximity enables them to break down and disperse goods and services, and produce them through a division of labour in different parts of the world, so that national and corporate labels inevitably become illusory. (3; italics in the original) Beck’s concern is clearly that all these changes have taken place without the nation-states of the world being directly involved in any way: transnational corporations began to take advantage of the new “mobility” available to them without having to secure the agreement of any government (“Companies can produce in one country, pay taxes in another and demand state infrastructural spending in yet another”; 4-5); the export of the labour market through the use of digital communications (stereotypically, call centres in India) was similarly unregulated; and the world economy, as a consequence, was in the process of becoming detached from the processes of either production or consumption (“capitalism without labour”; 5-7). Vis-à-vis the dystopian endgame of this effective “bypassing” of the nation-state, Beck is especially troubled about the fate of the human rights legislation that nation-states around the world have developed, with immense effort and over time (e.g. employment law, trade unions, universal welfare provision) and cites Zygmunt Bauman’s caution that globalisation will, at worst, result in widespread “global wealth” and “local poverty” (31). Further, he ends his book with a fully apocalyptic vision, “the Brazilianization of Europe” (161-3), which unapologetically calls upon the conventions of science fiction to imagine a worst-case scenario for a Europe without nations. While fourteen or fifteen years is evidently not enough time to put Beck’s prognosis to the test, most readers would probably agree that we are still some way away from such a Europe. Although the material wealth and presence of the transnational corporations strikes a chord, especially if we include the world banks and finance organisations in their number, the financial crisis that has rocked the world for the past three years, along with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the ascendancy of Al-Qaida (all things yet to happen when Beck was writing in 1997), has arguably resulted in the nations of Europe reinforcing their (respective and collective) legal, fiscal, and political might through rigorous new policing of their physical borders and regulation of their citizens through “austerity measures” of an order not seen since World War Two. In other words, while the processes of globalisation have clearly been instrumental in creating the financial crisis that Europe is presently grappling with and does, indeed, expose the extent to which the world economy now operates outside the control of the nation-state, the nation-state still exists very palpably for all its citizens (whether permanent or migrant) as an agent of control, welfare, and social justice. This may, indeed, cause us to conclude that Bauman’s vision of a world in which globalisation would make itself felt very differently for some groups than others came closest to what is taking shape: true, the transnationals have seized significant political and economic power from the nation-state, but this has not meant the end of the nation-state; rather, the change is being experienced as a re-trenching of whatever power the nation-state still has (and this, of course, is considerable) over its citizens in their “local”, everyday lives (Bauman 55). If we now turn to the portrait of Europe painted by the articles that constitute this special issue, we see further evidence of transglobal processes and practices operating in a realm oblivious to local (including national) concerns. While our authors are generally more concerned with the flows of information and “identity” than business or finance (Appaduri’s “ethnoscapes,” “technoscapes,” and “ideoscapes”: 33-7), there is the same impression that this “circulation” (Latour) is effectively bypassing the state at one level (the virtual), whilst remaining very materially bound by it at another. In other words, and following Bauman, we would suggest that it is quite possible for contemporary subjects to be both the agents and subjects of globalisation: a paradox that, as we shall go on to demonstrate, is given particularly vivid expression in the case of diasporic and/or migrant peoples who may be able to bypass the state in the manufacture of their “virtual” identities/communities) but who (Cohen) remain very much its subjects (or, indeed, “non-subjects”) when attempting movement in the material realm. Two of the articles in the collection (Leurs & Ponzanesi and Marcheva) deal directly with the exponential growth of “digital diasporas” (sometimes referred to as “e-diasporas”) since the inception of Facebook in 2004, and both provide specific illustrations of the way in which the nation-state both has, and has not, been transcended. First, it quickly becomes clear that for the (largely) “youthful” (Leurs & Ponzanesi) participants of nationally inscribed networking sites (e.g. “discovernikkei” (Japan), “Hyves” (Netherlands), “Bulgarians in the UK” (Bulgaria)), shared national identity is a means and not an end. In other words, although the participants of these sites might share in and actively produce a fond and nostalgic image of their “homeland” (Marcheva), they are rarely concerned with it as a material or political entity and an expression of their national identities is rapidly supplemented by the sharing of other (global) identity markers. Leurs & Ponzanesi invoke Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of the “rhizome” to describe the way in which social networkers “weave” a “rhizomatic path” to identity, gradually accumulating a hybrid set of affiliations. Indeed, the extent to which the “nation” disappears on such sites can be remarkable as was also observed in our investigation of the digital storytelling site, “Capture Wales” (BBC) (Pearce, "Writing"). Although this BBC site was set up to capture the voices of the Welsh nation in the early twenty-first century through a collection of (largely) autobiographical stories, very few of the participants mention either Wales or their “Welshness” in the stories that they tell. Further, where the “home” nation is (re)imagined, it is generally in an idealised, or highly personalised, form (e.g. stories about one’s own family) or through a sharing of (perceived and actual) cultural idiosyncrasies (Marcheva on “You know you’re a Bulgarian when …”) rather than an engagement with the nation-state per se. As Leurs & Ponzanesi observe: “We can see how the importance of the nation-state gets obscured as diasporic youth, through cultural hybridisation of youth culture and ethnic ties initiate subcultures and offer resistance to mainstream cultural forms.” Both the articles just discussed also note the shading of the “national” into the “transnational” on the social networking sites they discuss, and “transnationalism”—in the sense of many different nations and their diasporas being united through a common interest or cause—is also a focus of Pikner’s article on “collective actions” in Europe (notably, “EuroMayDay” and “My Estonia”) and Harb’s highly topical account of the role of both broadcast media (principally, Al-Jazeera) and social media in the revolutions and uprisings currently sweeping through the Arab world (spring 2011). On this point, it should be noted that Harb identifies this as the moment when Facebook’s erstwhile predominantly social function was displaced by a manifestly political one. From this we must conclude that both transnationalism and social media sites can be put to very different ends: while young people in relatively privileged democratic countries might embrace transnationalism as an expression of their desire to “rise above” national politics, the youth of the Arab world have engaged it as a means of generating solidarity for nationalist insurgency and liberation. Another instance of “g/local” digital solidarity exceeding national borders is to be found in Johanna Sumiala’s article on the circulatory power of the Internet in the Kauhajoki school shooting which took place Finland in 2008. As well as using the Internet to “stage manage” his rampage, the Kauhajoki shooter (whose name the author chose to withhold for ethical reasons) was subsequently found to have been a member of numerous Web-based “hate groups”, many of them originating in the United States and, as a consequence, may be understood to have committed his crime on behalf of a transnational community: what Sumiala has defined as a “networked community of destruction.” It must also be noted, however, that the school shootings were experienced as a very local tragedy in Finland itself and, although the shooter may have been psychically located in a transnational hyper-reality when he undertook the killings, it is his nation-state that has had to deal with the trauma and shame in the long term. Woodward and Brown & Rutherford, meanwhile, show that it remains the tendency of public broadcast media to uphold the raison d’être of the nation-state at the same time as embracing change. Woodward’s feature article (which reports on the AHRC-sponsored “Tuning In” project which has researched the BBC World Service) shows how the representation of national and diasporic “voices” from around the world, either in opposition to or in dialogue with the BBC’s own reporting, is key to the way in which the Commission has changed and modernised in recent times; however, she is also clear that many of the objectives that defined the service in its early days—such as its commitment to a distinctly “English” brand of education—still remain. Similarly, Brown & Rutherford’s article on the innovative Australian ABC children’s television series, My Place (which has combined traditional broadcasting with online, interactive websites) may be seen to be positively promoting the Australian nation by making visible its commitment to multiculturalism. Both articles nevertheless reveal the extent to which these public service broadcasters have recognised the need to respond to their nations’ changing demographics and, in particular, the fact that “diaspora” is a concept that refers not only to their English and Australian audiences abroad but also to their now manifestly multicultural audiences at home. When it comes to commercial satellite television, however, the relationship between broadcasting and national and global politics is rather harder to pin down. Subramanian exposes a complex interplay of national and global interests through her analysis of the Malayalee “reality television” series, Idea Star Singer. Exported globally to the Indian diaspora, the show is shamelessly exploitative in the way in which it combines residual and emergent ideologies (i.e. nostalgia for a traditional Keralayan way of life vs aspirational “western lifestyles”) in pursuit of its (massive) audience ratings. Further, while the ISS series is ostensibly a g/local phenomenon (the export of Kerala to the rest of the world rather than “India” per se), Subramanian passionately laments all the progressive national initiatives (most notably, the campaign for “women’s rights”) that the show is happy to ignore: an illustration of one of the negative consequences of globalisation predicted by Beck (31) noted at the start of this editorial. Harb, meanwhile, reflects upon a rather different set of political concerns with regards to commercial satellite broadcasting in her account of the role of Al-Jazeera and Al Arabiya in the recent (2011) Arab revolutions. Despite Al-Jazeera’s reputation for “two-sided” news coverage, recent events have exposed its complicity with the Qatari government; further, the uprisings have revealed the speed with which social media—in particular Facebook and Twitter—are replacing broadcast media. It is now possible for “the people” to bypass both governments and news corporations (public and private) in relaying the news. Taken together, then, what our articles would seem to indicate is that, while the power of the nation-state has notionally been transcended via a range of new networking practices, this has yet to undermine its material power in any guaranteed way (witness recent counter-insurgencies in Libya, Bahrain, and Syria).True, the Internet may be used to facilitate transnational “actions” against the nation-state (individual or collective) through a variety of non-violent or violent actions, but nation-states around the world, and especially in Western Europe, are currently wielding immense power over their subjects through aggressive “austerity measures” which have the capacity to severely compromise the freedom and agency of the citizens concerned through widespread unemployment and cuts in social welfare provision. This said, several of our articles provide evidence that Appadurai’s more utopian prognoses are also taking shape. Alongside the troubling possibility that globalisation, and the technologies that support it, is effectively eroding “difference” (be this national or individual), there are the ever-increasing (and widely reported) instances of how digital technology is actively supporting local communities and actions around the world in ways that bypass the state. These range from the relatively modest collective action, “My Estonia”, featured in Pikner’s article, to the ways in which the Libyan diaspora in Manchester have made use of social media to publicise and support public protests in Tripoli (Harb). In other words, there is compelling material evidence that the heterogeneity that Appadurai predicted and hoped for has come to pass through the people’s active participation in (and partial ownership of) media practices. Citizens are now able to “interfere” in the representation of their lives as never before and, through the digital revolution, communicate with one another in ways that circumvent state-controlled broadcasting. We are therefore pleased to present the articles that follow as a lively, interdisciplinary and international “state-of-the-art” commentary on how the ongoing revolution in media and communication is responding to, and bringing into being, the processes and practices of globalisation predicted by Appadurai, Beck, Bauman, and others in the 1990s. The articles also speak to the changing nature of the world’s “diasporas” during this fifteen year time frame (1996-2011) and, we trust, will activate further debate (following Cohen) on the conceptual tensions that now manifestly exist between “virtual” and “material” diasporas and also between the “transnational” diasporas whose objective is to transcend the nation-state altogether and those that deploy social media for specifically local or national/ist ends. Acknowledgements With thanks to the Arts and Humanities Research Council (UK) for their generous funding of the “Moving Manchester” project (2006-10). Special thanks to Dr Kate Horsley (Lancaster University) for her invaluable assistance as ‘Web Editor’ in the production of this special issue (we could not have managed without you!) and also to Gail Ferguson (our copy-editor) for her expertise in the preparation of the final typescript. References Appadurai, Arjun. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalisation. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. Bauman, Zygmunt. Globalization. Cambridge: Polity, 1998. Beck, Ulrich. What is Globalization? Trans. Patrick Camiller. Cambridge: Polity, 2000 (1997). Bromley, Roger. Narratives for a New Belonging: Diasporic Cultural Fictions. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2000. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas. 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge, 2008. Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1987. Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network Theory. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1995. Pearce, Lynne, ed. Devolving Identities: Feminist Readings in Home and Belonging. London: Ashgate, 2000. Pearce, Lynne. “‘Writing’ and ‘Region’ in the Twenty-First Century: Epistemological Reflections on Regionally Located Art and Literature in the Wake of the Digital Revolution.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 13.1 (2010): 27-41. Robertson, Robert. Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage, 1992. Urry, John. Sociology beyond Societies. London: Routledge, 1999. Williams, Raymond. Dream Worlds: Mass Consumption in Late Nineteenth-Century France. Berkeley: U of California P, 1982.

Abstract:

Probably the most (in)famous Australian teenager of recent times, now-17-year-old Kim Duthie—better known as the “St Kilda Schoolgirl”—first came to public attention when she posted naked pictures of two prominent St Kilda Australian Football League (AFL) players on Facebook. She claimed to be seeking revenge on the players’ teammate for getting her pregnant. This turned out to be a lie. Duthie also claimed that 47-year-old football manager Ricky Nixon gave her drugs and had sex with her. She then said this was a lie, then that she lied about lying. That she lied at least twice is clear, and in doing so, she arguably reinforced the pervasive myth that women are prone to lie about rape and sexual abuse. Precisely what occurred, and why Duthie posted the naked photographs will probably never be known. However, it seems clear that Duthie felt herself wronged. Can she therefore be held entirely to blame for the way she went about seeking redress from a group of men with infinitely more power than she—socially, financially and (in terms of the priority given to elite football in Australian society) culturally? The many judgements passed on Duthie’s behaviour in the media highlight the crucial, seldom-discussed issue of how problematic behaviour on the part of women might reinforce patriarchal norms. This is a particularly sensitive issue in the context of a spate of alleged sexual assaults committed by elite Australian footballers over the past decade. Given that representations of alleged rape cases in the media and elsewhere so often position women as blameworthy for their own mistreatment and abuse, the question of whether or not women can and should be held accountable in certain situations is particularly fraught. By exploring media representations of one of these complex scenarios, we consider how the issue of “complicity” might be understood in a rape culture. In doing so, we employ Auschwitz survivor Primo Levi’s highly influential concept of the “grey zone,” which signifies a complex and ambiguous realm that challenges both judgement and representation. Primo Levi’s “Grey Zone,” Patriarchy and the Problem of Judgement In his essay titled “The Grey Zone” (published in 1986), Levi is chiefly concerned with Jewish prisoners in the Nazi-controlled camps and ghettos who obtained “privileged” positions in order to prolong their survival. Reflecting on the inherently complex power relations in such extreme settings, Levi positions the “grey zone” as a metaphor for moral ambiguity: a realm with “ill-defined outlines which both separate and join the two camps of masters and servants. [The ‘grey zone’] possesses an incredibly complicated internal structure, and contains within itself enough to confuse our need to judge” (27). According to Levi, an examination of the scenarios and experiences that gave rise to the “grey zone” requires a rejection of the black-and-white binary opposition(s) of “friend” and “enemy,” “good” and “evil.” While Levi unequivocally holds the perpetrators of the Holocaust responsible for their actions, he warns that one should suspend judgement of victims who were entrapped in situations of moral ambiguity and “compromise.” However, recent scholarship on the representation of “privileged” Jews in Levi’s writings and elsewhere has identified a “paradox of judgement”: namely, that even if moral judgements of victims in extreme situations should be suspended, such judgements are inherent in the act of representation, and are therefore inevitable (see Brown). While the historical specificity of Levi’s reflections must be kept in mind, the corruptive influences of power at the core of the “grey zone”—along with the associated problems of judgement and representation—are clearly far more prevalent in human nature and experience than the Holocaust alone. Levi’s “grey zone” has been appropriated by scholars in the fields of Holocaust studies (Petropoulos and Roth xv-xviii), philosophy (Todorov 262), law (Luban 161–76), history (Cole 248–49), theology (Roth 53–54), and popular culture (Cheyette 226–38). Significantly, Claudia Card (The Atrocity Paradigm, “Groping through Gray Zones” 3–26) has recently applied Levi’s concept to the field of feminist philosophy. Indeed, Levi’s questioning of whether or not one can—or should—pass judgement on the behaviour of Holocaust victims has considerable relevance to the divisive issue of how women’s involvement in/with patriarchy is represented in the media. Expanding or intentionally departing from Levi’s ideas, many recent interpretations of the “grey zone” often misunderstand the historical specificity of Levi’s reflections. For instance, while applying Levi’s concept to the effects of patriarchy and domestic violence on women, Lynne Arnault makes the problematic statement that “in order to establish the cruelty and seriousness of male violence against women as women, feminists must demonstrate that the experiences of victims of incest, rape, and battering are comparable to those of war veterans, prisoners of war, political prisoners, and concentration camp inmates” (183, n.9). It is important to stress here that it is not our intention to make direct parallels between the Holocaust and patriarchy, or between “privileged” Jews and women (potentially) implicated in a rape culture, but to explore the complexity of power relations in society, what behaviour eventuates from these, and—most crucial to our discussion here—how such behaviour is handled in the mass media. Aware of the problem of making controversial (and unnecessary) comparisons, Card (“Women, Evil, and Gray Zones” 515) rightly stresses that her aim is “not to compare suffering or even degrees of evil but to note patterns in the moral complexity of choices and judgments of responsibility.” Card uses the notion of the “Stockholm Syndrome,” citing numerous examples of women identifying with their torturers after having been abused or held hostage over a prolonged period of time—most (in)famously, Patricia Hearst. While the medical establishment has responded to cases of women “suffering” from “Stockholm Syndrome” by absolving them from any moral responsibility, Card writes that “we may have a morally gray area in some cases, where there is real danger of becoming complicit in evildoing and where the captive’s responsibility is better described as problematic than as nonexistent” (“Women, Evil, and Gray Zones” 511). Like Levi, Card emphasises that issues of individual agency and moral responsibility are far from clear-cut. At the same time, a full awareness of the oppressive environment—in the context that this paper is concerned with, a patriarchal social system—must be accounted for. Importantly, the examples Card uses differ significantly from the issue of whether or not some women can be considered “complicit” in a rape culture; nevertheless, similar obstacles to understanding problematic situations exist here, too. In the context of a rape culture, can women become, to use Card’s phrase, “instruments of oppression”? And if so, how is their controversial behaviour to be understood and represented? Crucially, Levi’s reflections on the “grey zone” were primarily motivated by his concern that most historical and filmic representations “trivialised” the complexity of victim experiences by passing simplistic judgements. Likewise, the representation of sexual assault cases in the Australian mass media has often left much to be desired. Representing Sexual Assault: Australian Football and the Media A growing literature has critiqued the sexual culture of elite football in Australia—one in which women are reportedly treated with disdain, positioned as objects to be used and discarded. At least 20 distinct cases, involving more than 55 players and staff, have been reported in the media, with the majority of these incidents involving multiple players. Reports indicate that such group sexual encounters are commonplace for footballers, and the women who participate in sexual practices are commonly judged, even in the sports scholarship, as “groupies” and “slu*ts” who are therefore responsible for anything that happens to them, including rape (Waterhouse-Watson, “Playing Defence” 114–15; “(Un)reasonable Doubt”). When the issue of footballers and sexual assault was first debated in the Australian media in 2004, football insiders from both Australian rules and rugby league told the media of a culture of group sex and sexual behaviour that is degrading to women, even when consensual (Barry; Khadem and Nancarrow 4; Smith 1; Weidler 4). The sexual “culture” is marked by a discourse of abuse and objectification, in which women are cast as “meat” or a “bun.” Group sex is also increasingly referred to as “chop up,” which codes the practice itself as an act of violence. It has been argued elsewhere that footballers treating women as sexual objects is effectively condoned through the mass media (Waterhouse-Watson, “All Women Are slu*ts” passim). The “Code of Silence” episode of ABC television program Four Corners, which reignited the debate in 2009, was even more explicit in portraying footballers’ sexual practices as abusive, presenting rape testimony from three women, including “Clare,” who remains traumatised following a “group sex” incident with rugby league players in 2002. Clare testifies that she went to a hotel room with prominent National Rugby League (NRL) players Matthew Johns and Brett Firman. She says that she had sex with Johns and Firman, although the experience was unpleasant and they treated her “like a piece of meat.” Subsequently, a dozen players and staff members from the team then entered the room, uninvited, some through the bathroom window, expecting sex with Clare. Neither Johns nor Firman has denied that this was the case. Clare went to the police five days later, saying that professional rugby players had raped her, although no charges were ever laid. The program further includes psychiatrists’ reports, and statements from the police officer in charge of the case, detailing the severe trauma that Clare suffered as a result of what the footballers called “sex.” If, as “Code of Silence” suggests, footballers’ practices of group sex are abusive, whether the woman consents or not, then it follows that such a “gang-bang culture” may in turn foster a rape culture, in which rape is more likely than in other contexts. And yet, many women insist that they enjoy group sex with footballers (Barry; Drill 86), complicating issues of consent and the degradation of women. Feminist rape scholarship documents the repetitive way in which complainants are deemed to have “invited” or “caused” the rape through their behaviour towards the accused or the way they were dressed: defence lawyers, judges (Larcombe 100; Lees 85; Young 442–65) and even talk show hosts, ostensibly aiming to expose the problem of rape (Alcoff and Gray 261–64), employ these tactics to undermine a victim’s credibility and excuse the accused perpetrator. Nevertheless, although no woman can be in any way held responsible for any man committing sexual assault, or other abuse, it must be acknowledged that women who become in some way implicated in a rape culture also assist in maintaining that culture, highlighting a “grey zone” of moral ambiguity. How, then, should these women, who in some cases even actively promote behaviour that is intrinsic to this culture, be perceived and represented? Charmyne Palavi, who appeared on “Code of Silence,” is a prime example of such a “grey zone” figure. While she stated that she was raped by a prominent footballer, Palavi also described her continuing practice of setting up footballers and women for casual sex through her Facebook page, and pursuing such encounters herself. This raises several problems of judgement and representation, and the issue of women’s sexual freedom. On the one hand, Palavi (and all other women) should be entitled to engage in any consensual (legal) sexual behaviour that they choose. But on the other, when footballers’ frequent casual sex is part of a culture of sexual abuse, there is a danger of them becoming complicit in, to use Card’s term, “evildoing.” Further, when telling her story on “Code of Silence,” Palavi hints that there is an element of increased risk in these situations. When describing her sexual encounters with footballers, which she states are “on her terms,” she begins, “It’s consensual for a start. I’m not drunk or on drugs and it’s in, [it] has an element of class to it. Do you know what I mean?” (emphasis added). If it is necessary to define sex “on her terms” as consensual, this implies that sometimes casual “sex” with footballers is not consensual, or that there is an increased likelihood of rape. She also claims to have heard about several incidents in which footballers she knows sexually abused and denigrated, if not actually raped, other women. Such an awareness of what may happen clearly does not make Palavi a perpetrator of abuse, but neither can her actions (such as “setting up” women with footballers using Facebook) be considered entirely separate. While one may argue, following Levi’s reflections, that judgement of a “grey zone” figure such as Palavi should be suspended, it is significant that Four Corners’s representation of Palavi makes implicit and simplistic moral judgements. The introduction to Palavi follows the story of “Caroline,” who states that first-grade rugby player Dane Tilse broke into her university dormitory room and sexually assaulted her while she slept. Caroline indicates that Tilse left when he “picked up that [she] was really stressed.” Following this story, the program’s reporter and narrator Sarah Ferguson introduces Palavi with, “If some young footballers mistakenly think all women want to have sex with them, Charmyne Palavi is one who doesn’t necessarily discourage the idea.” As has been argued elsewhere (Waterhouse-Watson, “Framing the Victim”), this implies that Palavi is partly responsible for players holding this mistaken view. By implication, she therefore encouraged Tilse to assume that Caroline would want to have sex with him. Footage is then shown of Palavi and her friends “applying the finishing touches”—bronzing their legs—before going to meet footballers at a local hotel. The lighting is dim and the hand-held camerawork rough. These techniques portray the women as artificial and “cheap,” techniques that are also employed in a remarkably similar fashion in the documentary Footy Chicks (Barry), which follows three women who seek out sex with footballers. In response to Ferguson’s question, “What’s the appeal of those boys though?” Palavi repeats several times that she likes footballers mainly because of their bodies. This, along with the program’s focus on the women as instigators of sex, positions Palavi as something of a predator (she was widely referred to as a “cougar” following the program). In judging her “promiscuity” as immoral, the program implies she is partly responsible for her own rape, as well as acts of what can be termed, at the very least, sexual abuse of other women. The problematic representation of Palavi raises the complex question of how her “grey zone” behaviour should be depicted without passing trivialising judgements. This issue is particularly fraught when Four Corners follows the representation of Palavi’s “nightlife” with her accounts of footballers’ acts of sexual assault and abuse, including testimony that a well-known player raped Palavi herself. While Ferguson does not explicitly question the veracity of Palavi’s claim of rape, her portrayal is nevertheless largely unsympathetic, and the way the segment is edited appears to imply that she is blameworthy. Ferguson recounts that Palavi “says she was able to put [being raped] out of her mind, and it certainly didn’t stop her pursuing other football players.” This might be interpreted a positive statement about Palavi’s ability to move on from a rape; however, the tone of Ferguson’s authoritative voiceover is disapproving, which instead implies negative judgement. As the program makes clear, Palavi continues to organise sexual encounters between women and players, despite her knowledge of the “dangers,” both to herself and other women. Palavi’s awareness of the prevalence of incidents of sexual assault or abuse makes her position a problematic one. Yet her controversial role within the sexual culture of elite Australian football is complicated even further by the fact that she herself is disempowered (and her own allegation of being raped delegitimised) by the simplistic ideas about “assault” and “consent” that dominate social discourse. Despite this ambiguity, Four Corners constructs Palavi as more of a perpetrator of abuse than a victim—not even a victim who is “morally compromised.” Although we argue that careful consideration must be given to the issue of whether moral judgements should be applied to “grey zone” figures like Palavi, the “solution” is far from simple. No language (or image) is neutral or value-free, and judgements are inevitable in any act of representation. In his essay on the “grey zone,” Levi raises the crucial point that the many (mis)understandings of figures of moral ambiguity and “compromise” partly arise from the fact that the testimony and perspectives of these figures themselves is often the last to be heard—if at all (50). Nevertheless, an article Palavi published in Sydney tabloid The Daily Telegraph (19) demonstrates that such testimony can also be problematic and only complicate matters further. Palavi’s account begins: If you believed Four Corners, I’m supposed to be the NRL’s biggest groupie, a wannabe WAG who dresses up, heads out to clubs and hunts down players to have sex with… what annoys me about these tags and the way I was portrayed on that show is the idea I prey on them like some of the starstruck women I’ve seen out there. (emphasis added) Palavi clearly rejects the way Four Corners constructed her as a predator; however, rather than rejecting this stereotype outright, she reinscribes it, projecting it onto other “starstruck” women. Throughout her article, Palavi reiterates (other) women’s allegedly predatory behaviour, continually portraying the footballers as passive and the women as active. For example, she claims that players “like being contacted by girls,” whereas “the girls use the information the players put on their [social media profiles] to track them down.” Palavi’s narrative confirms this construction of men as victims of women’s predatory actions, lamenting the sacking of Johns following “Code of Silence” as “disgusting.” In the context of alleged sexual assault, the “predatory woman” stereotype is used in place of the raped woman in order to imply that sexual assault did not occur; hence Palavi’s problematic discourse arguably reinforces sexist attitudes. But can Palavi be considered complicit in validating this damaging stereotype? Can she be blamed for working within patriarchal systems of representation, of which she has also been a victim? The preceding analysis shows judgement to be inherent in the act of representation. The paucity of language is particularly acute when dealing with such extreme situations. Indeed, the language used to explore this issue in the present article cannot escape terminology that is loaded with meaning(s), which quotation marks can perhaps only qualify so far. Conclusion This paper does not claim to provide definitive answers to such complex dilemmas, but rather to highlight problems in addressing the sensitive issues of ambiguity and “complicity” in women’s interactions with patriarchal systems, and how these are represented in the mass media. Like the controversial behaviour of teenager Kim Duthie described earlier, Palavi’s position throws the problems of judgement and representation into disarray. There is no simple solution to these problems, though we do propose that these “grey zone” figures be represented in a self-reflexive, nuanced manner by explicitly articulating questions of responsibility rather than making simplistic judgements that implicitly lessen perpetrators’ culpability. Levi’s concept of the “grey zone” helps elucidate the fraught issue of women’s potential complicity in a rape culture, a subject that challenges both understanding and representation. Despite participating in a culture that promotes the abuse, denigration, and humiliation of women, the roles of women like Palavi cannot in any way be conflated with the roles of the perpetrators of sexual assault. These and other “grey zones” need to be constantly rethought and renegotiated in order to develop a fuller understanding of human behaviour. References Alcoff, Linda Martin, and Laura Gray. “Survivor Discourse: Transgression or Recuperation.” Signs 18.2 (1993): 260–90. Arnault, Lynne S. “Cruelty, Horror, and the Will to Redemption.” Hypatia 18.2 (2003): 155–88. Barry, Rebecca. Footy Chicks. Dir. Rebecca Barry. Australia: SBS Television, off-air recording, 2006. Benedict, Jeff. Public Heroes, Private Felons: Athletes and Crimes against Women. Boston: Northeastern UP, 1997. Benedict, Jeff. Athletes and Acquaintance Rape. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, 1998. Brison, Susan J. Aftermath: Violence and the Remaking of a Self. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2002. Brown, Adam. “Beyond ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’: Breaking Down Binary Oppositions in Holocaust Representations of ‘Privileged’ Jews.” History Compass 8.5 (2010): 407–18. ———. “Confronting ‘Choiceless Choices’ in Holocaust Videotestimonies: Judgement, ‘Privileged’ Jews, and the Role of the Interviewer.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Communication Studies, Special Issue: Interrogating Trauma: Arts & Media Responses to Collective Suffering 24.1 (2010): 79–90. ———. “Marginalising the Marginal in Holocaust Films: Fictional Representations of Jewish Policemen.” Limina: A Journal of Historical and Cultural Studies 15 (2009). 14 Oct. 2011 ‹http://www.limina.arts.uwa.edu.au/previous/vol11to15/vol15/ibpcommended?f=252874›. ———. “‘Privileged’ Jews, Holocaust Representation and the ‘Limits’ of Judgement: The Case of Raul Hilberg.” Ed. Evan Smith. Europe’s Expansions and Contractions: Proceedings of the XVIIth Biennial Conference of the Australasian Association of European Historians (Adelaide, July 2009). Unley: Australian Humanities Press, 2010: 63–86. ———. “The Trauma of ‘Choiceless Choices’: The Paradox of Judgement in Primo Levi’s ‘Grey Zone.’” Trauma, Historicity, Philosophy. Ed. Matthew Sharpe. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2007: 121–40. ———. “Traumatic Memory and Holocaust Testimony: Passing Judgement in Representations of Chaim Rumkowski.” Colloquy: Text, Theory, Critique, 15 (2008): 128–44. Card, Claudia. The Atrocity Paradigm: A Theory of Evil. New York: Oxford UP, 2002. ———. “Groping through Gray Zones.” On Feminist Ethics and Politics. Ed. Claudia Card. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1999: 3–26. ———. “Women, Evil, and Gray Zones.” Metaphilosophy 31.5 (2000): 509–28. Cheyette, Bryan. “The Uncertain Certainty of Schindler’s List.” Spielberg’s Holocaust: Critical Perspectives on Schindler’s List. Ed. Yosefa Losh*tzky. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1997: 226–38. “Code of Silence.” Four Corners. Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC). Australia, 2009. Cole, Tim. Holocaust City: The Making of a Jewish Ghetto. New York: Routledge, 2003. Drill, Stephen. “Footy Groupie: I Am Not Ashamed.” Sunday Herald Sun, 24 May 2009: 86. Gavey, Nicola. Just Sex? The Cultural Scaffolding of Rape. East Sussex: Routledge, 2005. Khadem, Nassim, and Kate Nancarrow. “Doing It for the Sake of Your Mates.” Sunday Age, 21 Mar. 2004: 4. Larcombe, Wendy. Compelling Engagements: Feminism, Rape Law and Romance Fiction. Sydney: Federation Press, 2005. Lees, Sue. Ruling Passions. Buckingham: Open UP, 1997. Levi, Primo. The Drowned and the Saved. Translated by Raymond Rosenthal. London: Michael Joseph, 1986. Luban, David. “A Man Lost in the Gray Zone.” Law and History Review 19.1 (2001): 161–76. Masters, Roy. Bad Boys: AFL, Rugby League, Rugby Union and Soccer. Sydney: Random House Australia, 2006. Palavi, Charmyne. “True Confessions of a Rugby League Groupie.” Daily Telegraph 19 May 2009: 19. Petropoulos, Jonathan, and John K. Roth, eds. Gray Zones: Ambiguity and Compromise in the Holocaust and Its Aftermath. New York: Berghahn, 2005. Roth, John K. “In Response to Hannah Holtschneider.” Fire in the Ashes: God, Evil, and the Holocaust. Eds. David Patterson and John K. Roth. Seattle: U of Washington P, 2005: 50–54. Smith, Wayne. “Gang-Bang Culture Part of Game.” The Australian 6 Mar. 2004: 1. Todorov, Tzvetan. Facing the Extreme: Moral Life in the Concentration Camps. Translated by Arthur Denner and Abigail Pollack. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1991. Waterhouse-Watson, Deb. “All Women Are slu*ts: Australian Rules Football and Representations of the Feminine.” Australian Feminist Law Journal 27 (2007): 155–62. ———. “Framing the Victim: Sexual Assault and Australian Footballers on Television.” Australian Feminist Studies (2011, in press). ———. “Playing Defence in a Sexual Assault ‘Trial by Media’: The Male Footballer’s Imaginary Body.” Australian Feminist Law Journal 30 (2009): 109–29. ———. “(Un)reasonable Doubt: Narrative Immunity for Footballers against Allegations of Sexual Assault.” M/C Journal 14.1 (2011). Weidler, Danny. “Players Reveal Their Side of the Story.” Sun Herald 29 Feb. 2004: 4. Young, Alison. “The Waste Land of the Law, the Wordless Song of the Rape Victim.” Melbourne University Law Review 2 (1998): 442–65.

Abstract:

IntroductionNordic mythology, also known as Norse mythology, is a term used to describe Medieval creation myths and tales of Gods and otherworldly realms, told and retold by Northern Germanic and Scandinavian tribes of the ninth century AD (see for example Gaiman).I discuss a new type of Nordic mythology that is being created through popular culture, social media, books, and television shows. I am interested in how contemporary portrayals of the Nordic countries has created a kind of mythological place called Scandinavia, where things, people, and ideas are better than in other places.Whereas the old myths portray a fierce warrior race, the new myths create a utopian Scandinavia as a place that is inherently good; a place that is progressive and harmonious. In the creation of these new myths the underbelly of the North is often neglected, producing a hom*ogenised representation of a group of countries that are in actuality diverse and inevitably imperfect.ScandimaniaGenerally the term Scandinavia always refers to Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. When including Finland and Iceland, it is more accurate to refer to the five as the Nordic countries. I was born and grew up in Denmark. My observations are skewed towards a focus on Denmark, rather than Scandinavia as a whole. Though I will use the term Nordic and Scandinavia throughout the article, it is worth noting that these definitions describe a group of countries that despite some commonalities are also quite different in geography, and culture.Whether we are speaking strictly of Scandinavia or of the Nordic countries as a whole, one thing is certain: in recent years there has been a surge of popularity in all things Nordic. Scandinavian design has been popular since the 1950s, known for its functionality and simplistic beauty, and globalised through the Swedish furniture chain IKEA. Consequently, Nordic interior design has become a style widely praised and emulated, as has Nordic fashion, architecture, and innovation.The fact that Scandinavian people are often represented as being intelligent and beautiful adds to the notion of stylish and aesthetically pleasing ideals. This is partly why sperm from Danish sperm donors is the most sought after and widely distributed in the world: perhaps prospective parents find the idea of having a baby of Viking stock appealing (Kale). Nordic countries are also known for their egalitarian societies, which are described as “the holy grail of a healthy economy and society” (Cleary). These are countries where the collective good is cherished. Tax rates are high (in Denmark between 55 per cent and 60 per cent of income), which leads to excellent welfare systems.In recent years other terms have entered the collective Western vocabulary. New Nordic Cuisine describes a trend that has taken the culinary world by storm. This term refers to food that is created with seasonal, local, and foraged ingredients. The emphasis being a renewed connection to nature and old ways. In 2016 the Danish word hygge was shortlisted by the Oxford Dictionary as word of the year. A word, which has no direct English translation, it means “a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture)”. Countless books were published in the United Kingdom, and elsewhere, explaining the art of hygge. Other Scandinavian words are now becoming popular, such as the Swedish lagom, meaning “just enough”.In the past two years, the United Nations’ World Happiness Report listed Denmark and Norway as the happiest places on earth. Other surveys similarly put the Nordic countries on top as the most prosperous places on earth (Anderson).Mythologies and Discursive FormationsThe standard definition of myth is a “traditional story, especially one concerning the early history of a people or explaining a natural or social phenomenon, and typically involving supernatural beings or events.” Or “A widely held but false belief or idea” (Oxford Dictionaries, Myth).During what became known as the “discursive turn”, both Barthes and Foucault expanded the conception of myth by placing it within a wider socio-political and historical contexts of power and truth. “Discursive formations” became a commonly accepted way of describing a cluster of ideas, images, and practices that define particular “truths” within a given cultural context (Hall 6). In other words, myths serve specific purposes within given socio-cultural constructions.I argue that the current idolisation of Scandinavia is creating a common global narrative of a superior society. A mythical place that has “figured it out”, and found the key to happiness. The mythologised North is based on an array of media stories, statistics, reports, articles, advertising, political rhetoric, books, films, TV series, exhibitions, and social media activity. These perpetuate a “truth” of the Nordic countries as being especially benign, cultured, and distinguished. The Smiling PolicemanIn his well-known essay Myth Today, Barthes analyses an image of a North African boy in uniform saluting the French flag on the front cover of a magazine. Barthes argues that by analysing the semiotic meaning of the image in two stages, one can identify the “myth”.The first level is the signifiers (what we see), a dark skinned boy, a uniform, a raised arm, a flag. The signified is our recognition of these as a North African boy raising his arm to the French flag. The second level of interpretation is the wider context in which we understand what we see: the greatness of France is signified in the depiction of one of her colonial subjects submitting to and glorifying the flag. That is to say, the myth generated by the image is the story of France as a great colonial and military nation.Now take a look at this image, which was distributed the world over in newspapers, online media, and in turn social media (Warren; Kolff). This image is interesting because it epitomises much of what is believed about Scandinavia (the new myths). If we approach the image through the semiotic lens of Barthes, we firstly describe what is seen in the picture (signifiers): a blonde policeman, a girl of dark complexion, a road in the countryside, a van in the distance, and some other people with backpacks on the side of the road. When we put these elements together in context, we understand that the image to be depicting a Danish policeman, blonde, smiling and handsome, playing with a Syrian refugee girl on an empty Danish highway, with her fellow refugees behind her.The second level of interpretation (the myth) is created by combining the elements into a story: A friendly police officer is playing with a refugee girl, which is unusual because policemen are commonly seen as authoritarian and unfriendly to illegal immigrants. This policeman is smiling. He is happy in his job. He is healthy, good-looking, and compassionate.This fits the image of Scandinavian men as good fathers (they have paternity leave, and often help equally with child rearing). The image confirms that the happiest people on earth would of course also have happy, friendly policemen. The belief that the Scandinavian social model is one to admire would appear to be endorsed.The fact that this is in a rural setting with green landscapes adds further to the notion of Nordic freshness, naturalness, environmentalism, and food that comes from the wild. The fact that the policeman is well-groomed, stylish, well-built, and handsome reinforces the notion that Scandinavia is a place of style and taste, where the good Viking gene pool produces fit and beautiful people.It makes sense that in a place with a focus on togetherness and the common good, refugees are also treated well. Just as the French image of a dark-skinned boy saluting the French flag sent out messages of French superiority, this image sends out messages of inherent Nordic goodness in a time where positive images of the European refugee crisis are few and far between.In a discursive discussion, one asks not only what meanings does this image convey, but why is this image chosen, distributed, shared, tweeted, and promoted over other images? What purpose does its proliferation serve? What is the historical context in which it is popularised? What is the cultural imagination/narrative that is served? In the current often depressing socio-political situation in Europe, people like to know that there is a place where compassion and play exists.Among other news stories of death, despair, and border protection, depictions of an idealised North can help calm anxieties by implying the existence of a place that is free of conflict. Jakob Stougaard-Nielsen writes:The flood of journalistic and popular ethnographic explorations of the Nordic region in the UK is an expression, perhaps, of a search for a lost sense of identity, a nostalgic longing for an imagined past society more in tune with pre-Thatcherite welfarist values, by way of consuming, appropriating and exoticising proximate cultural identities such as the now much hyped Danish or Nordic utopias. (Nordic Noir, 6)In The Almost Nearly Perfect People, British writer Michael Booth wonders: “one thing in particular about this new-found love of all things Scandinavian … which struck me as particularly odd: considering all this positive PR, and with awareness of the so-called Nordic miracle at an all-time high, why wasn’t everyone flocking to live here [in Denmark]?” (7).In actuality not many people in the West are interested in living in the Nordic countries. Rather, as Barbara Goodwin writes: “utopias hold up a mirror to the fears and aspirations of the time in which they were written” (2). In other words, in an age of anxiety, where traditional norms and stabilities are shifting, to believe that there is a place where contemporary societies have found a way of living in happiness and togetherness provides a sense of hope. People are not flocking to live in Scandinavia because it is not in their interests to have their utopian ideals shattered by the reality that, though the North has a lot to offer, it is inevitably not a utopia (Sougaard-Nielsen, The Truth Is).UnderbellyParadoxically, in recent years, Scandinavia has become well known for its “Nordic Noir” crime fiction and television. In the documentary TV series Scandimania, British TV personality Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall travels through Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, exploring the culture, scenery, and food. He finds it curious that Denmark has become so famous for its sombre crime series, such as The Killing and The Bridge, because it seems so far removed from the Denmark he experiences riding around the streets of Copenhagen on his bike.Fearnley-Whittingstall ponders that one has to look hard to find the dark side of Denmark, and that perhaps it does not actually exist at all. This observation points to something essential. Even though millions of viewers worldwide have seen shows such as The Killing, which are known for their dark story lines, bleak urban settings, complex but realistic characters, progressive gender equality, and social commentary, the positive mythologising of Scandinavia remains so strong that it engenders a belief that the underbelly shown in Nordic Noir is perhaps entirely fictional.Stougaard-Nielsen (see also Pitcher, Consuming Race) argues that perhaps the British obsession with Nordic Noir (and this could be applied to other western countries) can be attributed to “a more appropriate white cosmopolitan desire to imagine rooted identities in an age of globalisation steeped in complex identity politics” (Nordic Noir, 8). That is to say that, for a segment of society which feels overwhelmed by contemporary multiculturalism, there may be a pleasure in watching a show that is predominantly populated by white Nordic protagonists, where the homes and people are stylish, and where the Nordic model of welfare and progressive thinking provides a rich identity source for white people as a symbolic point of origin.The watching/reading of Nordic Noir, as well as other preoccupations with all things Nordic, help build upon a mythological sense of whiteness that sets itself apart from our usual notions of race politics, by being an accepted form of longing for the North of bygone ages: a place that is progressive, moral, stylish, and imbued with aspirational ways of living, thinking, and being (Pitcher, Racial Politics).The image of the Danish police officer and the refugee girl fits this ideal of a progressive society where race relations are uncomplicated. The policeman who epitomises the Nordic ideal is in a position of power, but this is an authority which is benevolent. The girl is non-threatening in her otherness, because she is a child and female, and therefore does not fit the culturally dreaded Muslim/terrorist stereotype. In this constellation the two can meet beautifully.The reality, of course, is that the race relations and issues surrounding immigration in Denmark, and in other Nordic countries, are as complicated and often messy and hateful as they are in other countries. In Sweden, as Fearnley-Whittingstall touches upon in Scandimania, there are escalating problems with integration of the many new Swedes and growing inequalities in wealth. In Norway, the underlying race tensions became acutely topical in the aftermath of the 2011 massacre, where right-wing extremist Anders Breivik killed 77 people. Denmark has one of the harshest anti-immigration laws in Europe, laws that are continuously being tightened (Boserup); and whenever visiting Denmark I have been surprised to see how much space and time discussions about immigration and integration take up in the news and current affairs.If we contrast the previous image with the image above, taken within a similar timeframe on the same Danish highway, we can see the reality of Danish immigration policies. Here we are exposed to a different story. The scene and the location is the same, but the power dynamics have shifted from benign, peaceful, and playful to aggressive, authoritarian, and conflict ridden. A desperate father carries his daughter, determined to march on towards their destination of Sweden. The policeman is pulling his arm, attempting to detain the refugees so that they cannot go further, the goal being to deport the Syrians back to their previous place of detention, just over the border in Germany (Harticollis). While the previous image reflects the humanity of the refugee crisis, this image reflects the politics, policies, and to a large extent public opinion in Denmark, which is not refugee-friendly. This image, however, was not widely distributed, partly because it feeds into the same depressing narrative of an unsolvable refugee crisis seen so often elsewhere, and partly because it does not fit into the narrative of the infallible North. It could not be tweeted with the hashtag #Humanity, nor shared on Facebook with a smiley face and liked with an emoji heart.Another image from Denmark, in the form of a politically funded billboard, shows that there are deep-seated tendencies within Danish society that want to promote and retain a Denmark which adheres to its traditional values and ethnic whiteness. The image was displayed all over the country, at train stations, bus stops, and other public spaces when I visited in 2016. It was issued by Dansk Folkeparti (the Danish People’s Party); a party which is anti-immigration and which was until recently the country’s second largest party. The title says “Our Denmark”, while the byline cleverly plays with the double meaning of passe på: it can mean “there is so much we need to take care of”, but also “there is so much we need to beware of.” In other words, the white working-class family needs to take care of their Denmark, and beware of anyone who does not fit into this norm. Though hugely contested and criticised (Cremer; see a counter-reaction designed by opponents below), the fact that thinly veiled anti-immigration propaganda can be so readily distributed speaks of an underbelly in Danish society that is not made of the dark murder mysteries in The Killing, but rather of a quietly brewing distain for the foreigner that reigns within stylishly designed living rooms. ConclusionMyths are stories cultures tell and retell until they form a belief system that becomes a natural part of our collective narrative. For Barthes, these stories were intrinsically connected to our understanding of language and our ability to read images, films, artifacts, and popular culture more generally. To later cultural theorists, the notion of discursive formations expands this understanding, to see myth within a broader network of socio-political discourses placed within a certain place and time in history. When connected, small narratives (images, advertising, film, music, news stories, social media sharing, scientific evidence, etc.) come together to form a common narrative (the myth) about how things are and should be in relation to a particular topic. The culminating popularity of numerous Nordic themes (Nordic television/film, interior design, fashion, cuisine, architecture, lifestyle, sustainability, welfare system, school system, gender equality, etc.) has created a grand narrative of the Nordic countries as a type of utopia: one that shows the rest of the world that an egalitarian society of togetherness and progressive innovation is possible. This mythologisation serves to quell anxieties about the flux and uncertainty of contemporary times, and may also serve to legitimise a yearning for a simple, benign, and progressive whiteness, where we imagine Nordic families sitting peacefully at their beechwood dining tables, candles lit, playing board games. This is a projected yearning which is otherwise largely disallowed in today’s multicultural societies.ReferencesAnderson, Elizabeth. “The Most Prosperous Countries in the World, Based on Happiness and Financial Health.” The Telegraph, 2 Nov. 2015. <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/economics/11966461/The-most-prosperous-countries-in-the-world-based-on-happiness-and-financial-health.html>.Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. London: Vintage, 2000 [1957].———. “Myth Today.” Mythologies. London: Vintage, 2000 [1957].Booth, Michael. The Almost Nearly Perfect People. London: Jonathan Cape, 2014.Boserup, Rasmus Alenius. “Denmark’s Harsh New Immigration Law Will End Badly for Everyone.” Huffington Post. <https://www.huffingtonpost.com/rasmus-alenius-boserup/denmark-immigration-law_b_9112148.html>.Bridge, The. (Danish: Broen.) Created by Hans Rosenfeldt. Sveriges Television and DR, 2013-present.Cleary, Paul. “Norway Is Proof That You Can Have It All.” The Australian, 15 July 2013. <http://www.theaustralian.com.au/life/norway-is-proof-that-you-can-have-it-all/news-story/3d2895adbace87431410e7b033ec84bf>.Colson, Thomas. “7 Reasons Denmark Is the Happiest Country in the World.” The Independent, 26 Sep. 2016. <http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/7-reasons-denmark-is-the-happiest-country-in-the-world-a7331146.html>.Cremer, Justin. “The Strangest Political Story in Denmark Just Got Stranger.” The Local, 19 May 2016. <https://www.thelocal.dk/20160519/strangest-political-story-in-denmark-just-got-stranger>.Dregni, Eric. “Why Is Norway the Happiest Place on Earth?” Star Tribune, 11 June 2017. <http://www.startribune.com/the-height-of-happy/427321393/#1>.Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality: The Will to Knowledge. London: Penguin Books, 1998 [1976]. Gaiman, Neil. “Neil Gaiman Retells Classic Norse Mythology.” Conversations. Radio National 30 Mar. 2017.Goodwin, Barbara, ed. The Philosophy of Utopia. London: Frank Cass, 2001.Hall, Stuart, ed. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. London: Sage, 1997.Hartocollis, Anemona. “Traveling in Europe’s River of Migrants.” New York Times, 9 Sep. 2015. <https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/projects/cp/reporters-notebook/migrants/denmark-refugees-migrants>.Helliwell, J., R. Layard, and J. Sachs. World Happiness Report 2017. New York: Sustainable Development Solutions Network, 2017.Kale, Sirin. “Women Are Now Pillaging Sperm Banks for Viking Babies.” Vice, 2 Oct. 2015. <https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/3dx9nj/women-are-now-pillaging-sperm-banks-for-viking-babies>.Killing, The. (Danish: Forbrydelsen.) Created by Søren Sveistrup. DR, 2007-2012.Kolff, Louise. “Part III: The Hunk & the Refugee.” Perspectra, 3 Dec. 2015. <https://perspectra.org/2015/12/03/danish-police-and-refugee-girl/>.Oxford Dictionaries. “Hygge.” <https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/hygge>.Oxford Dictionaries. “Myth.” <https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/myth>.Pitcher, Ben. Consuming Race. London: Routledge, 2014.———. “The Racial Politics of Nordic Noir.” Mecetes, 9 April 2014. <http://mecetes.co.uk/racial-politics-nordic-noir/>.Scandimania. Featuring H. Fearnley-Whittingstall. Channel 4, 2014.Sougaard-Nielsen, Jacob. “Nordic Noir in the UK: The Allure of Accessible Difference.” Journal of Aesthetics & Culture 8.1 (2016). 1 Oct. 2017 <http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.3402/jac.v8.32704>.———. “The Truth Is, Scandinavia Is Neither Heaven nor Hell.” The Conversation, 19 Aug. 2014. <https://theconversation.com/the-truth-is-scandinavia-is-neither-heaven-nor-hell-30641>.Warren, Rossalyn. “The Touching Moment a Policeman Sat Down to Play with a Syrian Refugee.” BuzzFeed News, 15 Sep. 2015. <https://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/the-adorable-moment-a-policeman-sat-down-to-play-with-a-syri?utm_term=.qjzl2WEk7#.kgZXOp76M>.

Abstract:

Photo by Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash ABSTRACT A strike to highlight the plight facing contract doctors which has been proposed has received mixed reactions from those within the profession and the public. This unprecedented nationwide proposal has the potential to cause real-world effects, posing an ethical dilemma. Although strikes are common, especially in high-income countries, these industrial actions by doctors in Malaysia are almost unheard of. Reviewing available evidence from various perspectives is therefore imperative to update the profession and the complexity of invoking this important human right. INTRODUCTION Contract doctors in Malaysia held a strike on July 26, 2021. COVID-19 cases are increasing in Malaysia. In June, daily cases ranged between 4,000 to 8,000 despite various public health measures. The R naught, which indicates the infectiousness of COVID-19, remains unchanged. During the pandemic, health care workers (HCWs) have been widely celebrated, resulting in a renewed appreciation of the risks that they face.[1] The pandemic has exposed flawed governance in the public healthcare system, particularly surrounding the employment of contract doctors. Contract doctors in Malaysia are doctors who have completed their medical training, as well as two years of internship, and have subsequently been appointed as medical officers for another two years. Contract doctors are not permanently appointed, and the system did not allow extensions after the two years nor does it offer any opportunity to specialize.[2] Last week, Parliament did decide to offer a two-year extension but that did not hold off the impending strike.[3] In 2016, the Ministry of Health introduced a contract system to place medical graduates in internship positions at government healthcare facilities across the country rather than placing them in permanent posts in the Public Service Department. Social media chronicles the issues that doctors in Malaysia faced. However, tensions culminated when and contract doctors called for a strike which ended up taking place in late July 2021. BACKGROUND Over the past decade, HCW strikes have arisen mostly over wages, work hours, and administrative and financial factors.[4] In 2012, the British Medical Association organized a single “day of action” by boycotting non-urgent care as a response to government pension reforms.[5] In Ireland, doctors went on strike for a day in 2013 to protest the austerity measures implemented by the EU in response to the global economic crisis. It involved a dispute over long working hours (100 hours per week) which violated EU employment laws and more importantly put patients’ lives at risk.[6] The strike resulted in the cancellation of 15,000 hospital appointments, but emergencies services were continued. Other major strikes have been organized in the UK to negotiate better pay for HCWs in general and junior doctors’ contracts specifically.[7] During the COVID-19 pandemic, various strikes have also been organized in Hong Kong, the US, and Bolivia due to various pitfalls in managing the pandemic.[8] A recent strike in August 2020 by South Korean junior doctors and medical students was organized to protest a proposed medical reform plan which did not address wage stagnation and unfair labor practices.[9] These demands are somewhat similar to the proposed strike by contract doctors in Malaysia. As each national health system operates within a different setting, these strikes should be examined in detail to understand the degree of self-interest involved versus concerns for patient’s welfare. l. The Malaysia Strike An anonymous group planned the current strike in Malaysia. The group used social media, garnering the attention of various key stakeholders including doctors, patients, government, and medical councils.[10] The organizers of the strike referred to their planned actions as a hartal. (Although historically a hartal involved a total shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, and other establishments as a form of civil disobedience, the Malaysian contract doctors pledged no disturbance to healthcare working hours or services and intend a walk-out that is symbolic and reflective of a strike.)[11] The call to action mainly involved showing support for the contract doctors with pictures and placards. The doctors also planned the walk-out.[12] Despite earlier employment, contract medical doctors face many inequalities as opposed to their permanent colleagues. These include differences in basic salary, provisions of leave, and government loans despite doing the same job. The system disadvantages contract doctors offering little to no job security and limited career progression. Furthermore, reports in 2020 showed that close to 4,000 doctors’ contracts were expected to expire by May 2022, leaving their futures uncertain.[13] Some will likely be offered an additional two years as the government faces pressure from the workers. Between December 2016 and May 2021, a total of 23,077 contract doctors were reportedly appointed as medical officers, with only 789 receiving permanent positions.[14] It has been suggested that they are appointed into permanent positions based on merit but the criteria for the appointments remain unclear. Those who fail to acquire a permanent position inevitably seek employment elsewhere. During the COVID-19 pandemic, there have been numerous calls for the government to absorb contract doctors into the public service as permanent staff with normal benefits. This is important considering a Malaysian study that revealed that during the pandemic over 50 percent of medical personnel feel burned out while on duty.[15] This effort might be side-lined as the government prioritizes curbing the pandemic. As these issues remain neglected, the call for a strike should be viewed as a cry for help to reignite the discussions about these issues. ll. Right to strike The right to strike is recognized as a fundamental human right by the UN and the EU.[16] Most European countries also protect the right to strike in their national constitutions.[17] In the US, the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947 prohibited healthcare workers of non-profit hospitals to form unions and engage in collective bargaining. But this exclusion was repealed in 1947 and replaced with the requirement of a 10-day advanced written notice prior to any strike action.[18] Similarly, Malaysia also recognizes the right to dispute over labor matters, either on an individual or collective basis. The Industrial Relations Act (IRA) of 1967[19] describes a strike as: “the cessation of work by a body of workers acting in combination, or a concerted refusal or a refusal under a common understanding of a number of workers to continue to work or to accept employment, and includes any act or omission by a body of workers acting in combination or under a common understanding, which is intended to or does result in any limitation, restriction, reduction or cessation of or dilatoriness in the performance or execution of the whole or any part of the duties connected with their employment” According to the same act, only members of a registered trade union may legally participate in a strike with prior registration from the Director-General of Trade Unions.[20] Under Section 43 of the IRA, any strike by essential services (including healthcare) requires prior notice of 42 days to their employer.[21] Upon receiving the notice, the employer is responsible for reporting the particulars to the Director-General of Industrial Relations to allow a “cooling-off” period and appropriate action. Employees are also protected from termination if permitted by the Director-General and strike is legalized. The Malaysian contract healthcare workers’ strike was announced and transparent. Unfortunately, even after legalization, there is fear that the government may charge those participating in the legalized strike.[22] The police have announced they will pursue participants in the strike.[23] Even the Ministry of Health has issued a warning stating that those participating in the strike may face disciplinary actions from the ministry. However, applying these laws while ignoring the underlying issues may not bode well for the COVID-19 healthcare crisis. lll. Effects of a Strike on Health Care There is often an assumption that doctors’ strikes would unavoidably cause significant harm to patients. However, a systematic review examining several strikes involving physicians reported that patient mortality remained the same or fell during the industrial action.[24] A study after the 2012 British Medical Association strike has even shown that there were fewer in-hospital deaths on the day, both among elective and emergency populations, although neither difference was significant.[25] Similarly, a recent study in Kenya showed declines in facility-based mortality during strike months.[26] Other studies have shown no obvious changes in overall mortality during strikes by HCWs.[27] There is only one report of increased mortality associated with a strike in South Africa[28] in which all the doctors in the Limpopo province stopped providing any treatment to their patients for 20 consecutive days. During this time, only one hospital continued providing services to a population of 5.5 million people. Even though their data is incomplete, authors from this study found that the number of emergency room visits decreased during the strike, but the risks of mortality in the hospital for these patients increased by 67 percent.[29] However, the study compared the strike period to a randomly selected 20-day period in May rather than comparing an average of data taken from similar dates over previous years. This could greatly influence variations between expected annual hospital mortality possibly due to extremes in weather that may exacerbate pre-existing conditions such as heart failure during warmer months or selecting months with a higher incidence of viral illness such as influenza. Importantly, all strikes ensured that emergency services were continued, at least to the degree that is generally offered on weekends. Furthermore, many doctors still provide usual services to patients despite a proclaimed strike. For example, during the 2012 BMA strike, less than one-tenth of doctors were estimated to be participating in the strike.[30] Emergency care may even improve during strikes, especially those involving junior doctors who are replaced by more senior doctors.[31] The cancellation of elective surgeries may also increase the number of doctors available to treat emergency patients. Furthermore, the cancellation of elective surgery is likely to be responsible for transient decreases in mortality. Doctors also may get more rest during strike periods. Although doctor strikes do not seem to increase patient mortality, they can disrupt delivery of healthcare.[32] Disruptions in delivery of service from prolonged strikes can result in decline of in-patient admissions and outpatient service utilization, as suggested during strikes in the UK in 2016.[33] When emergency services were affected during the last strike in April, regular service was also significantly affected. Additionally, people might need to seek alternative sources of care from the private sector and face increased costs of care. HCWs themselves may feel guilty and demotivated because of the strikes. The public health system may also lose trust as a result of service disruption caused by high recurrence of strikes. During the COVID-19 pandemic, as the healthcare system remains stretched, the potential adverse effects resulting from doctor strikes remain uncertain and potentially disruptive. In the UK, it is an offence to “willfully and maliciously…endanger human life or cause serious bodily injury.”[34] Likewise, the General Medical Council (GMC) also requires doctors to ensure that patients are not harmed or put at risk by industrial action. In the US, the American Medical Association code of ethics prohibits strikes by physicians as a bargaining tactic, while allowing some other forms of collective bargaining.[35] However, the American College of Physicians prohibits all forms of work stoppages, even when undertaken for necessary changes to the healthcare system. Similarly, the Delhi Medical Council in India issued a statement that “under no circ*mstances doctors should resort to strike as the same puts patient care in serious jeopardy.”[36] On the other hand, the positions taken by the Malaysian Medical Council (MMC) and Malaysian Medical Association (MMA) on doctors’ strikes are less clear when compared to their Western counterparts. The MMC, in their recently updated Code of Professional Conduct 2019, states that “the public reputation of the medical profession requires that every member should observe proper standards of personal behavior, not only in his professional activities but at all times.” Strikes may lead to imprisonment and disciplinary actions by MMC for those involved. Similarly, the MMA Code of Medical Ethics published in 2002 states that doctors must “make sure that your personal beliefs do not prejudice your patients' care.”[37] The MMA which is traditionally meant to represent the voices of doctors in Malaysia, may hold a more moderate position on strikes. Although HCW strikes are not explicitly mentioned in either professional body’s code of conduct and ethics, the consensus is that doctors should not do anything that will harm patients and they must maintain the proper standard of behaviors. These statements seem too general and do not represent the complexity of why and how a strike could take place. Therefore, it has been suggested that doctors and medical organizations should develop a new consensus on issues pertaining to medical professional’s social contract with society while considering the need to uphold the integrity of the profession. Experts in law, ethics, and medicine have long debated whether and when HCW strikes can be justified. If a strike is not expected to result in patient harm it is perhaps acceptable.[38] Although these debates have centered on the potential risks that strikes carry for patients, these actions also pose risks for HCWs as they may damage morale and reputation.[39] Most fundamentally, strikes raise questions about what healthcare workers owe society and what society owes them. For strikes to be morally permissible and ethical, it is suggested that they must fulfil these three criteria:[40] a. Strikes should be proportionate, e., they ‘should not inflict disproportionate harm on patients’, and hospitals should as a minimum ‘continue to provide at least such critical services as emergency care.’ b. Strikes should have a reasonable hope of success, at least not totally futile however tough the political rhetoric is. c. Strikes should be treated as a last resort: ‘all less disruptive alternatives to a strike action must have been tried and failed’, including where appropriate ‘advocacy, dissent and even disobedience’. The current strike does not fulfil the criteria mentioned. As Malaysia is still burdened with a high number of COVID-19 cases, a considerable absence of doctors from work will disrupt health services across the country. Second, since the strike organizer is not unionized, it would be difficult to negotiate better terms of contract and career paths. Third, there are ongoing talks with MMA representing the fraternity and the current government, but the time is running out for the government to establish a proper long-term solution for these contract doctors. One may argue that since the doctors’ contracts will end in a few months with no proper pathways for specialization, now is the time to strike. However, the HCW right to strike should be invoked only legally and appropriately after all other options have failed. CONCLUSION The strike in Malaysia has begun since the drafting of this paper. Doctors involved assure that there will not be any risk to patients, arguing that the strike is “symbolic”.[41] Although an organized strike remains a legal form of industrial action, a strike by HCWs in Malaysia poses various unprecedented challenges and ethical dilemmas, especially during the pandemic. The anonymous and uncoordinated strike without support from the appropriate labor unions may only spark futile discussions without affirmative actions. It should not have taken a pandemic or a strike to force the government to confront the issues at hand. It is imperative that active measures be taken to urgently address the underlying issues relating to contract physicians. As COVID-19 continues to affect thousands of people, a prompt reassessment is warranted regarding the treatment of HCWs, and the value placed on health care. [1] Ministry of Health (MOH) Malaysia, “Current situation of COVID-19 in Malaysia.” http://covid-19.moh.gov.my/terkini (accessed Jul. 01, 2021). [2] “Future of 4,000 young doctors who are contract medical officers uncertain,” New Straits Times - November 26, 2020. https://www.nst.com.my/news/nation/2020/11/644563/future-4000-young-doctors-who-are-contract-medical-officers-uncertain [3] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow [4] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327; G. Russo et al., “Health workers’ strikes in low-income countries: the available evidence,” Bull. World Health Organ., vol. 97, no. 7, pp. 460-467H, Jul. 2019, doi: 10.2471/BLT.18.225755. [5] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [6] E. Quinn, “Irish Doctors Strike to Protest Work Hours Amid Austerity,” The Wall Street Journal, 2013. https://www.wsj.com/articles/no-headline-available-1381217911?tesla=y (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [7] “NHS workers back strike action in pay row by 2-to-1 margin,” The Guardian, 2014. https://www.theguardian.com/society/2014/sep/18/nhs-workers-strike-pay-unison-england (accessed Jun. 29, 2021); M. Limb, “Thousands of junior doctors march against new contract,” BMJ, p. h5572, Oct. 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h5572. [8] J. Parry, “China coronavirus: Hong Kong health staff strike to demand border closure as city records first death,” BMJ, vol. 368, no. February, p. m454, Feb. 2020, doi: 10.1136/bmj.m454; “MultiCare healthcare workers strike, urging need for more PPEs, staff support,” Q13 FOX, 2020. https://www.q13fox.com/news/health-care-workers-strike-urging-need-for-ppes-risks-on-patient-safety (accessed Jun. 29, 2021); “Bolivia healthcare workers launch strike in COVID-hit region,” Al Jazeera, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/2/9/bolivia-healthcare-workers-strike-covid-hit-region (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [9] K. Arin, “Why are Korean doctors striking?” The Korea Herald, 2020. http://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20200811000941 (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [10] “Hartal Doktor Kontrak,” Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/hartaldoktorkontrak. [11] “Hartal,” Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary. https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/english/hartal (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [12] “Hartal Doktor Kontrak,” Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/hartaldoktorkontrak. [13] R. Anand, “Underpaid and overworked, Malaysia’s contract doctors’ revolt amid Covid-19 surge,” The Straits Times, 2021. [14] Anand. [15] N. S. Roslan, M. S. B. Yusoff, A. R. Asrenee, and K. Morgan, “Burnout prevalence and its associated factors among Malaysian healthcare workers during covid-19 pandemic: An embedded mixed-method study,” Healthc., vol. 9, no. 1, 2021, doi: 10.3390/healthcare9010090. [16] Maina Kiai, “Report by the Special Rapporteur on the Right to Freedom of Peaceful Assembly and Association,” 2016. [Online]. Available: http://freeassembly.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/A.71.385_E.pdf. [17] ETUI contributors, Strike rules in the EU27 and beyond. The European Trade Union Institute. ETUI, 2007. [18] National Labor Relations Board, National Labor Relations Act. 1935, pp. 151–169. [19] Ministry of Human Resources, Industrial Relations Act 1967 (Act 177), no. October. 2015, pp. 1–76. [20] Article 10 of the Federal Constitution states that all citizens have the right to form associations including registered trade or labor unions. A secret ballot with two-third majority will suffice to call for a strike required for submission to the DGTU within 7 days as stated in Section 25(A) of the Trade Union Act 1959. [21] Ministry of Human Resources Malaysia, Guidelines on Strikes, Pickets and Lockouts in Malaysia. Putrajaya, 2011. [22] Ordinance Emergency which was declared in Malaysia since 12 January 2021. Under the Ordinance Emergency, the king or authorized personnel may, as deemed necessary, demand any resources. [23] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow [24] S. A. Cunningham, K. Mitchell, K. M. Venkat Narayan, and S. Yusuf, “Doctors’ strikes and mortality: A review,” Soc. Sci. Med., vol. 67, no. 11, pp. 1784–1788, Dec. 2008, doi: 10.1016/j.socscimed.2008.09.044. [25] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [26] G. K. Kaguthi, V. Nduba, and M. B. Adam, “The impact of the nurses’, doctors’ and clinical officer strikes on mortality in four health facilities in Kenya,” BMC Health Serv. Res., vol. 20, no. 1, p. 469, Dec. 2020, doi: 10.1186/s12913-020-05337-9. [27] G. Ong’ayo et al., “Effect of strikes by health workers on mortality between 2010 and 2016 in Kilifi, Kenya: a population-based cohort analysis,” Lancet Glob. Heal., vol. 7, no. 7, pp. e961–e967, Jul. 2019, doi: 10.1016/S2214-109X (19)30188-3. [28] M. M. Z. U. Bhuiyan and A. Machowski, “Impact of 20-day strike in Polokwane Hospital (18 August - 6 September 2010),” South African Med. J., vol. 102, no. 9, p. 755, Aug. 2012, doi: 10.7196/SAMJ.6045. [29] M. M. Z. U. Bhuiyan and A. Machowski, “Impact of 20-day strike in Polokwane Hospital (18 August - 6 September 2010),” South African Med. J., vol. 102, no. 9, p. 755, Aug. 2012, doi: 10.7196/SAMJ.6045. [30] M. Ruiz, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “A retrospective study of the impact of the doctors’ strike in England on 21 June 2012,” J. R. Soc. Med., vol. 106, no. 9, pp. 362–369, 2013, doi: 10.1177/0141076813490685. [31] D. Metcalfe, R. Chowdhury, and A. Salim, “What are the consequences when doctors strike?” BMJ, vol. 351, no. November, pp. 1–4, 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h6231. [32] D. Waithaka et al., “Prolonged health worker strikes in Kenya- perspectives and experiences of frontline health managers and local communities in Kilifi County,” Int. J. Equity Health, vol. 19, no. 1, pp. 1–15, 2020, doi: 10.1186/s12939-020-1131-y. [33] The study has shown that there were 9.1% reduction in admissions and around 6% fewer emergency cases and outpatient appointments than expected. An additional 52% increase in expected outpatient appointments cancelations were made by hospitals during that period. D. Furnivall, A. Bottle, and P. Aylin, “Retrospective analysis of the national impact of industrial action by English junior doctors in 2016,” BMJ Open, vol. 8, no. 1, p. e019319, Jan. 2018, doi: 10.1136/bmjopen-2017-019319. [34] D. Metcalfe, R. Chowdhury, and A. Salim, “What are the consequences when doctors strike?” BMJ, vol. 351, no. November, pp. 1–4, 2015, doi: 10.1136/bmj.h6231. [35] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327. [36] M. Selemogo, “Criteria for a just strike action by medical doctors,” Indian J. Med. Ethics, vol. 346, no. 21, pp. 1609–1615, Jan. 2014, doi: 10.20529/IJME.2014.010. [37] Malaysian Medical Association, “Malaysian Medical Association Official Website.” https://mma.org.my (accessed Jun. 29, 2021). [38] M. Toynbee, A. A. J. Al-Diwani, J. Clacey, and M. R. Broome, “Should junior doctors strike?” J. Med. Ethics, vol. 42, no. 3, pp. 167–170, Mar. 2016, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2015-103310. [39] R. Essex and S. M. Weldon, “Health Care Worker Strikes and the Covid Pandemic,” N. Engl. J. Med., vol. 384, no. 24, p. e93, Jun. 2021, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp2103327. [40] M. Selemogo, “Criteria for a just strike action by medical doctors,” Indian J. Med. Ethics, vol. 346, no. 21, pp. 1609–1615, Jan. 2014, doi: 10.20529/IJME.2014.010; A. J. Roberts, “A framework for assessing the ethics of doctors’ strikes,” J. Med. Ethics, vol. 42, no. 11, pp. 698–700, Nov. 2016, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2016-103395. [41] “Malaysia doctors strike, parliament meets as COVID strain shows,” Al Jazeera, July 26, 2021. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/7/26/malaysia-doctors-strike-parliament-meets-as-covid-strains-grow

Abstract:

0. IntroductionIf we follow the line of much literature surrounding airports and urban mobility, the emphasis often falls on the fact that these spaces are designed to handle the mega-scale and super-human pace of mass transit. Airports have rightly been associated with velocity, as zones of rapid movement managed by enormous processing systems that guide bodies and things in transit (Pascoe; Pearman; Koolhaas; Gordon; Fuller & Harley). Yet this emphasis tends to ignore the spectrum of tempos and flows that are at play in airport terminals — from stillness to the much exalted hyper-rapidity of mobilized publics in the go-go world of commercial aviation.In this photo essay I'd like to pull a different thread and ask whether it's possible to think of aeromobility in terms of “uneven, differential mobility” (Bissell 280). What would it mean to consider waiting and stillness as forms of bodily engagement operating over a number of different scales and temporalities of movement and anticipation, without privileging speed over stillness? Instead of thinking mobility and stillness as diametrically opposed, can we instead conceive of them as occupying a number of different spatio-temporal registers in a dynamic range of mobility? The following is a provisional "visual ethnography" constructed from photographs of air terminal light boxes I have taken over the last five years (in Amsterdam, London, Chicago, Frankfurt, and Miami). Arranged into a "taxonomy of differentiality", each of these images comes from a slightly different angle, mode or directionality. Each view of these still images displayed in billboard-scale light-emitting devices suggests that there are multiple dimensions of visuality and bodily experience at play in these image-objects. The airport is characterized by an abundance of what appears to be empty space. This may be due to the sheer scale of mass transport, but it also arises from a system of active and non-active zones located throughout contemporary terminals. This photo series emphasises the "emptiness" of these overlooked left-over spaces that result from demands of circulation and construction.1. We Move the WorldTo many travellers, airport gate lounges and their surrounding facilities are loaded with a variety of contradictory associations and affects. Their open warehouse banality and hard industrial sterility tune our bodies to the vast technical and commercial systems that are imbricated through almost every aspect of contemporary everyday life.Here at the departure gate the traveller's body comes to a moment's rest. They are granted a short respite from the anxious routines of check in, body scans, security, information processing, passport scanning, itineraries, boarding procedures and wayfaring the terminal. The landside processing system deposits them at this penultimate point before final propulsion into the invisible airways that pipe them into their destination. We hear the broadcasting of boarding times, check-in times, name's of people that break them away from stillness, forcing people to move, to re-arrange themselves, or to hurry up. Along the way the passenger encounters a variety of techno-spatial experiences that sit at odds with the overriding discourse of velocity, speed and efficiency that lie at the centre of our social understanding of air travel. The airline's phantasmagorical projections of itself as guarantor and enabler of mass mobilities coincides uncomfortably with the passenger's own wish-fulfilment of escape and freedom.In this we can agree with the designer Bruce Mau when he suggests that these projection systems, comprised of "openings of every sort — in schedules, in urban space, on clothes, in events, on objects, in sightlines — are all inscribed with the logic of the market” (Mau 7). The advertising slogans and images everywhere communicate the dual concept that the aviation industry can deliver the world to us on time while simultaneously porting us to any part of the world still willing to accept Diners, VISA or American Express. At each point along the way these openings exhort us to stop, to wait in line, to sit still or to be patient. The weird geographies depicted by the light boxes appear like interpenetrating holes in space and time. These travel portals are strangely still, and only activated by the impending promise of movement.Be still and relax. Your destination is on its way. 2. Attentive AttentionAlongside the panoramic widescreen windows that frame the choreography of the tarmac and flight paths outside, appear luminous advertising light boxes. Snapped tightly to grid and locked into strategic sightlines and thoroughfares, these wall pieces are filled with a rotating menu of contemporary airport haiku and ersatz Swiss graphic design.Mechanically conditioned air pumped out of massive tubes creates the atmosphere for a very particular amalgam of daylight, tungsten, and fluorescent light waves. Low-oxygen-emitting indoor plants are no match for the diesel-powered plant rooms that maintain the constant flow of air to every nook and cranny of this massive processing machine. As Rem Koolhaas puts it, "air conditioning has launched the endless building. If architecture separates buildings, air conditioning unites them" (Koolhaas). In Koolhaas's lingo, these are complex "junkspaces" unifying, colliding and coalescing a number of different circulatory systems, temporalities and mobilities.Gillian Fuller reminds us there is a lot of stopping and going and stopping in the global circulatory system typified by air-terminal-space.From the packing of clothes in fixed containers to strapping your belt – tight and low – stillness and all its requisite activities, technologies and behaviours are fundamental to the ‘flow’ architectures that organize the motion of the globalizing multitudes of today (Fuller, "Store" 63). It is precisely this functional stillness organised around the protocols of store and forward that typifies digital systems, the packet switching of network cultures and the junkspace of airports alike.In these zones of transparency where everything is on view, the illuminated windows so proudly brought to us by J C Decaux flash forward to some idealized moment in the future. In this anticipatory moment, the passenger's every fantasy of in-flight service is attended to. The ultimate in attentiveness (think dimmed lights, soft pillows and comfy blankets), this still image is captured from an improbable future suspended behind the plywood and steel seating available in the moment —more reminiscent of park benches in public parks than the silver-service imagined for the discerning traveller.3. We Know ChicagoSelf-motion is itself a demonstration against the earth-binding weight of gravity. If we climb or fly, our defiance is greater (Appleyard 180).The commercial universe of phones, cameras, computer network software, financial instruments, and an array of fancy new gadgets floating in the middle of semi-forgotten transit spaces constitutes a singular interconnected commercial organism. The immense singularity of these claims to knowledge and power loom solemnly before us asserting their rights in the Esperanto of "exclusive rollover minutes", "nationwide long distance", "no roaming charges" and insider local knowledge. The connective tissue that joins one part of the terminal to a commercial centre in downtown Chicago is peeled away, revealing techno-veins and tendrils reaching to the sky. It's a graphic view that offers none of the spectacular openness and flights of fancy associated with the transit lounges located on the departure piers and satellites. Along these circulatory ribbons we experience the still photography and the designer's arrangement of type to attract the eye and lure the body. The blobby diagonals of the telco's logo blend seamlessly with the skyscraper's ribbons of steel, structural exoskeleton and wireless telecommunication cloud.In this plastinated anatomy, the various layers of commercially available techno-space stretch out before the traveller. Here we have no access to the two-way vistas made possible by the gigantic transparent tube structures of the contemporary air terminal. Waiting within the less travelled zones of the circulatory system we find ourselves suspended within the animating system itself. In these arteries and capillaries the flow is spread out and comes close to a halt in the figure of the graphic logo. We know Chicago is connected to us.In the digital logic of packet switching and network effects, there is no reason to privilege the go over the stop, the moving over the waiting. These light box portals do not mirror our bodies, almost at a complete standstill now. Instead they echo the commercial product world that they seek to transfuse us into. What emerges is a new kind of relational aesthetics that speaks to the complex corporeal, temporal, and architectural dimensions of stillness and movement in transit zones: like "a game, whose forms, patterns and functions develop and evolve according to periods and social contexts” (Bourriaud 11). 4. Machine in the CaféIs there a possible line of investigation suggested by the fact that sound waves become visible on the fuselage of jet planes just before they break the sound barrier? Does this suggest that the various human senses are translatable one into the other at various intensities (McLuhan 180)?Here, the technological imaginary contrasts itself with the techno alfresco dining area enclosed safely behind plate glass. Inside the cafes and bars, the best businesses in the world roll out their biggest guns to demonstrate the power, speed and scale of their network coverage (Remmele). The glass windows and light boxes "have the power to arrest a crowd around a commodity, corralling them in chic bars overlooking the runway as they wait for their call, but also guiding them where to go next" (Fuller, "Welcome" 164). The big bulbous plane sits plump in its hangar — no sound barriers broken here. It reassures us that our vehicle is somewhere there in the network, resting at its STOP before its GO. Peeking through the glass wall and sharing a meal with us, this interpenetrative transparency simultaneously joins and separates two planar dimensions — machinic perfection on one hand, organic growth and death on the other (Rowe and slu*tsky; Fuller, "Welcome").Bruce Mau is typical in suggesting that the commanding problem of the twentieth century was speed, represented by the infamous image of a US Navy Hornet fighter breaking the sound barrier in a puff of smoke and cloud. It has worked its way into every aspect of the design experience, manufacturing, computation and transport.But speed masks more than it reveals. The most pressing problem facing designers and citizens alike is growth — from the unsustainable logic of infinite growth in GDP to the relentless application of Moore's Law to the digital networks and devices that define contemporary society in the first world. The shift of emphasis from speed to growth as a time-based event with breaking points and moments of rupture has generated new possibilities. "Growth is nonlinear and unpredictable ... Few of us are ready to admit that growth is constantly shadowed by its constitutive opposite, that is equal partners with death” (Mau 497).If speed in part represents a flight from death (Virilio), growth invokes its biological necessity. In his classic study of the persistence of the pastoral imagination in technological America, The Machine in the Garden, Leo Marx charted the urge to idealize rural environments at the advent of an urban industrialised America. The very idea of "the flight from the city" can be understood as a response to the onslaught of technological society and it's deathly shadow. Against the murderous capacity of technological society stood the pastoral ideal, "incorporated in a powerful metaphor of contradiction — a way of ordering meaning and value that clarifies our situation today" (Marx 4). 5. Windows at 35,000 FeetIf waiting and stillness are active forms of bodily engagement, we need to consider the different layers of motion and anticipation embedded in the apprehension of these luminous black-box windows. In The Virtual Window, Anne Friedberg notes that the Old Norse derivation of the word window “emphasizes the etymological root of the eye, open to the wind. The window aperture provides ventilation for the eye” (103).The virtual windows we are considering here evoke notions of view and shelter, open air and sealed protection, both separation from and connection to the outside. These windows to nowhere allow two distinct visual/spatial dimensions to interface, immediately making the visual field more complex and fragmented. Always simultaneously operating on at least two distinct fields, windows-within-windows provide a specialized mode of spatial and temporal navigation. As Gyorgy Kepes suggested in the 1940s, the transparency of windows "implies more than an optical characteristic; it implies a broader spatial order. Transparency means a simultaneous perception of different spatial locations" (Kepes 77).The first windows in the world were openings in walls, without glass and designed to allow air and light to fill the architectural structure. Shutters were fitted to control air flow, moderate light and to enclose the space completely. It was not until the emergence of glass technologies (especially in Holland, home of plate glass for the display of commercial products) that shielding and protection also allowed for unhindered views (by way of transparent glass). This gives rise to the thesis that windows are part of a longstanding architectural/technological system that moderates the dual functions of transparency and separation. With windows, multi-dimensional planes and temporalities can exist in the same time and space — hence a singular point of experience is layered with many other dimensions. Transparency and luminosity "ceases to be that which is perfectly clear and becomes instead that which is clearly ambiguous" (Rowe and slu*tsky 45). The light box air-portals necessitate a constant fluctuation and remediation that is at once multi-planar, transparent and "hard to read". They are informatic.From holes in the wall to power lunch at 35,000 feet, windows shape the manner in which light, information, sights, smells, temperature and so on are modulated in society. "By allowing the outside in and the inside out, [they] enable cosmos and construction to innocently, transparently, converge" (Fuller, "Welcome" 163). Laptop, phone, PDA and light box point to the differential mobilities within a matrix that traverses multiple modes of transparency and separation, rest and flight, stillness and speed.6. Can You Feel It?Increasingly the whole world has come to smell alike: gasoline, detergents, plumbing, and junk foods coalesce into the catholic smog of our age (Illich 47).In these forlorn corners of mobile consumption, the dynamic of circulation simultaneously slows and opens out. The surfaces of inscription implore us to see them at precisely the moment we feel unseen, unguided and off-camera. Can you see it, can you feel it, can you imagine the unimaginable, all available to us on demand? Expectation and anticipation give us something to look forward to, but we're not sure we want what's on offer.Air travel radicalizes the separation of the air traveller from ground at one instance and from the atmosphere at another. Air, light, temperature and smell are all screened out or technologically created by the terminal plant and infrastructure. The closer the traveller moves towards stillness, the greater the engagement with senses that may have been ignored by the primacy of the visual in so much of this circulatory space. Smell, hunger, tiredness, cold and hardness cannot be screened out.In this sense, the airplanes we board are terminal extensions, flying air-conditioned towers or groundscrapers jet-propelled into highways of the air. Floating above the horizon, immersed in a set of logistically ordained trajectories and pressurized bubbles, we look out the window and don't see much at all. Whatever we do see, it's probably on the screen in front of us which disconnects us from one space-time-velocity at the same time that it plugs us into another set of relations. As Koolhaas says, junkspace is "held together not by structure, but by skin, like a bubble" (Koolhaas). In these distended bubbles, the traveler momentarily occupies an uncommon transit space where stillness is privileged and velocity is minimized. The traveler's body itself is "engaged in and enacting a whole kaleidoscope of different everyday practices and forms" during the course of this less-harried navigation (Bissell 282).7. Elevator MusicsThe imaginary wheel of the kaleidoscope spins to reveal a waiting body-double occupying the projected territory of what appears to be a fashionable Miami. She's just beyond our reach, but beside her lies a portal to another dimension of the terminal's vascular system.Elevators and the networks of shafts and vents that house them, are to our buildings like veins and arteries to the body — conduits that permeate and structure the spaces of our lives while still remaining separate from the fixity of the happenings around them (Garfinkel 175). The terminal space contains a number of apparent cul-de-sacs and escape routes. Though there's no background music piped in here, another soundtrack can be heard. The Muzak corporation may douse the interior of the elevator with its own proprietary aural cologne, but at this juncture the soundscape is more "open". This functional shifting of sound from figure to ground encourages peripheral hearing, providing "an illusion of distended time", sonically separated from the continuous hum of "generators, ventilation systems and low-frequency electrical lighting" (Lanza 43).There is another dimension to this acoustic realm: “The mobile ecouteur contracts the flows of information that are supposed to keep bodies usefully and efficiently moving around ... and that turn them into functions of information flows — the speedy courier, the networking executive on a mobile phone, the scanning eyes of the consumer” (Munster 18).An elevator is a grave says an old inspector's maxim, and according to others, a mechanism to cross from one world to another. Even the quintessential near death experience with its movement down a long illuminated tunnel, Garfinkel reminds us, “is not unlike the sensation of movement we experience, or imagine, in a long swift elevator ride” (Garfinkel 191).8. States of SuspensionThe suspended figure on the screen occupies an impossible pose in an impossible space: half falling, half resting, an anti-angel for today's weary air traveller. But it's the same impossible space revealed by the airport and bundled up in the experience of flight. After all, the dimension this figures exists in — witness the amount of activity in his suspension — is almost like a black hole with the surrounding universe collapsing into it. The figure is crammed into the light box uncomfortably like passengers in the plane, and yet occupies a position that does not exist in the Cartesian universe.We return to the glossy language of advertising, its promise of the external world of places and products delivered to us by the image and the network of travel. (Remmele) Here we can go beyond Virilio's vanishing point, that radical reversibility where inside and outside coincide. Since everybody has already reached their destination, for Virilio it has become completely pointless to leave: "the inertia that undermines your corporeity also undermines the GLOBAL and the LOCAL; but also, just as much, the MOBILE and the IMMOBILE” (Virilio 123; emphasis in original).In this clinical corner of stainless steel, glass bricks and exit signs hangs an animated suspension that articulates the convergence of a multitude of differentials in one image. 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