Journal articles on the topic 'Art – Commerce – Australie'

Many local councils in Australia commence their meetings with prayer. Case law in the United Kingdom holds that English local councils do not have power to commence their meetings with prayer. This article argues that the reasoning of the UK case law applies with equal force in Australia with the result that the practice of many Australian local councils of incorporating prayers into their formal meetings is unlawful.

The Government has indicated it is going to amend s 36 of the Commerce Act 1986. Its reasons are that s 36 fails to capture sufficient anticompetitive conduct, is difficult and complex to apply and makes litigation unpredictable. The Government proposes a substantial lessening of competition test which it claims will capture more conduct, make analysis more straightforward and provide a source of Australian authority for New Zealand courts. This article uses an Australian Federal Court case, Australian Competition and Consumer Commission v Pfizer Australia Pty Ltd, to show that the claims for reform are overstated and in some cases incorrect. It argues the foundations of the case for reform of s 36 are wobbly and infirm.

Objectives: To determine if there were any differences in antiretroviral treatment (ART) use across the three eastern states of Australia, New South Wales (NSW), Victoria and Queensland, during the period 1997 to 2006. Methods: We used data from a clinic-based cohort, the Australian HIV Observational Database (AHOD), to determine the proportion of HIV-infected patients on ART in selected clinics in each state and the proportion of treated patients with an undetectable viral load. Data from the national Highly Specialised Drugs program and AHOD were used to estimate total numbers of individuals on ART and the proportion of individuals living with HIV on ART nationally and by state. Data from the HIV Futures Survey and the Gay Community Periodic Survey were used to determine the proportion of community-based men who have sex with men on ART. The proportion of patients with primary HIV infection (PHI) who commenced ART within 1 year of diagnosis was obtained from the Acute Infection and Early Disease Research Program (AIEDRP) CORE01 protocol and Primary HIV and Early Disease Research: Australian Cohort (PHAEDRA) cohorts. Results: We estimated that the numbers of individuals on ART increased from 3181 to 4553 in NSW, 1309 to 1926 in Victoria and 809 to 1615 in Queensland between 2000 and 2006. However, these numbers may reflect a lower proportion of individuals living with HIV on ART in NSW compared with the other states (37% compared with 49 and 55% in 2000). We found similar proportions of HIV-positive men who have sex with men participants were on ART in all three states over the study period in the clinic-based AHOD cohort (81–92%) and two large, community-based surveys in Australia (69–85% and 49–83%). Similar proportions of treated patients had an undetectable viral load across the three states, with a consistently increasing trend over time observed in all states. We found that more PHI patients commenced treatment in the first year following HIV diagnosis in NSW compared with Victoria; however, the sample size was very small. Conclusions: For the most part, patterns of ART use were similar across NSW, Victoria and Queensland using a range of available data from cohort studies, community surveys and national prescription databases in Australia. However, there may be a lower proportion of individuals living with HIV on ART in NSW compared with the other states, and there is some indication of a more aggressive treatment approach with PHI patients in NSW compared with Victoria.

This article investigates whether contemporary art can or should be protected by patent law. The investigation commences with a working definition of contemporary art and then examines the way that patent law has treated fine art in the US, UK and Australia, and whether this treatment would extend to contemporary art. A number of examples of patents granted to types of contemporary art are reviewed.

The Defence Special Undertakings Act 1952 (Cth) is a draconian piece of Cold War legislation originally passed to provide security for British atomic testing in Australia. There are only two known prosecutions under the Act, both involving Christian pacifists entering the Pine Gap prohibited area. In 2007, the first ever convictions under the Act were overturned on appeal. A second prosecution has now commenced. This article considers the history and context of the current prosecutions and contends that the Act is being used to suppress contemporary dissent in a period in which the Australian government already faces criticism of its treatment of the right to protest.

Lifestyle medicine commenced in Australia in response to the rise in chronic diseases following the epidemiological transition that began in the 1980s. Today, it is flourishing with an annual conference, a variety of multidisciplinary members, and a developed pedagogy for the “art-science.”

In 2009, two major pieces of industrial legislation were enacted to give effect to the Labor Government’s commitment to replace Work Choices with laws for ‘Fair Work’. The Fair Work Act 2009 (Cth) promises to bring greater stability and simplicity to Australia’s workplace relations system. However, transitional rules in the Fair Work (Transitional Provisions and Consequential Amendments) Act 2009 (Cth) mean that it will be some time before participants in the system can enjoy these benefits. This review gives a brief account of both Acts before examining in more detail the enterprise bargaining rules which commenced operating in July under the supervision of a new institution, Fair Work Australia. We then consider two aspects of the Fair Work legislation which are most likely to provoke controversy when they commence operating in 2010, the adverse action and transfer of business provisions. We also look at the steps taken by federal and state governments to move towards a national system of workplace relations.

For as long as plain packaging legislation had been floated as an option for tobacco products, tobacco companies had threatened legal action against such a regime. Those threats became action when, two tobacco companies separately commenced litigation in the High Court of Australia claiming that the Tobacco Plain Packaging Act 2011 (Cth) breached section 51(xxxi) of the Australian Constitution. Yet, the Act survived that challenge and remains in force to this day. This article reviews the introduction of the Act and subsequent challenge, and closely analyses the judgments comprising the decision in JT International v Commonwealth. It then examines how plain packaging has operated in practice, including enforcement of the regime and unexpected legal issues arising from its application. This article concludes with a reflection on what the Commonwealth’s victory regarding plain packaging means for constitutional intellectual property issues more generally.

We obtained 14,140 interception records of ants arriving in Australia between 1986 and 2010 to examine taxonomic and biogeographic patterns of invasion. We also evaluated how trade and transport data influenced interception rates, the identity of species being transported, the commerce most associated with the transport of ants, and which countries are the primary sources for ants arriving in Australia. The majority of ant interceptions, accounting for 48% of interceptions, were from Asia and Oceania. The top commodities associated with ant interceptions were: (1) Live trees, plants, cut flowers; (2) Wood and wood products; (3) Edible vegetables; and (4) Edible fruit and nuts. The best fitting model for predicting ant interceptions included volumes for these four commodities, as well as total trade value, transport volume, and geographic distance (with increased distance decreasing predicted ant interceptions). Intercepted ants identified to species consisted of a combination of species native to Australia, introduced species already established in Australia, and species not yet known to be established. 82% of interceptions identified to species level were of species already known to be established in Australia with Paratrechina longicornis having the most records. These data provide key biogeographic insight into the overlooked transport stage of the invasion process. Given the difficult nature of eradication, once an ant species is firmly established, focusing on early detection and quarantine is key for reducing the establishment of new invasions.

Background In recent years, there has been increasing evidence that early initiation of antiretroviral therapy (ART) may provide health benefits for those infected with HIV. There has also been significant discussion about the role of HIV treatment in preventing onward transmission of the virus. Early provision and uptake of ART to people recently diagnosed with HIV could achieve both individual and public health outcomes. The success of such an initiative relies, in part, on the preparedness of those recently diagnosed with HIV to engage with the therapy. Methods: The HIV Seroconversion Study collects both quantitative and qualitative data from people in Australia who have recently been diagnosed with HIV. During 2011–2012, 53 gay or bisexual men recruited across Australia took part in semistructured interviews as part of the study. The men were asked about their knowledge and experience of, and their decisions about whether or not to commence, HIV treatment. Results: The interviews identified differing levels of knowledge about HIV treatments and divergent views about the health and prevention benefits of ART. For some, treatments provided a sense of control over the virus; others were apprehensive and distrustful, and preferred to resist commencing treatments for as long as possible. Conclusions: If early initiation of treatment is to be encouraged, appropriate measures must be in place to ensure recently diagnosed individuals have access to the appropriate information and the support they need to enable them to make informed choices and, if necessary, to address their fears.

May I commence by acknowledging the honour done to me by asking me to give this, the nineteenth WA Lee lecture. I studied Equity, in part, under Professor Lee and he was a prominent member of the teaching community at my University College. At that time, and later, I came to appreciate the extent to which his reputation was established, not just in Australia, but throughout the common law world. Perhaps the most telling of a number of indications, once publications such as the masterful Ford & Lee are put to one side, is the fact that when Donovan Waters QC, former Oxford don, STEP Honorary Member and one of the negotiators of the Hague Trust Convention,[1] visited Australia as a guest of STEP, the one Australian he specifically asked us to arrange for him to meet was Tony Lee. So to give this lecture before an audience including Tony Lee, fills me with not a little trepidation. He – and no doubt many others of you – will be immediately aware of any errors or imperfections. It is small consolation that, on this occasion at least, he will not be marking the paper. In choosing the topic for the paper, I had in mind a paper given by the Hon Dyson Heydon, AC QC, to the first STEP Australia Conference.[2] Mr Heydon QC observed that: This paper is an edited version of a paper presented at the 2018 WA Lee Equity Lecture delivered on 21 November 2018 at the Banco Court, Supreme Court of Queensland, Brisbane. * AM RFD QC; BA (UQ), LLB (UQ), LLM (UQ). [1] Adopted by Australia and implemented in the Trusts (Hague Convention) Act 1991 (Cth). [2] JD Heydon, ‘Modern Fiduciary Liability: the Sick Man of Equity’ (2014) 20 Trusts & Trustees 1006.

The Construction Contracts Act 2004 provides for security of payment in the construction industry through the use of rapid adjudication processes to determine payment disputes. It further prohibits or modifies certain “unfair” provisions in construction contracts and implies provisions in construction contracts about certain matters if there are no written provisions about these matters in the contract. In 2015 the Minster for Commerce commissioned a review of the Act to determine whether iy is meeting the needs of industry and whether amendment was required. This paper provides a background to the construction industry in Western Australia and the essential provisions of the Act together with the principal findings from the review. The recurring issue throughout the review was the critical need for widespread education and publicity regarding the existence of, and the provisions of the Act. Unless this occurs as a matter of urgency and priority, the Act will not fully achieve its objectives for the benefit of all sections of the construction industry.

Australia has rejoiced in its reputation for having low sovereign risk and corresponding rating, for decades. This reputation was bruised in the first decade after the High Court introduced Native Title into Australian law by the legislative response of the then Government, but has since recovered, and enjoys the world’s lowest country risk rating, and shares the worlds best sovereign risk rating with the USA. A number of government precipitated occurrences in recent times, however, raise the question: for how long can this continue?This paper tracks the long history of occasional broken resource commitments—for both petroleum and mining interests—by governments at both State and Federal level, and the policies which have driven these breaches. It also discusses the notorious recent cancellation of a resource lease by the Queensland Government, first by purporting to cancel the bauxite lease and, after legal action had commenced, by a special Act of Parliament to repeal a State Agreement Act. This has raised concerns in boardrooms around the world of the security of assets held in Australia on a retention, or care and maintenance basis.The paper also looks at the cancellation of the offshore prospecting rights held by WMC, with no compensation. This was a result of the concept that rights extinguished by the Commonwealth, with no gain to the Commonwealth or any other party do not constitute an acquisition of property, thereby denying access to the constitutional guarantee of ’just terms’ supposedly enshrined in the Australian Constitution where an acquisition has occurred.Some other examples are the prohibition on exploration in Queensland national parks last November. This cost some companies with existing tenures a lot of money as exploration permits were granted, but then permission to do seismic exploration refused (Victoria). Several losses of rights occurred as a result of the new Queensland Petroleum and Other Acts Amendment Act after investments have been made.Changes in fiscal policy can also impact on project viability, and some instances of this are considered.This paper also explores ways these risks can be minimised, and how and when compensation might be recovered.

Broadspectrum’s local content experience in the oil and gas, mining, industrial, defence, social, property and infrastructure industries has resulted in 85% local employment and 80% local purchasing across our contracts in Australia. An established pilot program in Chinchilla recognises the challenges facing operators and suppliers in many oil and gas hubs across Australia and will enable the region to respond quickly to the introduction of the Queensland Government Strong and Sustainable Resources Communities Bill (expected to be in place in 2016). The approach facilitates collaboration between schools, workers, local chambers of commerce and businesses. Elements include a community jobs portal to attract local workers and act as an information exchange for the relocating worker, investing in the local Chamber of Commerce to provide a welcoming service, redesigning the recruitment process to support local content, and deploying a local registered training organisation. We are committed to increasing our local workforce in the region by 25% over the next 2 years and recognise that many of our clients and suppliers in the region have similar objectives. This talk will focus on lessons and best practices derived from delivery of our traditional approach in similar industries and regions, as well as learnings from the application of the pilot program in Chinchilla. A review of early achievements will be given, including measurable outcomes; support from government; investment in a long-term pipeline of local workers through collaboration with schools; and an update on the 25% increase in local workers objective.

Abstract STUDY QUESTION What are the success rates for women returning to ART treatment in the hope of having a second ART-conceived child. SUMMARY ANSWER The cumulative live birth rate (LBR) for women returning to ART treatment was between 50.5% and 88.1% after six cycles depending on whether women commenced with a previously frozen embryo or a new ovarian stimulation cycle and the assumptions made regarding the success rates for women who dropped-out of treatment. WHAT IS KNOWN ALREADY Previous studies have reported the cumulative LBR for the first ART-conceived child to inform patients about their chances of success. However, most couples plan to have more than one child to complete their family and, for that reason, patients commonly return to ART treatment after the birth of their first ART-conceived child. To our knowledge, there are no published data to facilitate patient counseling and clinical decision-making regarding the success rates for these patients. STUDY DESIGN, SIZE, DURATION A population-based cohort study with 35 290 women who commenced autologous (using their own oocytes) ART treatment between January 2009 and December 2013 and achieved their first treatment-dependent live birth from treatment performed during this period. These women were then followed up for a further 2 years of treatment to December 2015, providing a minimum of 2 years and a maximum of 7 years of treatment follow-up. PARTICIPANTS/MATERIALS, SETTING, METHODS Cycle-specific LBR and cumulative LBR were calculated for up to six complete ART cycles (one ovarian stimulation and all associated transfers). Three cumulative LBR were calculated based on the likelihood of success in women who dropped-out of treatment (conservative, optimal and inverse probability-weighted (IPW)). A multivariable logistic regression model was used to predict the chance of returning to ART treatment for a second ART-conceived child, and a discrete time logistic regression model was used to predict the chance of achieving a second ART-conceived child up to a maximum of six complete cycles. The models were adjusted for patient characteristics and previous and current treatment characteristics. MAIN RESULTS AND THE ROLE OF CHANCE Among the women who had their first ART-conceived live birth, 15 325 (43%) returned to treatment by December 2015. LBRs were consistently better in women who recommenced treatment with a previously frozen embryo, compared to women who underwent a new ovarian stimulation cycle. After six complete cycles, plus any surplus frozen embryos, the cumulative LBR was between 60.9% (95% CI: 60.0–61.8%) (conservative) and 88.1% (95% CI: 86.7–89.5%) (optimal) [IPW 87.2% (95% CI: 86.2–88.2%)] for women who recommenced treatment with a frozen embryo, compared to between 50.5% (95% CI: 49.0–52.0%) and 69.8% (95% CI: 67.5–72.2%) [IPW 68.1% (95% CI: 67.3–68.9%)] for those who underwent a new ovarian stimulation cycle. The adjusted odds of a second ART-conceived live birth decreased for women ≥35 years, who waited at least 3 years before returning to treatment, or who required a higher number of ovarian stimulation cycles or double embryo transfer to achieve their first child. LIMITATIONS, REASONS FOR CAUTION Our estimates do not fully account for a number of individual prognostic factors, including duration of infertility, BMI and ovarian reserve. WIDER IMPLICATIONS OF THE FINDINGS This is the first study to report success rates for women returning to ART treatment to have second ART-conceived child. These age-specific success rates can facilitate individualized counseling for the large number of patients hoping to have a second child using ART treatment. STUDY FUNDING/COMPETING INTEREST(S) No funding was received to undertake this study. R. Paul and O. Fitzgerald have nothing to declare. D. Lieberman reports being a fertility specialist and receiving non-financial support from MSD and Merck outside the submitted work. C. Venetis reports being a fertility specialist and receiving personal fees and non-financial support from MSD, personal fees and non-financial support from Merck Serono and Beisins and non-financial support from Ferring outside the submitted work. G.M. Chambers reports being a paid employee of the University of New South Wales, Sydney (UNSW) and Director of the National Perinatal Epidemiology and Statistics Unit (NPESU), UNSW. The Fertility Society of Australia (FSA) contracts UNSW to prepare the Australian and New Zealand Assisted Reproductive Technology Database (ANZARD) annual report series and benchmarking reports. TRIAL REGISTRATION NUMBER NA.

In Australia, all newborns born in New South Wales (NSW) and the Australia Capital Territory (ACT) have been offered screening for rare congenital conditions through the NSW Newborn Screening Programme since 1964. Following the development of the Australian Newborn Bloodspot Screening National Policy Framework, screening for congenital adrenal hyperplasia (CAH) was included in May 2018. As part of the assessment for addition of CAH, the national working group recommended a two-tier screening protocol determining 17α-hydroxyprogesterone (17OHP) concentration by immunoassay followed by steroid profile. A total of 202,960 newborns were screened from the 1 May 2018 to the 30 April 2020. A threshold level of 17OHP from first tier immunoassay over 22 nmol/L and/or top 2% of the daily assay was further tested using liquid chromatography tandem mass spectrometry (LC-MS/MS) steroid profiling for 17OHP (MS17OHP), androstenedione (A4) and cortisol. Samples with a ratio of (MS17OHP + A4)/cortisol > 2 and MS17OHP > 200 nmol/L were considered as presumptive positive. These newborns were referred for clinical review with a request for diagnostic testing and a confirmatory repeat dried blood spot (DBS). There were 10 newborns diagnosed with CAH, (9 newborns with salt wasting CAH). So far, no known false negatives have been notified, and the protocol has a sensitivity of 100%, specificity of 99.9% and a positive predictive value of 71.4%. All confirmed cases commenced treatment by day 11, with none reported as having an adrenal crisis by the start of treatment.

It is widely known that online shopping has several advantages including time and energy-saving as well as its diversity in making choices. In spite of that, online purchasing activities are prone to a certain number of misuses, particularly to the exposure of fraud and deception by online merchants. Therefore, this article intended to address the necessity for a specific and clear definition of deceit in the context of online purchases. The need for up-to-date legal provisions is crucial to ensure consumers’ protection from any acts of deception by irresponsible merchants, taking into account the act of misleading consumers through unclear definitions and elements of deceit within online purchases in accordance with existing laws. Using content analysis methodology, the existing legal provisions on fraud have been reviewed by focusing on Section 17 of the Contracts Act 1950 in Malaysia alongside regulations on e-commerce fraud practices implemented in the United States, European Union, and Australia. Furthermore, a review of literature from past scholars is included to evaluate their point of view towards e-commerce deception. This article finds that there is a need to provide a distinct and precise definition of deceit and fraud against online purchases through existing legal provisions. It is suggested that Section 17 of the Contracts Act 1950 should include terms that denote its application in the electronic context apart from improving and clarifying the definition and elements of existing provisions to ensure the protection of consumers from the acts of deceit in online purchases.

The Building Act 2011 commenced in Western Australia on 2 April 2012. It introduced private certification for design and construction compliance, and reduced fees and timeframes for local governments to issue permits. This research project assessed the effect of the Act on the time and cost of building approvals in WA, using an internet-based, self-completion survey to obtain feedback from people on their experience of the new building approvals process. This research compared the cost of approval for 16 building projects under the new and old approvals processes. The research concluded that the new approvals process appears to be cost-neutral for the building industry as a whole. However, the cost of approval for the 11 building projects studied valued up to $1 million, particularly alterations to existing buildings, is an average of 4.0 times greater under the new approvals process.

Ethnographers, historians, and linguists have argued for many years about the nature of the relationship between missionaries and their collaborators. Critics of missionary linguistics and education have pointed out that Bible translations were tools forged for the cultural conquest of native people and that missionary impacts on local cultures nearly always destructive and frequently overwhelming (Comaroff and Comaroff 1997; Rafael 1988; Sanneh 1989). Sociolinguistic readings of scripture translation have emphasized the cultural loss inherent in the act of translation and even seemingly benign activities such as dictionary making (Errington 2001; Peterson 1999; Tomlinson 2006). To make this point, Rafael (1988: xvii) notes the semantic links between the various Spanish words for conquest (conquista), conversion (conversión), and translation (traducción). Historians, on the other hand, have generally been more skeptical about the power of mere words to exert hegemonic pressure on colonized people and have emphasized the more tangible power of guns and commerce as agents of empire (Porter 2004). Few would deny the symbolic power of the Bible as a representation of colonial domination, as in the saying attributed to Archbishop Desmond Tutu by Cox (2008: 4): “When the white man arrived, he had the Bible and we had the land; now, we have the Bible and he has the land.”

Last year the petroleum industry witnessed the enactment of new legislation both at Commonwealth and State levels. The principal legislative change to environmental management was the introduction of the Commonwealth Government’s Environmental Protection and Biodiversity Act, 2000 (EPBC Act). South Australia and Victoria also implemented new Petroleum Acts and/ or Regulations.Construction of the Eastern Gas Pipeline was also completed last year, whilst preliminary approvals and environmental assessment continues for the Papua New Guinea, Timor Sea and Tasmania Natural Gas pipelines. Offshore exploration continued, particularly in the North West Shelf, Otway Basin, Timor Sea and Bass Strait.Other critical areas of environmental management included greenhouse gases, national pollution inventory reporting and the increasing requirements for environmental approval and management under various state environmental legislation.This paper provides an overview of environmental developments in the petroleum industry during the year 2000, in particular, the implication of new legislation, new technology, e-commerce and a greater focus on environmental reporting.

This article evaluates the constitutionality of the restrictions upon tobacco packaging in Ireland in the Public Health (Standardised Packaging of Tobacco) Act 2015 and Part 5 of the Health (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act 2017. Australia is the only country to have commenced this legislative process earlier, so the Irish experience (and, in particular, an analysis of the constitutionality of the Irish legislation) could provide a roadmap for other jurisdictions aiming to implement similar restrictions. This article concludes that public health and the protection of children constitute pressing and substantial reasons sufficient to justify as proportionate these Acts’ restrictions upon tobacco companies’ property rights protected by the Irish Constitution.

This year's annual review of women, work and industrial relations marks an important milestone. Nearly 10 years have elapsed since the introduction of the Fair Work Act 2009, which enshrined important new rights for the progression of gender equality. It is also 10 years since the Journal of Industrial Relations commenced this annual review. In addition to focusing on developments affecting women and work in 2018, this review provides a broad summary of key events over the past decade. We explore trends in women's workforce participation, union membership, economic security and pay equity, as well as major changes pertaining to work–family policy settings, workplace sexual harassment, and family and domestic violence leave. We conclude that although policy and employment frameworks have created a foundation on which to build gender equality, policy development has been sporadic and the context for women in Australian workplaces remains far from equal.

Michael Gow's celebrated play Away (1986) commences with a tatty school version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Set in the era of anti-Vietnam War protests, Away ironically salutes the iconic performance traditions of the ‘romantic’ Dream. At the Prince's Theatre, Manchester, in 1901–02, actor-manager Robert Courtneidge directed elaborate productions of this play and As You Like It, and under the management of George Musgrove toured them to Australia, where Twelfth Night was added. These productions' ensemble casting was central to Courtneidge's and Musgrove's ambitions for addressing the ‘distinctive geographies’ of regional taste. Veronica Kelly is an Honorary Research Advisor at the University of Queensland. Her book The Empire Actors: Stars of Australasian Costume Drama 1890s–1920s is published by Currency House (2010).

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to investigate students’ experiences of, and attitudes on, the use of technology – in the form of ePortfolio – as an assessment tool. The authors seek to determine whether ePortfolios aid students in facilitating critical reflection on their learning and academic skill development. The authors also determine whether ePortfolios can provide an alternative assessment tool to the traditional assessment practices in the accounting and business discipline. Design/methodology/approach This study surveys students enrolled in an indigenous business course using questions on the usability of ePortfolios, technical support and effectiveness in critical reflection and learning. Formal evaluations were included to capture students’ self-reflections on their ePortfolio experience. The analysis included analysis of variance, t-tests, correlations and hierarchical regression. Findings Results indicated that students show positive attitudes toward ePortfolios even after controlling for possible confounding variables such as previous experience, attitudes and accessibility. The authors also found that ePortfolios are a useful vehicle for enhancing students’ learning and understanding of indigenous knowledge in a business context. They were also found to facilitate students’ ability to critically reflect, engage in learning and develop their academic skills. Research limitations/implications The findings of this study could benefit those working in higher education, particularly accounting academics in Australian universities, and the adaptation of ePortfolios in a blended learning environment, and contribute to pedagogical knowledge regarding indigenous business issues. Academics could design the curriculum of the accounting courses within the commerce programme that addresses programme learning objectives to align with graduate employability outcomes. Practical implications This study provides a foundation for improving the design and assessment of written communication activities in accounting courses to achieve employability skills outcomes commensurate with university accreditation criteria. This could be achieved with the development of a community of practice developed by the professional accounting bodies in collaboration with Australian universities. Originality/value The research is not wholly new, although the use of ePortfolios in accounting education is not widely reported and, therefore, may be of interest to those in advancing the accounting education agenda. In light of the recent call by Australian professional accounting bodies, ePortfolios can provide accounting graduates the non-technical or soft skills such as communication, interpersonal and critical thinking.

In Kable v Director of Public Prosecutions (NSW) the High Court of Australia declared that the requirements of Chapter III of the Australian Constitution prohibited a State legislature from conferring powers on a State court that were repugnant or incompatible with their status as repositories of federal judicial power. This was a significant constitutional watershed; it had never previously been suggested that the protections contained in Chapter III applied to State courts. Recent applications of Kable, however, have given rise to concerns that the principles to be derived from that case are unclear. This is a serious deficiency given that State legislatures, not bound by a separation of powers doctrine at a State level, may choose to confer important decision-making functions on non-judicial bodies. This article explores whether a bipartite inquiry, such as that employed in the rights jurisprudence in both England and Strasbourg, may clarify the meaning and scope of the principle enunciated in Kable. It commences by formulating a mode of inquiry which is intended to assist courts in determining whether a legislative act impairs the institutional integrity of a State court. It then argues that the principle of proportionality should be employed to determine whether a prima facie impairment may nonetheless be excusable. Such a conclusion would be reached where it can established that the legislative act is necessary in a democratic society, in the sense that it addresses a pressing social need. The introduction of this limited ground of justification promotes greater clarity and ensures that an appropriate balance is maintained between State legislative autonomy and the institutional integrity of State courts.

A population of Prototransversotrema steeri Angel, 1969 is recorded from the introduced fish Gambusia affinis and the native species Pseudomugil signifer and Mugil cephalus in fresh water in Queensland, Australia. Adults of P. steeri are considerably smaller than adults previously described from marine fish. This appears to be a host-related phenomenon, possibly reflecting the size of the subscale niche offered by the host. The intermediate host is Posticobia brazieri, a hydrobiid snail. It is suggested that different hydrobiid snails may act as intermediate hosts in other parts of Australia. The miracidium develops into a mother sporocyst which produces a single mother redia. Mother rediae produce daughter rediae which may produce further daughter rediae or cercariae. Cercariae emerge from the redia while still embryonic and develop independently in the tissues of the snail. Upon emergence the cercariae attach directly to the definitive host and commence egg-production within 6 days. Gambusia affinis, Xiphophorus rnaculatus, X. helleri, Craterocephalus marjoriae and Mugil cephalus were all infected experimentally. I discuss various theories concerning the phylogenetic position of the Transverso- trematidae within the Digenea and conclude that the family occupies an isolated position not closely allied with any other group.

This article is a historiography, or critical review of the history, of Australian archaeology. It commences with a discussion of the two major regional histories of Australian archaeology, and a survey of the literature on the removal and scientific use of human remains. This is followed by an examination of the two major approaches to the history of Australian archaeology—individual and collective biography, and the use of specific archaeological sites or broader geographical regions—then three complementary but less used historical approaches. Finally, I offer suggestions for further research in the history of Australian archaeology.

Drawing on recent developments in Australian, United Kingdom and United States jurisprudence, Professor Korah casts doubt on the approach recently taken by New Zealand courts in one of the most controversial areas of competition law: the access to its facilities that a corporation in a dominant position must give to its would-be competitors. She argues that before imposing such obligations courts ought to be more sophisticated in assessing the economic effects of such obligations and especially the need to preserve an incentive to make the considerable investment required to create such facilities. Professor Korah was the 1999 Chapman Tripp Fellow. This article is an edited version of a paper presented at the offices of Chapman Tripp during the tenure of the Fellowship.

Purpose The purpose of this study is to examine the relationship between the understandability of an accounting textbooks written in English and the language learning motivation of international students. Previous research assumed that native speakers of a language and second-language speakers would understand a given accounting text similarly and little attempt has been made to ascertain any individual differences in users’ capacity to read and understand a foreign language. Design/methodology/approach The 107 participants in this study comprised of full-time English as a Second Language postgraduate commerce students studying at a major Australian university. The authors used two-part questionnaire to examine the motivation of participants and the understandability of an accounting textbook using the Cloze test. Findings The results suggest that most international students have difficulty in understanding the textbook narratives used in this study. Furthermore, the results show that students’ motivation to learn a foreign language impacts on the understandability of an accounting textbook. Practical implications This study will help the educators, textbook publishers and students to understand the needs of ESL students. It is expected to provide guidance for authors and instructors to enhance the effectiveness of the accounting courses. Originality/value The accounting literature shows that there have been efforts by accounting researchers to measure the understandability of accounting texts or narratives. This research provided valuable insights of the learning challenges of international students and valuable recommendations to educators and publishers to enhance the delivery.

Advance care planning is increasingly common practice in contemporary health care for individuals living with a chronic condition. Currently, limited research has been conducted into how newly adopted legislation in Victoria, Australia, facilitates advance care planning. The purpose of this study was to explore the uptake of the Medical Treatment Planning and Decisions Act 2016 in the primary care setting. The study also aimed to explore barriers that allied health professionals encounter when practicing advance care planning with patients. Four interdisciplinary focus groups and two in-depth interviews with participants were conducted and thematically analysed using an interpretivist inquiry paradigm. Analysis revealed two key themes: promoting client wellbeing and scope of practice. The data suggest that advance care planning by allied health professionals in the primary care setting is limited. Focussing on enhancing clients’ wellbeing was more important than the development of advanced care directives. Attempting to promote the wellbeing of patients may foster hesitation to commence advance care planning in primary care. This study demonstrated that knowledge of the fundamental legislative changes are evident among allied health professionals which provides a foundation for successful development of advance care planning post implementation of the new Act.

Refusals to supply are one of the types of behaviour that may constitute an illegal act of monopolisation under competition law. As part of United States refusal to supply law the courts developed the essential facilities doctrine. This requires the owner of a facility which is essential to rivals to provide access to that facility. Courts, in particular the United States Supreme Court, have cast doubt on the doctrine and cut back on liability for unilateral refusals to supply. Conversely New Zealand (and Australian) courts have increased liability for refusals to supply. One case, Commerce Commission v Bay of Plenty Electricity Ltd suggested New Zealand has its own essential facilities doctrine. This article discusses and analyses refusals to supply both legally and economically. It compares United States and Australasian law and shows how New Zealand law is tougher on refusals to supply. It argues that New Zealand has its own version of the essential facilities doctrine – albeit for different reasons than the Bay of Plenty Electricity Court suggested. It shows that sound reasons justify this stance.

The last few years have seen a range of important changes to the Commonwealth legislation governing offshore petroleum resources. Not the least of these has been the passing of the new Offshore Petroleum Act 2006 (OPA), which will replace the Petroleum (Submerged Lands) Act 1967 (PSLA), and the recent ratification of the Treaty on Certain Maritime Arrangements in the Timor Sea (CMATS) and the Greater Sunrise International Unitisation Agreement.The PSLA has been the primary legislation for the administration of Australia’s offshore petroleum resources for close to 40 years and, through age and many amendments, it has become complex and unwieldy. The Government saw the need to rewrite the Act to provide a more user-friendly enactment that would reduce compliance costs for governments and industry. The rewrite, passed as the Offshore Petroleum Act 2006, focussed on restructuring the Act, deleting outdated text, rewriting specific sections and generally improving its readability rather than rewriting the entire Act in plain English or changing present regulatory arrangements.The OPA was passed through the Commonwealth Parliament in 2006 and has been passed as mirror legislation to cover offshore waters by the majority of States and the Northern Territory. It will be proclaimed to cover Commonwealth waters once it has been mirrored by the States. The Australian Government will continue to press the remaining States to enact the OPA and it is hoped this process can be finalised later this year.Another major step forward has been the setting up of the National Offshore Petroleum Safety Authority (NOPSA). NOPSA is the centralised Australian Government statutory authority responsible for the administration and enforcement of occupational health and safety legislation in the offshore petroleum industry. It has this role for offshore petroleum activities both in Commonwealth waters and in State and Northern Territory offshore waters. The Safety Authority commenced its regulatory operations on 1 January 2005. It has its headquarters in Perth and an office in Melbourne.

AbstractThe Richmond River Valley of northern N.S.W. contains a late Pleistocene succession dating back to approximately 250,000 yr B.P. Dinoflagellate and spore-pollen assemblages from the lowest interval, the lower “Dungarubba Clay” of Drury (1982), indicate deposition in a restricted estuarine environment at approximately 250,000 yr. Deposition in the overlying interval, the upper “Dungarubba Clay” and “Gundurimba Clay”, at approximately 120,000 yr B.P., began in a restricted estuary, but rising sea level caused inundation and deposition in a more open, marine-dominated environment. Dinoflagellate cyst assemblages from the last interglaciation (stage 5) are interpreted by analogy with those from the morphologically similar, modern Broken Bay, N.S.W. They are indicative of an open, marine-dominated environment and imply that barrier formation in the Richmond River Valley, and possibly elsewhere in northern N.S.W., did not commence until after the initial postglacial transgression. Synchronous changes in sea level and rainforest development suggest that there was no significant time lag between climate and sea-level change.

An unusually well-defined association between guano-derived phosphate rock (apatite) and coral carbonates on Pelsaert Island has provided an opportunity to test uranium-series dating methods as applied to insular phosphorites. The phosphate deposit, which is bracketed by late Pleistocene and Holocene corals with 230Th/234U ages of 120,000 and 4700 yr B.P., respectively, has 230Th/234U ages ranging from 85,000 to 112,000 yr B.P. The mutually consistent results suggest that phosphate deposition commenced soon after the peak of the last interglaciation and has been largely controlled by sea-level fluctuations and probably other factors associated with late Quaternary climate in this area.

The existence of native title in Australia was recognised by the High Court in its historic Mabo No. 2 judgment on 3 June 1992. Native title is a shorthand expression used to describe those activities pursued by native peoples in connection with their traditional lands, in accordance with traditional law and custom. It could be extinguished in many ways, and once extinguished cannot be revived. Following an intense public debate, the Commonwealth enacted the Native Title Act (NTA) which, for most purposes, commenced on 1 January 1994. The NTA recognises and protects native title, enabling its future extinguishment in only limited cases, principally by government acquisition for public purposes which are actually fulfilled. The High Court decision and the NTA are both constructed around the Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (RDA) which has a dual limb operation. Where laws omit inclusion of people on racial grounds, the RDA uplifts the rights of those people to equate with all other citizens. Where such laws prohibit people on racial grounds, the prohibition provisions will be ineffective. The former limb extends principles of due process and compensation to persons dispossessed of their native title after commencement of the RDA on 21 October 1975. By so doing, existing petroleum tenements probably avoided invalidity, leaving the question of compensation alive for tenements created after that date. Alternatively, the NTA enables those tenements to be validated by legislation, and provides for compensation in appropriate cases. Since 1 January 1994, the RDA imposes a non-extinguishment principle into the general law, whereby granted tenements will not extinguish native title, only displace it for the life of the grant enabling the native title rights to then be resumed. Further Court cases, legislation and proposed international treaties are all now in the course of development, with the combined capacity of expanding native title concepts. Australia is still at the beginning of the evolution of legal recognition of native title.

Geological sequestration is a promising technology for reducing atmospheric emissions of carbon dioxide (CO2) with the potential to geologically store a significant proportion Australia of Australia’s stationary CO2 emissions. Stationary emissions comprise almost 50% (or about 280 million tonnes of CO2 per annum) of Australia’s total greenhouse gas emissions. Australia has abundant coal and gas resources and extensive geological storage opportunities; it is therefore well positioned to include geosequestration as an important part of its portfolio of greenhouse gas emission mitigation technologies.The Cooperative Research Centre for Greenhouse Gas Technologies is undertaking a geosequestration demonstration project in the Otway Basin of southwest Victoria, with injection of CO2 planned to commence around mid 2007. The project will extract natural gas containing a high percentage of CO2 from an existing gas well and inject it into a nearby depleted natural gas field for long-term storage. The suitability of the storage site has been assessed through a comprehensive risk assessment process. About 100,000 tonnes of CO2 is expected to be injected through a new injection well during a one- to two-year period. The injection of CO2 will be accompanied by a comprehensive monitoring and verification program to understand the behaviour of the CO2 in the subsurface and determine if the injected carbon dioxide has migrated out of the storage reservoir into overlying formations. This project will be the first storage project in Australia and the first in the world to test monitoring for storage in a depleted gas reservoir. Baseline data pertinent to geosequestration is already being acquired through the project and the research will enable a better understanding of long-term reactive transport and trapping mechanisms.This project is being authorised under the Petroleum Act 1998 (Victoria) and research, development and demonstration provisions administered by the Environment Protection Authority (EPA) Victoria in the absence of geosequestration- specific legislation. This highlights the need for such legislation to enable commercial-scale projects to proceed. Community acceptance is a key objective for the project and a consultation plan based on social research has been put in place to gauge public understanding and build support for the technology as a viable mitigation mechanism.

In the wake of the Indian Uprising in 1857, British sanitary campaigner and statistician Florence Nightingale renewed her efforts to reform Britain's military forces at home and in India. With the Uprising following so soon after the Crimean War (1854-56), where poor sanitary conditions had also taken an enormous toll, in 1859 Nightingale pressed the British Parliament to establish a Royal Commission on the Sanitary State of the Army in India, which delivered its report in 1863. Western Australia was the only colony to present its case before the Commissioners as an ideal location for a foreign sanatorium, with glowing assessments offered by colonial elites and military physicians. In the meantime, Nightingale had also commenced an investigation into the health of Indigenous children across the British Empire. Nearly 150 schools responded to her survey from Ceylon, Natal, West Africa, Canada and Australia. The latter's returns came from just three schools in Western Australia: New Norcia, Annesfield in Albany and the Sisters of Mercy in Perth, which together yielded the highest death rate of the respondents. Although Nightingale herself saw these inquiries as separate, their juxtaposition invites closer analysis of the ways in which metropolitan elites envisioned particular racial futures for Anglo and indigenous populations of empire, and sought to steer them accordingly. The reports reflect prevailing expectations and anxieties about the social and biological reproduction of white society in the colonies, and the concomitant decline of Indigenous peoples. Read together, these two inquiries reveal the complex ways in which colonial matters of reproduction and dispossession, displacement and replacement, were mutually constituting concerns of empire. In this article I situate the efforts to attract white women and their wombs to the temperate colony of Western Australia from British India in the context of contemporary concerns about Anglo and Aboriginal mortality. In doing so, I reflect on the intersections of gender, race, medicine and environment in the imaginaries of empire in the mid-nineteenth century.

In this paper we provide a template for transitioning from tutorial to larger-class teaching environments in the discipline of history. We commence by recognising a number of recent trends in tertiary education in Australian universities that have made this transition to larger-class sizes an imperative for many academics: increased student enrolments in the absence of a concomitant rise in teaching staff levels, greater emphasis on staff’s research and service, and governmental and institutional pressures to maximize resource efficiency. All this, of course, taking place in an environment where staff are required to engage with discipline-specific pedagogies in teaching and learning to ensure that their departments, faculties and institutions successfully meet and maintain standards of quality in the delivery of higher education. The main challenge historians face here, we argue, is to ensure that the ‘higher order thinking skills’ associated with the discipline are developed in a learning environment often deemed incompatible with doing so. Dealing with this issue requires a particular approach to curriculum design, one that systematically unpacks the signature skills of historical thinking/writing/reading and engages with the pedagogy of large-class teaching environments. What follows is an account of our foray into unfamiliar territory, which, we hope, can act as a guide to academics moving in a similar direction.

This is my first issue as senior editor of Theatre Research International. That the journal and I are almost exactly the same age is at once thrilling and a little unsettling. One feels both the weight of tradition, and the sense of mission and possibility that contemporaries can share. Indeed, looking through back issues, I am struck by how integrally TRI has both reflected and driven changes in performance practice and scholarship that I recognize from my own intellectual development. I began my undergraduate studies at Bristol University Drama Department – publisher, from 1959 to 1974, of one of TRI's two precursors, New Theatre Magazine (the other being Theatre Research/Recherches théâtrales). That was in 1992, in the same year an editorial by Claude Schumacher highlighted a reorientation of the journal away from text-based drama towards ‘the theory of theatre practice’. I left the UK to make theatre (and a life) in Singapore in 1996, just as the journal began notably to expand its international scope. And I commenced my PhD on cosmopolitanism and performance in 2001, at the same time as Brian Singleton's overhaul of the journal's structure and focus set the internationalizing standard for the publication that exists today. That year, I made my first trip to Australia, to present on a panel for emerging scholars at a conference of the International Federation for Theatre Research (IFTR, the organization with which this publication is affiliated), hosted by the University of New South Wales. Subsequent conference participation brought me into contact with TRI editors Christopher Balme, Freddie Rokem, Elaine Aston and Charlotte Canning, and, courtesy of the IFTR member's subscription, the material they were publishing.

Background. Statutory registration of Chinese Medicine (CM) practitioners was introduced in Victoria in 2000. The application assessment process for those who were granted registration during the transitional period (2002–04) was resource intensive, as little was known about their age, education, practice and language proficiency. This study offers insights that may be useful for the planning of national registration to commence in 2012. Methods. Data were extracted from registration application forms submitted to the Chinese Medicine Registration Board of Victoria (CMRB) between 2002 and 2004, using pre-defined data collection forms. Results. In 2006, 639 ‘grandparented’ Victorian CM practitioners had been registered, with a median age of 44 years old (range 23–86). There was a higher proportion of younger female, English-speaking, acupuncturists v. a higher proportion of older male, non-English-speaking, Chinese herbalists. There were few CM practitioners in rural areas, particularly herbalists. More than one-third of practitioners had obtained qualifications overseas and almost half of these practitioners provided no evidence of past study in professional issues and medical ethics. Conclusions. Ageing, diversity in qualifications and training, English proficiency, and level of study in professional issues and medical ethics represent major challenges for the implementation of CM national registration in 2012. What is known about the topic? Statutory registration of Chinese Medicine (CM) practitioners was introduced in the state of Victoria in 2000. The process of registering practitioners during the transitional period was resource intensive, because of the diverse background of the workforce. In May 2009, Health Ministers of all States and Territories and the Commonwealth agreed to include the CM profession, from 1 July 2012, in the National Registration and Accreditation Scheme for the health professions. What does this paper add? This paper, based on data from the registration application forms submitted to the Chinese Medicine Registration Board of Victoria (CMRB) between 2002 and 2004, provides a demographic and geographic profile of the 639 Victorian CM practitioners grandparented under the transitional arrangements of the Chinese Medicine Registration Act 2000. This study offers insights that may be useful for the planning of national registration for the Chinese Medicine profession. What are the implications for practitioners? With the introduction of national registration for the CM profession, this study provides critical data for developing effective strategies to implement the grandparenting process in all states and territories in Australia. Particularly, data collected in this study will help to deal with assessing knowledge in ethics and the healthcare system, biomedical sciences and language proficiency as part of the assessment process for a substantial number of applicants during the national registration of CM practitioners.

International Business Research wishes to acknowledge the following individuals for their assistance with peer review of manuscripts for this issue. Their help and contributions in maintaining the quality of the journal are greatly appreciated. International Business Research is recruiting reviewers for the journal. If you are interested in becoming a reviewer, we welcome you to join us. Please find the application form and details at http://www.ccsenet.org/journal/index.php/ibr/editor/recruitment and e-mail the completed application form to ibr@ccsenet.org. Reviewers for Volume 11, Number 10   Andrea Carosi, University of Sassari, Italy Anna Paola Micheli, Univrtsity of Cassino and Southern Lazio, Italy Antônio André Cunha Callado, Universidade Federal Rural de Pernmabuco, Brazil Ashford C Chea, Benedict College, USA Aurelija Burinskiene, Vilnius Gediminas Technical University, Lithuania Benjamin James Inyang, University of Calabar, Nigeria Bruno Ferreira Frascaroli, Federal University of Paraiba, BrazilBrazil, Celina Maria Olszak, University of Economics in Katowice, Poland Cheng Jing, eBay, Inc. / University of Rochester, USA Chokri Kooli, International Center for Basic Research applied, Paris, Canada Claudia Isac, University of Petrosani, Romania Dea’a Al-Deen Al-Sraheen, Al-Zaytoonah University of Jordan , Jordan Eunju Lee, University of Massachusetts Lowell, USA Federica De Santis , University of Pisa , Italy Foued Hamouda, Ecole Supérieure de Commerce, Tunisia Francesco Ciampi, Florence University, Italy Gilberto Marquez-Illescas , University of Rhode Island, USA Giuseppe Granata, University of Cassino and Southen Lazio, Italy Giuseppe Russo, University of Cassino and Southern Lazio, Italy Guo Zi-Yi, Wells Fargo Bank, N.A., USA Imran Riaz Malik, IQRA University, Pakistan Janusz Wielki, Opole University of Technology, Poland Jerome Kueh, Universiti Malaysia Sarawak, Malaysia Joseph Lok-Man Lee, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Ladislav Mura, University of Ss. Cyril and Methodius in Trnava, Slovakia Luisa Pinto, University of Porto School of Economics, Portugal Manuel A. R. da Fonseca, Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), Brazil Manuela Rozalia Gabor, “Petru Maior” University of Tîrgu Mureş, Romania Marcelino José Jorge, Evandro Chagas Clinical Research Institute of Oswaldo Cruz Foundation, Brazil Maria-Madela Abrudan, University of ORADEA, Romania Maryam Ebrahimi, Azad University, Iran Mithat Turhan, Mersin University, Turkey Modar Abdullatif, Middle East University, Jordan Mohamed Abdel Rahman Salih, Taibah University, Saudi Arabia Ozgur Demirtas, Turkish Air Force Academy, Turkey Pascal Stiefenhofer, University of Brighton, UK Rafiuddin Ahmed, James Cook University, Australia Riaz Ahsan, Government College University Faisalabad, Pakistan Sumathisri Bhoopalan, SASTRA Deemed to be University, India Valeria Stefanelli, University of Salento, Italy Valerija Botric, The Institute of Economics, Zagreb, Croatia Wanmo Koo, Western Illinois University, USA Wejdene Yangui, Institute of High Business Studies of Sfax _ Tunisia (IHEC), Tunisia Yasmin Tahira, Al Ain University of Science and Technology, Al Ain, UAE

International Business Research wishes to acknowledge the following individuals for their assistance with peer review of manuscripts for this issue. Their help and contributions in maintaining the quality of the journal are greatly appreciated. International Business Research is recruiting reviewers for the journal. If you are interested in becoming a reviewer, we welcome you to join us. Please find the application form and details at http://www.ccsenet.org/journal/index.php/ibr/editor/recruitment and e-mail the completed application form to ibr@ccsenet.org. Reviewers for Volume 12, Number 3   Alireza Athari, Eastern Mediterranean University, Iran Anca Gabriela Turtureanu, “DANUBIUS” University Galati, Romania Andrea Carosi, University of Sassari, Italy Anna Paola Micheli, Univrtsity of Cassino and Southern Lazio, Italy Antônio André Cunha Callado, Universidade Federal Rural de Pernmabuco, Brazil Ashford C Chea, Benedict College, USA Bruno Marsigalia, University of Casino and Southern Lazio, Italy Chokri Kooli, International Center for Basic Research applied, Paris, Canada Christopher Alozie, Tansian University, Nigeria Cristian Marian Barbu, “ARTIFEX” University, Romania Duminda Kuruppuarachchi, University of Otago, New Zealand Essia Ries Ahmed, Universiti Sains Malaysia, Malaysia Federica Caboni, University of Cagliari, Italy Federica De Santis, University of Pisa, Italy Florin Ionita, The Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies, Romania Foued Hamouda, Ecole Supérieure de Commerce, Tunisia Francesco Ciampi, Florence University, Italy Francesco Scalera, University of Bari "Aldo Moro", Italy Gianluca Ginesti, University of Naples “FEDERICO II”, Italy Hillary Odor, University of Benin, Nigeria Ivana Tomic, IT Company CloudTech, Republic of Serbia Joanna Katarzyna Blach, University of Economics in Katowice, Poland Joseph Lok-Man Lee, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Khaled Mokni, Northern Border University, Tunisia L. Leo Franklin, Bharathidasn University, India Ladislav Mura, University of Ss. Cyril and Methodius in Trnava, Slovakia Leow Hon Wei, SEGi University, Malaysia Manuel A. R. da Fonseca, Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), Brazil Marcelino José Jorge, Evandro Chagas Clinical Research Institute of Oswaldo Cruz Foundation, Brazil Maria do Céu Gaspar Alves, University of Beira Interior, Portugal Maria Teresa Bianchi, University of Rome “LA SAPIENZA”, Italy Miriam Jankalová, University of Zilina, Slovakia Mongi Arfaoui, University of Monastir, Tunisia Muath Eleswed, American University of Kuwait, USA Ozgur Demirtas, Turkish Air Force Academy, Turkey Pascal Stiefenhofer, University of Brighton, UK Prosper Senyo Koto, Dalhousie University, Canada Rafiuddin Ahmed, James Cook University, Australia Razana Juhaida Johari, Universiti Teknologi MARA, Malaysia Riccardo Cimini, University of Tuscia, Viterbo, Italy Roberto Campos da Rocha Miranda, University Center Iesb, Brazil Sang- Bing Tsai, University of Electronic Science and Technology of China, China Sara Saggese, University of Naples Federico II, Italy Shun Mun Helen Wong, The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong Slavoljub M. Vujović, Economic Institute, Belgrade, Serbia Tariq Tawfeeq Yousif Alabdullah, University of Basrah, Iraq Valerija Botric, The Institute of Economics, Zagreb, Croatia Velia Gabriella Cenciarelli, University of Pisa, Italy Yan Lu, University of Central Florida, USA Yasmin Tahira, Al Ain University of Science and Technology, Al Ain, UAE

During the last six months, there has been much discussion in the general and arts media about the manifestation of problematic practices within the Australian art auction market. Although the nature of these practices has been scrutinised, scant attention has been paid to how the methods and mechanisms employed by auction houses to build business during the art market boom that commenced in the late 1990s might represent a force that could undermine the sustainability of the market. Fundamental to this is quantifying the extent to which auction houses are able to influence market development. In this paper, I present empirical evidence that suggests that major Australian auction houses can exert significant control over buyer behaviour and price formation.

The definition of Environmental, Social and Governance (ESG) is not obscure. ESG involvement is the proceeding dedication by commerce to act ethically and contribute to economic growth while improving the standard of life of the employees and their families as well as the people around them. In the attempt to investigate the impact of ESG disclosure on financial performance of top 100 companies in Malaysia and Australia, this research scrutinises the annual reports of top 100 companies in Malaysia and Australia based on market capitalisation in 2017. This research has considered a comparison between Malaysia, a developing country and Australia, a developed country due to the purpose of evaluating the levels of disclosure based on different regulatory requirements on ESG while assessing the impact of ESG disclosure on Company Financial Performance (CFP). The reason being Australia is chosen as a benchmark for Malaysia to enhance their regulatory requirement for level of ESG disclosure. Overall, it is found that there is a positive impact of ESG disclosure on CFP.

Many films of the Australian New Wave (or Australian film renaissance) of the 1970s and 1980s can be defined as gothic, especially following Jonathan Rayner’s suggestion that “Instead of a genre, Australian Gothic represents a mode, a stance and an atmosphere, after the fashion of American Film Noir, with the appellation suggesting the inclusion of horrific and fantastic materials comparable to those of Gothic literature” (25). The American comparison is revealing. The 400 or so film productions of the Australian New Wave emerged, not in a vacuum, but in an increasingly connected and inter-mixed international space (Godden). Putatively discrete national cinemas weave in and out of each other on many levels. One such level concerns the reception critics give to films. This article will drill down to the level of the reception of two examples of Australian gothic film-making by two well-known American critics. Rayner’s comparison of Australian gothic with American film noir is useful; however, it begs the question of how American critics such as Pauline Kael and Andrew Sarris influentially shaped the reception of Australian gothic in America and in other locations (such as Australia itself) where their reviews found an audience either at the time or afterwards. The significance of the present article rests on the fact that, as William McClain observes, following in Rick Altman’s footsteps, “critics form one of the key material institutions that support generic formations” (54). This article nurtures the suggestion that knowing how Australian gothic cinema was shaped, in its infancy, in the increasingly important American market (a market of both commerce and ideas) might usefully inform revisionist studies of Australian cinema as a national mode. A more nuanced, globally informed representation of the origins and development of Australian gothic cinema emerges at this juncture, particularly given that American film reviewing in the 1970s and 1980s more closely resembled what might today be called film criticism or even film theory. The length of individual reviews back then, the more specialized vocabulary used, and above all the tendency for critics to assume more knowledge of film history than could safely be assumed in 2014—all this shows up the contrast with today. As Christos Tsiolkas notes, “in our age… film reviewing has been reduced to a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down” (56)! The 1970s and 1980s is largely pre-Internet, and critical voices such as Kael and Sarris dominated in print. The American reviews of Australian gothic films demonstrate how a different consciousness suffuses Kael’s and Sarris’s engagements with “Antipodean” (broadly Australian and New Zealand) cinema. Rayner’s locally specific definition of Australian gothic is distorted in their interpretations of examples of the genre. It will be argued that this is symptomatic of a particular blindspot, related to the politics and art of place, in the American reception of Wake in Fright (initially called Outback in America), directed by the Canadian Ted Kotcheff (1971) and The Year of Living Dangerously, directed by Peter Weir (1982). Space and argument considerations force this article to focus on the reviews of these films, engaging less in analysis of the films themselves. Suffice to say that they all fit broadly within Rayner’s definition of Australian gothic cinema. As Rayner states, three thematic concerns which permeate all the films related to the Gothic sensibility provide links across the distinctions of era, environment and character. They are: a questioning of established authority; a disillusionment with the social reality that that authority maintains; and the protagonist’s search for a valid and tenable identity once the true nature of the human environment has been revealed. (25) “The true nature of the human environment….” Here is the element upon which the American reviews of the Australian gothic founder. Explicitly in many films of this mode, and implicitly in nearly all of them, is the “human environment” of the Australian landscape, which operates less as a backdrop and more as a participating element, even a character, in the drama, saturating the mise-en-scène. In “Out of Place: Reading (Post) Colonial Landscapes as Gothic Space in Jane Campion’s Films,” Eva Rueschmann quotes Ross Gibson’s thesis from South of the West: Postcolonialism and the Narrative Construction of Australia that By featuring the land so emphatically… [Australian] films stake out something more significant than decorative pictorialism. Knowingly or unknowingly, they are all engaging with the dominant mythology of white Australia. They are all partaking of the landscape tradition which, for two hundred years, has been used by white Australians to promote a sense of the significance of European society in the “Antipodes”. (Rueschmann) The “emphatic” nature of the land in films like Wake in Fright, Mad Max 2 and Picnic at Hanging Rock actively contributes to the “atmosphere” of Australian gothic cinema (Rayner 25). This atmosphere floats across Australian film and literature. Many of the films mentioned in this article are adaptations from books, and Rayner himself stresses the similarity between Australian gothic and gothic literature (25). Significantly, the atmosphere of Australian gothic also floats across the fuzzy boundary between the gothic and road movies or road literature. Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior is obviously a road movie as well as a gothic text; so is Wake in Fright in its way; even Picnic at Hanging Rock contains elements of the road movie in all that travelling to and from the rock. Roads, then, are significant for Australian gothic cinema, for the road traverses the Australian (gothic) landscape and, in the opportunity it provides for moving through it at speed, tantalizes with the (unfulfillable) promise of an escape from its gothic horror. Australian roads are familiar, part of White European culture referencing the geometric precision of Roman roads. The Australian outback, by contrast, is unfamiliar, uncanny. Veined with roads, the outback invites the taming by “the landscape tradition” that it simultaneously rejects (Rueschmann). In the opening 360° pan of Wake in Fright the land frightens with its immensity and intensity, even as the camera displays the land’s “conquering” agent: not a road, but the road’s surrogate—a railway line. Thus, the land introduces the uncanny into Australian gothic cinema. In Freudian terms, the uncanny is that unsettling combination of the familiar and the unfamiliar. R. Gray calls it “the class of frightening things that leads us back to what is known and familiar” (Gray). The “frightening” land is the very condition of the “comforting” road; no roads without a space for roads, and places for them to go. In her introduction to The Penguin Book of the Road, Delia Falconer similarly sutures the land to the uncanny, linking both of these with the first peoples of the Australian land: "Of course there is another 'poetry of the earth' whispering from the edges of our roads that gives so many of our road stories an extra charge, and that is the history of Aboriginal presence in this land. Thousands of years of paths and tribal boundaries also account for the uncanny sense of being haunted that dogs our travellers on their journeys (xvii). White Australia, as the local saying goes, has a black past, played out across the land. The film The Proposition instances this, with its gothic portrayal of the uncanny encroachments of the Australian “wilderness” into the domain of “civilization”. Furthermore, “our” overweening literal and metaphoric investment in the traditional quarter-acre block, not to mention in our roads, shows that “we” haven’t reconciled either with the land of Australia or with its original inhabitants: the Aboriginal peoples. Little wonder that Kael and Sarris couldn’t do so, as White Americans writing some forty years ago, and at such a huge geographic remove from Australia. As will be seen, the failure of these American film critics to comprehend the Australian landscape comes out—as both a “critical reaction” and a “reactive compensation”—in two, interwoven strands of their interpretations of Australian New Wave gothic cinema. A repulsion from, and an attraction to, the unrecognized uncanny is evidenced. The first strand is constituted in the markedly anthropological aspect to the film reviews: anthropological elements of the text itself are either disproportionately magnified or longed for. Here, “anthropological” includes the sociological and the historical. Secondly, Kael and Sarris use the films they review from Australian gothic cinema as sites upon which to trial answers to the old and persistent question of how the very categories of art and politics relate. Initially sucked out of the reviews (strand one), politics and art thus rush back in (strand two). In other words, the American failure to engage deeply with the land triggers an initial reading of films like Wake in Fright less as films per se and more as primary texts or one-to-one documentations of Australia. Australia presents for anthropological, even scientific atomization, rather than as a place in active, creative and complex relationship with its rendering in mise-en-scène. Simultaneously though, the absence of the land nags—eats away at the edges of critical thinking—and re-emerges (like a Freudian return of the repressed) in an attempt by the American critics to exploit their film subjects as an opportunity for working out how politics and art (here cinema) relate. The “un-seen” land creates a mis-reading amongst the American critics (strand one), only to force a compensatory, if somewhat blindsided, re-reading (strand two). For after all, in this critical “over-looking” of the land, and thus of the (ongoing) Aboriginal existence in and with the land, it is politics and art that is most at stake. How peoples (indigenous, settler or hybrid peoples) are connected to and through the land has perhaps always been Australia’s principal political and artistic question. How do the American reviews speak to this question? Sarris did not review Wake in Fright. Kael reviewed it, primarily, as a text at the intersection of fiction and documentary, ultimately privileging the latter. Throughout, her critical coordinates are American and, to a degree, literary. Noting the “stale whiff of Conrad” she also cites Outback’s “additional interest” in its similarity with “recent American movies [about] American racism and capitalist exploitation and the Vietnam war” (415). But her most pointed intervention comes in the assertion that there is “enough narrative to hold the social material together,” as if this were all narrative were good for: scaffolding for sociology (416). Art and culture are left out. Even as Kael mentions the “treatment of the Aborigines,” she misses the Aboriginal cultural moment of the opening shot of the land; this terrain, she writes, is “without a trace of culture” (416). Then, after critiquing what she sees as the unconvincing lesson of the schoolteacher’s moral demise, comes this: “But a more serious problem is that (despite the banal photography) the semi-documentary aspects of the film are so much more vivid and authentic and original than the factitious Conradian hero that we want to see more of that material—we want to learn more” (416-417). Further on, in this final paragraph, Kael notes that, while “there have been other Australian films, so it’s not all new” the director and scriptwriter “have seen the life in a more objective way, almost as if they were cultural anthropologists…. Maybe Kotcheff didn’t dare to expand this vision at the expense of the plot line, but he got onto something bigger than the plot” (417). Kael’s “error”, as it were, is to over-look how the land itself stretches the space of the film, beyond plot, to occupy the same space as her so-called “something bigger”, which itself is filled out by the uncanniness of the land as the intersections of both indigenous and settler (road-based) cultures and their representations in art (417). The “banal photography” might be better read as the film’s inhabitation of these artistic/cultural intersections (416). Kael’s Wake in Fright piece illustrates the first strand of the American reviews of Australian gothic cinema. Missing the land’s uncanniness effectively distributes throughout the review an elision of culture and art, and a reactive engagement with the broadly anthropological elements of Kotcheff’s film. Reviews of The Year of Living Dangerously by Kael and Sarris also illustrate the first strand of the American-Australian reviewing nexus, with the addition, also by each critic, of the second strand: the attempt to reconnect and revitalize the categories of politics and art. As with Wake in Fright, Kael introduces an anthropological gambit into Weir’s film, privileging its documentary elements over its qualities as fiction (strand one). “To a degree,” she writes, “Weir is the victim of his own skill at creating the illusion of authentic Third World misery, rioting, and chaos” (454). By comparison with “earlier, studio-set films” (like Casablanca [452]), where such “backgrounds (with their picturesque natives) were perfectly acceptable as backdrops…. Here… it’s a little obscene” (454). Kael continues: “Documentaries, TV coverage, print journalism, and modern history itself have changed audiences’ responses, and when fake dilemmas about ‘involvement’ are cooked up for the hero they’re an embarrassment” (454-455). Film is pushed to cater to anthropology besides art. Mirroring Kael’s strand-one response, Sarris puts a lot of pressure on Weir’s film to “perform” anthropologically—as well as, even instead of, artistically. The “movie”, he complains “could have been enjoyed thoroughly as a rousingly old-fashioned Hollywood big-star entertainment were it not for the disturbing vistas of somnolent poverty on view in the Philippines, the location in which Indonesian poverty in 1965 was simulated” (59). Indeed, the intrusive reality of poverty elicits from Sarris something very similar to Kael’s charge of the “obscenity of the backdrop” (454): We cannot go back to Manderley in our movie romances. That much is certain. We must go forward into the real world, but in the process, we should be careful not to dwarf our heroes and heroines with the cosmic futility of it all. They must be capable of acting on the stage of history, and by acting, make a difference in our moral perception of life on this planet. (59) Sarris places an extreme, even outrageous, strand-one demand on Weir’s film to re-purpose its fiction (what Kael calls “romantic melodrama” [454]) to elicit the categories of history and anthropology—that last phrase, “life on this planet”, sounds like David Attenborough speaking! More so, anthropological atomization is matched swiftly to a strand-two demand, for this passage also anticipates the rapprochement of politics and art, whereby art rises to the level of politics, requiring movie “heroes and heroines” to make a “moral difference” on a historical if not on a “cosmic” level (59). It is precisely in this, however, that Weir’s film falls down for Sarris. “The peculiar hollowness that the more perceptive reviewers have noted in The Year of Living Dangerously arises from the discrepancy between the thrilling charisma of the stars and the antiheroic irrelevance of the characters they play to the world around them” (59). Sarris’s spatialized phrase here (“peculiar hollowness”) recalls Kael’s observation that Wake in Fright contains “something bigger than the plot” (417). In each case, the description is doubling, dis-locating—uncanny. Echoing the title of Eva Rueschmann’s article, both films, like the Australian landscape itself, are “out of place” in their interpretation by these American critics. What, really, does Sarris’s “peculiar hollowness” originate in (59)? In what “discrepancy” (59)? There is a small but, in the context of this article, telling error in Sarris’s review of Weir’s film. Kael, correctly, notes that “the Indonesian settings had to be faked (in the Philippines and Australia)” (inserted emphasis) (452). Sarris mentions only the Philippines. From little things big things grow. Similar to how Kael overlooks the uncanny in Wake in Fright’s mise-en-scène, Sarris “sees” a “peculiar hollowness” where the land would otherwise be. Otherwise, that is, in the perspective of a cinema (Kotcheff’s, Weir’s) that comprehends “the true nature of the [Australian, gothic] human environment” (Rayner 25). Of course, it is not primarily a matter of how much footage Weir shot in Australia. It is the nature of the cinematography that matters most. For his part, Sarris damns it as “pretentiously picturesque” (59). Kael, meanwhile, gets closer perhaps to the ethics of the uncanny cinematography of The Year of Living Dangerously in her description of “intimations, fragments, hints and portents… on a very wide screen” (451). Even so, it will be remembered, she does call the “backgrounds… obscene” (454). Kael and Sarris see less than they “see”. Again like Sarris, Kael goes looking in Weir’s film for a strand-two rapprochement of politics and art, as evidenced by the line “The movie displays left-wing attitudes, but it shows no particular interest in politics” (453). It does though, only Kael is blind to it because she is blind to the land and, equally, to the political circumstances of the people of the land. Kael likely never realized the “discrepancy” in her critique of The Year of Living Dangerously’s Billy Kwan as “the same sort of in-on-the-mysteries-of-the-cosmos character that the aborigine actor Gulpilil played in Weir’s 1977 The Last Wave” (455). All this, she concludes, “might be boiled down to the mysticism of L.A.: ‘Go with the flow’” (455)! Grouping characters and places together like this, under the banner of L.A. mysticism, brutally erases the variations across different, uncanny, gothic, post-colonial landscapes. It is precisely here that politics and art do meet, in Weir’s film (and Kotcheff’s): in the artistic representation of the land as an index of the political relations of indigenous, settler and hybrid communities. (And not down the rabbit hole of the “specifics” of politics that Kael claims to want [453]). The American critics considered in this article are not in “bad faith” or a-political. Sarris produced a perceptive, left-leaning study entitled Politics and Cinema, and many of Kael’s reviews, along with essays like “Saddle Sore: El Dorado, The War Wagon, The Way West,” contain sophisticated, liberalist analyses of the political circumstances of Native Americans. The crucial point is that, as “critics form[ing] one of the key material institutions that support generic formations,” Sarris and Kael impacted majorly on the development of Australian gothic cinema, in the American context—impacted especially, one could say, on the (mis-)understanding of the land-based, uncanny politics of this mode in its Australian setting (McClain 54). Kael’s and Sarris’s reviews of My Brilliant Career, along with Judith Maslin’s review, contain traits similar to those considered in depth in the reviews studied above. Future research might usefully study this significant impact more closely, weaving in an awareness of the developing dynamics of global film productions and co-productions since the 1970s, and thereby focusing on Australian gothic as international cinema. Was, for example, the political impact of later films like The Proposition influenced, even marginally, by the (mis-)readings of Sarris and Kael? In conclusion here, it suffices to note that, even as the American reviewers reduced Australian cinema art to “blank” documentary or “neutral” anthropology, nevertheless they evidenced, in their strand-two responses, the power of the land (as presented in the cinematography and mise-en-scène) to call out—across an increasingly globalized domain of cinematic reception—for the fundamental importance of the connection between politics and art. Forging this connection, in which all lands and the peoples of all lands are implicated, should be, perhaps, the primary and ongoing concern of national and global cinemas of the uncanny, gothic mode, or perhaps even any mode. References Casablanca. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Warner Bros, 1942. Falconer, Delia. “Introduction.” The Penguin Book of the Road. Ed. Delia Falconer. Melbourne: Viking-Penguin Books, 2008. xi-xxvi. Gibson, Ross. South of the West: Postcolonialism and the Narrative Construction of Australia. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1992. Godden, Matt. “An Essay on Australian New Wave Cinema.” 9 Jan. 2013. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.golgotha.com.au/2013/01/09/an-essay-on-australian-new-wave-cinema/›. Gray, R. “Freud, ‘The Uncanny.’” 15 Nov. 2013. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://courses.washington.edu/freudlit/Uncanny.Notes.html›. Kael, Pauline. “Australians.” Review of My Brilliant Career. 15 Sep. 1980. Taking It All In. London: Marion Boyars, 1986. 54-62. Kael, Pauline. “Literary Echoes—Muffled.” Review of Outback [Wake in Fright]. 4 March 1972. Deeper into Movies. Boston: Atlantic Monthly Press-Little, Brown and Company, 1973. 413-419. Kael, Pauline. “Saddle Sore: El Dorado, The War Wagon, The Way West.” Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. London: Arrow Books, 1987. 38-46. Kael, Pauline. “Torrid Zone.” Review of The Year of Living Dangerously. 21 Feb. 1983. Taking It All In. London: Marion Boyars, 1986. 451-456. Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. Dir. George Miller. Warner Bros, 1981. Maslin, Janet. “Film: Australian ‘Brilliant Career’ by Gillian Armstrong.” Review of My Brilliant Career. New York Times (6 Oct. 1979.): np. McClain, William. “Western, Go Home! Sergio Leone and the ‘Death of the Western’ in American Film Criticism.” Journal of Film and Video 62.1-2 (Spring/Summer 2010): 52-66. My Brilliant Career. Dir. Gillian Armstrong. Peace Arch, 1979. Picnic at Hanging Rock. Dir. Peter Weir. Picnic Productions, 1975. Rayner, Jonathan. Contemporary Australian Cinema: An Introduction. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000. Rueschmann, Eva. “Out of Place: Reading (Post) Colonial Landscapes as Gothic Space in Jane Campion’s Films.” Post Script (22 Dec. 2005). 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.thefreelibrary.com/Out+of+place%3A+reading+%28post%29+colonial+landscapes+as+Gothic+space+in...-a0172169169›. Sarris, Andrew. “Films in Focus.” Review of My Brilliant Career. Village Voice (4 Feb. 1980): np. Sarris, Andrew. “Films in Focus: Journalistic Ethics in Java.” Review of The Year of Living Dangerously. Village Voice 28 (1 Feb. 1983): 59. Sarris, Andrew. “Liberation, Australian Style.” Review of My Brilliant Career. Village Voice (15 Oct. 1979): np. Sarris, Andrew. Politics and Cinema. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978. The Last Wave. Dir. Peter Weir. Ayer Productions, 1977. The Proposition. Dir. John Hillcoat. First Look Pictures, 2005. The Year of Living Dangerously. Dir. Peter Weir. MGM, 1982. Tsiolkas, Christos. “Citizen Kael.” Review of Pauline Kael: A Life in the Dark by Brian Kellow. The Monthly (Feb. 2012): 54-56. Wake in Fright. Dir. Ted Kotcheff. United Artists, 1971.

Within the Australian university context, research has uncovered increasing levels of psychological distress, in the form of stress, anxiety and depression. Higher rates of psychological distress have been reported in undergraduate students specifically enrolled in creative arts programs. Despite these increasing levels of psychological distress, university students are reluctant to engage with mental health and wellbeing supports. To explore ways to meet the mental health and wellbeing needs of creative arts university students, the Creative Arts and Music Therapy Research Unit at The University of Melbourne commenced a project exploring the benefits and pitfalls of a brief creative arts therapies approach for students attending a campus based wellbeing clinic. This exploratory research study formed the art therapy component of this much broader research endeavor. Creative arts students in this research study were invited to participate in a single session art therapy encounter that involved the visual exploration of the miracle question, asking students to visually depict “what the problem looks like and how it will look when the problem is resolved or you feel like you can cope with it better?” The descriptive findings of this exploratory research study revealed how the combination of art therapy used within a single session framework was able to afford students a novel means to externalize problems, leading students to forming a less internalized view of the self.

The Big Pineapple, Big Banana, the Big Potato , Australia positively groans under the weight of big things littered along the highway like jokes awaiting their punch-lines. These commercial road-side enterprises are a constant source of bemusement among Australians and this paper seeks to explore the attraction of the gargantuan and why Australians consider big things to be so funny. Discovering that big things not only give form to national icons but also celebrate the nation's tendency to larrikinism and the associated sardonic, ironic and anti-establishment humour, we are left to consider the role big things may play in the Australian national psyche and how their function as low art turns their collectivity into some strange, impulsive attempt at establishing a system of totems that comes to terms with this big land and its contested ownership. Historically big things like the Colossus of Rhodes, the Pyramids or the Great Wall of China have been physical manifestations of empire and dominion. No laughing matter. But in the United States from the 1920s, particularly in Southern California, we begin to see a profusion of "roadside vernacular architecture" including a big coffee percolator, a big pig, a big corn ear, a big teapot, a big Spanish dancer, a big duck, a big fish and many big hot dogs and big chilli bowls (Heimann and Georges). "Imaginana" is another way to conceptualise these strange forms of cultural production that replicate familiar, safe everyday items (Amdur 12). Early big things, particularly in the United States, had a clearly pragmatic function: to lure car-bound consumers off the highways and into local commercial enterprises with simple, one-to-one signification bringing function to form and high art to low purposes (Gebhard 14). The aim of these big things was to shock, startle and amuse the passing motorist and they took on a humourous edge due to the incongruity of scale and the surreal surprise of reality warping out of all proportion. While big things have a commercial purpose they achieve that purpose because they can be read playfully, always reminding us of the paradox they entail: they act dualistically as both the media and the message, both the referent and the real (Barcan 38). Reading big things as jokes in Freudian terms, we see how they may be eruptions of the unconscious into the mundane (Krahn 158). The first big thing in Australia was the Big Banana, built in Coffs Harbour by an American entomologist, John Landi (Negus). From that time on Australia has had a quirky relationship with big things. The banana is innately funny. The bent phallus, the unique shape, the skin as the standard slapstick cue to pratfall; everything about the banana is an invitation to laugh. Soon the banana was emulated by other funny produce such as the pineapple, the prawn and the lobster and within a decade monstrous agricultural products proliferated beside Australian highways regardless of their innate humour. They were joined by a variety of iconic figures, usually with an obvious connection such as the Big Penguin at the town of Penguin. Big things reinforce notions of national and regional identity: on the national level Australia is portrayed as a land of plenty, a fact emphasized by the sheer vastness of these creations; regionally, these totems function as identity markers and place makers (Barcan 31). Many big things were constructed by migrants and thus can be interpreted as optimistic acts of home making in the vast emptiness of the continent (Barcan 36). There is concern that big things obscure, or even obliterate, the history of regions and the whole continent: the incarcerations, land-grabbing, labour conflicts, corruption and failure. Instead it could be argued that big thing function to both signpost white history and subvert it at the same time: the Big Ned Kelly calling for revolution, the big goldminer looking ever expectant and ever disappointed, the Big Captain Cook in Cairns giving what appears to be a Nazi salute, all point to a larrikin refusal to take the brief and minor white history too seriously. The Australian larrikin sense of humour is mischievous, depreciatory and anti-authoritarian. This sense of humour arises from certain characteristics of the Australian "legend" identified by Ward such as scepticism, egalitarianism and derision towards affectation that are evident in larrikins' confrontations with authority, elaborate practical jokes on each other and the community at large and a "propensity for vulgarising the arts" (Reekie 97). This larrikinism is evident in the way dangerous nuisances (the big crocodile, the big red back spider) and mundane objects (the big jam tin, the big stubby holder, the big mower) are given the same treatment as national icons. There is also the variability of effort and attention to detail, where Aussie "ingenuity" and bush carpentry have been used to turn a good idea into reality in the shortest possible time to produce a very impressionist big koala or just the blob of concrete that is the big strawberry. Ignatius Jones explains: "get your local surfboard maker to cast you a giant prawn in fibreglass and you end up with the cicada that ate Yamba" (Negus). The early documentation of Australian big things was also carried out in a larrikin spirit (Amdur) including the claim that big things are part of an alien conspiracy to make us feel small (Stockwell). Every big thing requires a visionary, a postmodern artist with the passion and the obsession to realise their vision. It is a form of low art, a form of trash culture. But to many who do not frequent galleries and museums, low art is their available form of art and thus becomes their actual art. City planners and the upper middle class tend to denigrate these structures so at odds with their images of beautiful cities, so blatantly bastions of commercialism and so big that they run the risk of obscuring and obliterating real art (Gerbhard 25). Big things are criticised as ugly, kitsch, tacky and giving a wrong impression of a town. There are further concerns that big things allow the tourist to learn without knowing by presenting only one side of the story (Cross 51) and that they make observers minuscule in their presence, dominating the landscape and the attention of tourists (Krahn 165). But looking beyond the aesthetics of the individual instance it becomes apparent that big things also function as a network (Barcan 32), inviting the tourist along the highway of "the arrested fairground (in the) oxymoron of movement" (Krahn 157), offering the hyperreal adventure of collecting the experience, and small mementos, of more big things (Eco 1986). Big things are carnival, inverting social rules, promising some weird utopia (Krahn 171). As a collectivity, the larger psycho-political and metaphysical roles of big things become apparent. For Australia, the crucial question big things raise is the nature of our relationship with the land. Most of white Australia, huddled in cities on the seaboard, has a fear of the empty space at the heart of the continent. Big things are an attempt to assert that the settlers can match the dimensions of the land as, community by community, we write ourselves upon the land. The problem that big things highlight rather than obscure, the problem that can never be sublimated, that constantly erupts from the collective unconscious is that the ownership of the land remains contested, sometimes in the courts, sometimes in the streets, but most importantly in the hearts and dreams of the whole Australian people. All this land once had its own indigenous stories and big things may be seen as a pathetic attempt to replace, re-define and retell those stories by the interlopers now living on the land. "...Big things work allegorically, effacing, most notably, Aboriginal definitions of regional, tribal, spiritual, linguistic or other space" (Barcan 37). There is a sense in which big things are white trash barely obscuring black deaths (Nyoongah 12-14). But like a student's job-work over an old master's self portrait, big things invite us to peek through to the real totems of this land, totems enshrined in the creation myths of the indigenous dreaming. This is big things' contribution to the reconciliation process, to remind us of the fragile hold of white Australia on the land and to demand respect for the stories big things seek to displace. And that is the real big thing for white Australia in the reconciliation process, to accept these stories as our own so the land owns us. This is a much bigger leap than just saying sorry but in some strange way it has already commenced in the massive, mega-fauna that even now are rising from the land like the harbingers of a new dreamtime. A number of authors complain that, intentionally or otherwise, big things exclude indigenous flora and fauna and suggest that this points to a denial of history (Amdur 13, Barcan 36). But in recent years there has been a flood of big indigenous icons, many owned by indigenous corporations: big koalas, big kangaroos, big crocodiles, big bunyips and big barramundi. There is still the potential for indigenous artists to turn the joke around by creating big ancestral beings including rainbow serpents and the like. As Krahn (163) says: "I fear there must have been a Big Aboriginal Elder somewhere, gazing wistfully from the edge of town. But why a chicken?" Works Cited Amdur, Mark. It Really Is A Big Country . Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Barcan, Ruth. "Big Things: Consumer Totemism and Serial Monumentality." Linq 23.2 (1996): 31-39. Cane Toad Collective. "Big Things." Cane Toad Times 1 1983: 18-23. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyperreality. San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1986. Gebhard, David. "Introduction." California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . Eds. Jim Heimann and Rip Georges. San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. 11-25. Heimann, Jim and Rip Georges. California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. Krahn, Uli "The Arrested Fairground, or, Big Things as Oxymoron of Movement." Antithesis 13 (2002): 157-176. Negus, George, "Big Things", New Dimensions (In Time) . 21 July 2003. 26 September 2003 < http://www.abc.net.au/dimensions/dimensions_in_time/Transcripts/2003_default.htm >. Nyoongah, Janine Little. "'Unsinkable' Big Things: Spectacle, Race, and Class through Elvis, Titanic, O.J. and Sumo." Overland 148 (1997): 12-15. Reekie, Gail. "Nineteenth-Century Urbanization." Australian Studies: A Survey. Ed. James Walter. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Stockwell, Stephen. "Cairns Collossi." Cane Toad Times 2 1984: 21. Ward, Russel. The Australian Legend . Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Links http://members.ozemail.com.au/~arundell/bigthing.htm http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm http://www.general.uwa.edu.au/u/rpinna/big/big_things_intro.html http://www.bigthings.com.au/ http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Stockwell, Stephen & Carlisle, Bethany. "Big Things" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>. APA Style Stockwell, S. & Carlisle, B. (2003, Nov 10). Big Things. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>

History of Seal and Printing Cultures Implications of the four important Chinese inventions, the compass, gun powder, papermaking, and printing, have far-reaching significance for human civilisation. The Chinese seal is intimately related to printing. Seals have the practical function of duplicating impressions of words or patterns. This process shares a very similar concept to printing on a small scale. Printing originated from the function of seals for making duplicated impressions, and for this reason Wang believes that seals constitute the prototype of printing. Seals in Traditional Commere Seals in certain Asian countries, such as Taiwan and Japan, play a vital role similar to that played by signatures in Western society. Particularly, the Chinese seal has been an integral part of Chinese heritage and culture. Wong states that seals usually symbolise tokens of promise in Chinese society. Ancient seals in their various forms have played a major role in information systems, in terms of authority, authentication, identification, certified proof, and authenticity, and have also been used for tamper-proofing, impression duplication, and branding purposes. To illustrate, clay sealing has been applied to folded documents to detect when sealed documents have been exposed or tampered with. Interestingly, one of the features of digital signature technology is also designed to achieve this purpose. Wong records that when the commodity economy began to develop and business transactions became more frequent, seals were used to prove that particular goods had been certified by customs. Moreover, when the goods were subject to tax by the government, seals were applied to the goods to prove the levy paid. Seals continue to be used in Chinese society as personal identification and in business transactions, official and legal documents, administrative warrants and charters. Paper-based Contract Signing with Seal Certificates In Taiwan and Japan, in certain circumstances, when two parties wish to formalise a contract, the seals of the two parties must be affixed to the contract. As Figure 1 illustrates, seal certificates are required to be attached to the signed and sealed contract for authentication as well as the statement of intent of a voluntary agreement in Taiwan. Figure 1. Example of a contract attached with the seal certificates A person can have more than one seal; however, only one seal at a time is allowed to be registered with a jurisdictional registration authority. The purpose of seal registration is to prevent seal forgery and to prove the identity of the seal owner. Namely, the seal registration process aims to associate the identity of the seal owner with the seal owner’s nominated seal, through attestation by a jurisdictional registration authority. Upon confirmation of the seal registration, the registration authority issues a seal certificate with both the seals of the registration authority and the registration authority executive. Digital Signatures for Electronic Commerce Handwritten signatures and tangible ink seals are highly impractical within the electronic commerce environment. However, the shift towards electronic commerce by both the public and private sector is an inevitable trend. ‘Trust’ in electronic commerce is developed through the use of ‘digital signatures’ in conjunction with a trustworthy environment. In principle, digital signatures are designed to simulate the functions of handwritten signatures and traditional seals for the purposes of authentication, data integrity, and non-repudiation within the electronic commerce environment. Various forms of Public Key Infrastructure (PKI) are employed to ensure the reliability of using digital signatures so as to ensure the integrity of the message. PKI does not, however, contribute in any way to the signatory’s ability to verify and approve the content of an electronic document prior to the affixation of his/her digital signature. Shortcomings of Digital Signature Scheme One of the primary problems with existing digital signatures is that a digital signature does not ’feel’ like, or resemble, a traditional seal or signature to the human observer; it does not have a recognisably individual or aesthetic quality. Historically, the authenticity of documents has always been verified by visual examination of the document. Often in legal proceedings, examination of both the affixed signature or seal as an integral part of the document will occur, as well as the detection of any possible modifications to the document. Yet, the current digital signature regime overlooks the importance of this sense of visualisation. Currently, digital signatures, such as the OpenPGP (Pretty Good Privacy) digital signature, are appended to an electronic document as a long, incomprehensible string of arbitrary characters. As shown in Figure 2, this offers no sense of identity or ownership by simple visual inspection. Figure 2. Example of a PGP signature To add to this confusion for the user, a digital signature will be different each time the user applies it. The usual digital signature is formed as an amalgam of the contents of the digital document and the user’s private key, meaning that a digital signature attached to an electronic document will vary with each document. This again represents a departure from the traditional use of the term ‘signature’. A digital signature application generates its output by firstly applying a hash algorithm over the contents of the digital document and then encrypting that hash output value using the user’s private cryptographic key of the normal dual-key pair provided by the Public Key cryptography systems. Therefore, digital signatures are not like traditional signatures which an individual can identify as being uniquely theirs, or as a recognisable identity attributable to an individual entity. New Visualised Digital Signature Scheme Liu et al. have developed the visualised digital signature scheme to enhance existing digital signature schemes through visualisation; namely, this scheme makes the intangible digital signature virtually tangible. Liu et al.’s work employs the visualised digital signature scheme with the aim of developing visualised signing and verification in electronic situations. The visualised digital signature scheme is sustained by the digital certificate containing both the certificate issuer’s and potential signer’s seal images. This thereby facilitates verification of a signer’s seal by reference to the appropriate certificate. The mechanism of ensuring the integrity and authenticity of seal images is to incorporate the signer’s seal image into an X.509 v3 certificate, as outlined in RFC 3280. Thus, visualised digital signature applications will be able to accept the visualised digital certificate for use. The data structure format of the visualised digital certificate is detailed in Liu. The visualised signing and verification processes are intended to simulate traditional signing techniques incorporating visualisation. When the signer is signing the document, the user interface of the electronic contracting application should allow the signer to insert the seal from the seal image file location into the document. After the seal image object is embedded in the document, the document is referred to as a ’visually sealed’ document. The sealed document is ready to be submitted to the digital signing process, to be transmitted with the signer’s digital certificate to the other party for verification. The visualised signature verification process is analogous to the traditional, sealed paper-based document with the seal certificate attached for verification. In history, documents have always required visual stimulus for verification, which highlights the need for visual stimulus evidence to rapidly facilitate verification. The user interface of the electronic contracting application should display the visually sealed document together with the associated digital certificate for human verification. The verifier immediately perceives the claimed signer’s seal on the document, particularly when the signer’s seal is recognisable to the verifier. This would be the case particularity where regular business transactions between parties occur. Significantly, having both the issuing CA’s and the signer’s seal images on the digital certificate instils confidence that the signer’s public key is attested to by the CA, as shown in Figure 3. This is unlike the current digital signature verification process which presents long, meaningless strings to the verifier. Figure 3. Example of a new digital certificate presentation Conclusions Seals have a long history accompanying the civilisation of mankind. In particular, certain business documents and government communities within seal-culture societies still require the imprints of the participating entities. Inevitably, the use of modern technologies will replace traditional seals and handwritten signatures. Many involved in implementing electronic government services and electronic commerce care little about the absence of imprints and/or signatures; however, there is concern that the population may experience difficulty in adapting to a new electronic commerce system where traditional practices have become obsolete. The purpose of the visualised digital signature scheme is to explore enhancements to existing digital signature schemes through the integration of culturally relevant features. This article highlights the experience of the use and development of Chinese seals, particularly in visualised seals used in a recognition process. Importantly, seals in their various forms have played a major role in information systems for thousands of years. In the advent of the electronic commerce, seal cultures still remain in the digital signing environment. References Housley, R., et al. RFC 3280 Internet X.509 Public Key Infrastructure: Certificate and Certificate Revocation List (CRL) Profile. The Internet Engineering Task Force, 2002. Liu, V., et al. “Visually Sealed and Digital Signed Documents.” 27th Australasian Computer Science Conference. Dunedin, NZ: Australian Computer Science Communications, 2004. Liu, V. “Visually Sealed and Digital Signed Electronic Documents: Building on Asian Tradition.” Dissertation. Queensland University of Technology, 2004. Wang, P.Y. The Art of Seal Carving. Taipei: Council for Cultural Planning and Development, Executive Yuan, 1991. Wong, Y.C., and H.W. Yau. The Art of Chinese Seals through the Ages. Hong Kong: The Zhejiang Provincial Museum and the Art Museum of the Chinese University Hong Kong, 2000. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Liu, Vicky. "Seal Culture Still Remains in Electronic Commerce." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/03-liu.php>. APA Style Liu, V. (Jun. 2005) "Seal Culture Still Remains in Electronic Commerce," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/03-liu.php>.

IntroductionAustralia is at a particular point in its history where there is a noticeable diaspora of artists and creative practitioners away from the major capitals of Sydney and Melbourne (in particular), driven in no small part by ballooning house prices of the last eight years. This has meant big changes for some regional spaces, and in turn, for the face of Australian cultural life. Regional cultural precincts are forming with tourist flows, funding attention and cultural economies. Likewise, there appears to be growing consciousness in the ‘art centres’ of Melbourne and Sydney of interesting and relevant activities outside their limits. This research draws on my experience as an art practitioner, curator and social researcher in one such region (Castlemaine in Central Victoria), and particularly from a recent interview series I have conducted in collaboration with art space in that region, Wide Open Road Art. In this, 23 regional and city-based artists were asked about the social, economic and local conditions that can and have supported their art practices. Drawing from these conversations and Bourdieu’s ideas around cultural production, the article suggests that authentic, diverse, interesting and disruptive creative practices in Australian cultural life involve the increasingly pressing need for security while existing outside the modern imperative of high consumption; of finding alternative ways to live well while entering into the shared space of cultural production. Indeed, it is argued that often it is the capacity to defy key economic paradigms, for example of ‘rational (economic) self-interest’, that allows creative life to flourish (Bourdieu Field; Ley “Artists”). While regional spaces present new opportunities for this, there are pitfalls and nuances worth exploring.Changes in Regional AustraliaAustralia has long been an urbanising nation. Since Federation our cities have increased from a third to now constituting two-thirds of the country’s total population (Gray and Lawrence 6; ABS), making us one of the most urbanised countries in the world. Indeed, as machines replaced manual labour on farms; as Australia’s manufacturing industry began its decline; and as young people in particular left the country for city universities (Gray and Lawrence), the post-war industrial-economic boom drove this widespread demographic and economic shift. In the 1980s closures of regional town facilities like banks, schools and hospitals propelled widespread belief that regional Australia was in crisis and would be increasingly difficult to sustain (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; Gray and Lawrence 2; Barr et al.; ABS). However, the late 1990s and early 21st century saw a turnaround that has been referred to by some as the rise of the ‘sea change’. That is, widespread renewed interest and idealisation of not just coastal areas but anywhere outside the city (Murphy). It was a simultaneous pursuit of “a small ‘a’ alternative lifestyle” and escape from rising living costs in urban areas, especially for the unemployed, single parents and those with disabilities (Murphy). This renewed interest has been sustained. The latest wave, or series of waves, have coincided with the post-GFC house price spike, of cheap credit and lenient lending designed to stimulate the economy. This initiative in part led to Sydney and Melbourne median dwelling prices rising by up to 114% in eight years (Scutt 2017), which alone had a huge influence on who was able to afford to live in city areas and who was not. Rapid population increases and diminished social networks and familial support are also considered drivers that sent a wave of people (a million since 2011) towards the outer fringes of the cities and to ‘commuter belt’ country towns (Docherty; Murphy). While the underprivileged are clearly most disadvantaged in what has actually been a global development process (see Jayne on this, and on the city as a consumer itself), artists and creatives are also a unique category who haven’t fared well with hyper-urbanisation (Ley “Artists”). Despite the class privilege that often accompanies such a career choice, the economic disadvantage art professions often involve has seen a diaspora of artists moving to regional areas, particularly those in the hinterlands around and train lines to major centres. We see the recent ‘rise of a regional bohemia’ (Regional Australia Institute): towns like Toowoomba, Byron Bay, Surf Coast, Gold Coast-Tweed, Kangaroo Valley, Wollongong, Warburton, Bendigo, Tooyday, New Norfolk, and countless more being re-identified as arts towns and precincts. In Australia in 2016–17, 1 in 6 professional artists, and 1 in 4 visual artists, were living in a regional town (Throsby and Petetskaya). Creative arts in regional Australia makes up a quarter of the nation’s creative output and is a $2.8 billion industry; and our regions particularly draw in creative practitioners in their prime productive years (aged 24 to 44) (Regional Australia Institute).WORA Conservation SeriesIn 2018 artist and curator Helen Mathwin and myself received a local shire grant to record a conversation series with 23 artists who were based in the Central Goldfields region of Victoria as well as further afield, but who had a connection to the regional arts space we run, WideOpenRoadArt (WORA). In videoed, in-depth, approximately hour-long, semi-structured interviews conducted throughout 2018, we spoke to artists (16 women and 7 men) about the relocation phenomenon we were witnessing in our own growing arts town. Most were interviewed in WORA’s roving art float, but we seized any ad hoc opportunity we had to have genuine discussions with people. Focal points were around sustainability of practice and the social conditions that supported artists’ professional pursuits. This included accessing an arts community, circles of cultural production, and the ‘art centre’; the capacity to exhibit; but also, social factors such as affordable housing and the ability to live on a low-income while having dependants; and so on. The conversations were rich with lived experiences and insights on these issues.Financial ImperativesIn line with the discussion above, the most prominent factor we noticed in the interviews was the inescapable importance of being able to live cheaply. The consistent message that all of the interviewees, both regional- and city-based, conveyed was that a career in art-making required an important independence from the need to earn a substantial income. One interviewee commented: “I do run my art as a business, I have an ABN […] it makes a healthy loss! I don’t think I’ve ever made a profit […].” Another put it: “now that I’m in [this] town and I have a house and stuff I do feel like there is maybe a bit more security around those daily things that will hopefully give me space to [make artworks].”Much has been said on the pervasive inability to monetise art careers, notably Bourdieu’s observations that art exists on an interdependent field of cultural capital, determining for itself an autonomous conception of value separate to economics (Bourdieu, Field 39). This is somewhat similar to the idea of art as a sacred phenomenon irreducible to dollar terms (Abbing 38; see also Benjamin’s “aura”; “The Work of Art”). Art’s difficult relationship with commodification is part of its heroism that Benjamin described (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79), its potential to sanctify mainstream society by staying separate to the lowly aspirations of commerce (Ley “Artists” 2529). However, it is understood, artists still need to attain professional education and capacities, yet they remain at the bottom of the income ladder not only professionally, but in the case of visual artists, they remain at the bottom of the creative income hierarchies as well. Further to this, within visual arts, only a tiny proportion achieve financially backed success (Menger 277). “Artistic labour markets are characterised by high risk of failure, excess supply of recruits, low artistic income level, skewed income distribution and multiple jobholding” (Mangset, Torvik Heian, Kleppe, and Løyland; Menger). Mangset et al. point to ideas that have long surrounded the “charismatic artist myth,” of a quasi-metaphysical calling to be an artist that can lead one to overlook the profession’s vast pitfalls in terms of economic sustainability. One interviewee described it as follows: “From a very young age I wanted to be an artist […] so there’s never been a time that I’ve thought that’s not what I’m doing.” A 1% rule seems widely acknowledged in how the profession manages the financial winners against those who miss out; the tiny proportion of megastar artists versus a vast struggling remainder.As even successful artists often dip below the poverty line between paid engagements, housing costs can make the difference between being able to live in an area and not (Turnbull and Whitford). One artist described:[the reason we moved here from Melbourne] was financial, yes definitely. We wouldn’t have been able to purchase a property […] in Melbourne, we would not have been able to live in place that we wanted to live, and to do what we wanted to do […]. It was never an option for us to get a big mortgage.Another said:It partly came about as a financial practicality to move out here. My partner […] wanted to be in the bush, but I was resistant at first, we were in Melbourne but we just couldn’t afford Melbourne in the end, we had an apartment, we had a studio. My partner was a cabinet maker then. You know, just every month all our money went to rent and we just couldn’t manage anymore. So we thought, well maybe if we come out to the bush […] It was just by a happy accident that we found a property […] that we could afford, that was off-grid so it cut the bills down for us [...] that had a little studio and already had a little cottage on there that we could rent that out to get money.For a prominent artist we spoke to this issue was starkly reflected. Despite large exhibitions at some of the highest profile galleries in regional Victoria, the commissions offered for these shows were so insubstantial that the artist and their family had to take on staggering sums of personal debt to execute the ambitious and critically acclaimed shows. Another very successful artist we interviewed who had shown widely at ‘A-list’ international arts institutions and received several substantial grants, spoke of their dismay and pessimism at the idea of financial survival. For all artists we spoke to, pursuing their arts practice was in constant tension with economic imperatives, and their lives had all been shaped by the need to make shrewd decisions to continue practising. There were two artists out of the 23 we interviewed who considered their artwork able to provide full-time income, although this still relied on living costs remaining extremely low. “We are very lucky to have bought a very cheap property [in the country] that I can [also] have my workshop on, so I’m not paying for two properties in Melbourne […] So that certainly takes a fair bit of pressure off financially.” Their co-interviewee described this as “pretty luxurious!” Notably, the two who thought they could live off their art practices were both men, mid-career, whose works were large, spectacular festival items, which alongside the artists’ skill and hard work was also a factor in the type of remuneration received.Decongested LivingBeyond more affordable real estate and rental spaces, life outside our cities offers other benefits that have particular relevance to creative practitioners. Opera and festival director Lindy Hume described her move to the NSW South Coast in terms of space to think and be creative. “The abundance of time, space and silence makes living in places like [Hume’s town] ideal for creating new work” (Brown). And certainly, this was a theme that arose frequently in our interviews. Many of our regionally based artists were in part choosing the de-pressurised space of non-metro areas, and also seeking an embedded, daily connection to nature for themselves, their art-making process and their families. In one interview this was described as “dreamtime”. “Some of my more creative moments are out walking in the forest with the dog, that sort of semi-daydreamy thing where your mind is taken away by the place you’re in.”Creative HubsAll of our regional interviewees mentioned the value of the local community, as a general exchange, social support and like-minded connection, but also specifically of an arts community. Whether a tree change by choice or a more reactive move, the diaspora of artists, among others, has led to a type of rural renaissance in certain popular areas. Creative hubs located around the country, often in close proximity to the urban centres, are creating tremendous opportunities to network with other talented people doing interesting things, living in close proximity and often open to cross-fertilisation. One said: “[Castlemaine] is the best place in Australia, it has this insane cultural richness in a tiny town, you can’t go out and not meet people on the street […] For someone who has not had community in their life that is so gorgeous.” Another said:[Being an artist here] is kind of easy! Lots of people around to connect—with […] other artists but also creatively minded people [...] So it means you can just bump into someone from down the street and have an amazing conversation in five minutes about some amazing thing! […] There’s a concentration here that works.With these hubs, regional spaces are entering into a new relevance in the sphere of cultural production. They are generating unique and interesting local creative scenes for people to live amongst or visit, and generating strong local arts economies, tourist economies, and funding opportunities (Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans). Victoria in particular has burgeoned, with tourist flows to its regions increasing 13 per cent in 5 years and generating tourism worth $10 billion (Tourism Victoria). Victoria’s Greater Bendigo is Australia’s most popularly searched tourist destination on Trip Advisor, with tourism increasing 52% in 10 years (Boland). Simultaneously, funding flows have increased to regional zones, as governments seek to promote development outside Australia’s urban centres and are confident in the arts as a key strategy in boosting health, economies and overall wellbeing (see Rentschler, Bridson, and Evans; see also the 2018 Regional Centre for Culture initiative, Boland). The regions are also an increasingly relevant participant in national cultural life (Turnbull and Whitford; Mitchell; Simpson; Woodhead). Opportunities for an openness to productive exchange between regional and metropolitan sites appear to be growing, with regional festivals and art events gaining importance and unique attributes in the consciousness of the arts ‘centre’ (see for example Fairley; Simpson; Farrelly; Woodhead).Difficulties of Regional LocationDespite this, our interviews still brought to light the difficulties and barriers experienced living as a regional artist. For some, living in regional Victoria was an accepted set-back in their ambitions, something to be concealed and counteracted with education in reputable metropolitan art schools or city-based jobs. For others there was difficulty accessing a sympathetic arts community—although arts towns had vibrant cultures, certain types of creativity were preferred (often craft-based and more community-oriented). Practitioners who were active in maintaining their links to a metropolitan art scene voiced more difficulty in fitting in and successfully exhibiting their (often more conceptual or boundary-pushing) work in regional locations.The Gentrification ProblemThe other increasingly obvious issue in the revivification of some non-metropolitan areas is that they can and are already showing signs of being victims of their own success. That is, some regional arts precincts are attracting so many new residents that they are ceasing to be the low-cost, hospitable environments for artists they once were. Geographer David Ley has given attention to this particular pattern of gentrification that trails behind artists (Ley “Artists”). Ley draws from Florida’s ideas of late capitalism’s ascendency of creativity over the brute utilitarianism of the industrial era. This has got to the point that artists and creative professionals have an increasing capacity to shape and generate value in areas of life that were previous overlooked, especially with built environments (2529). Now more than ever, there is the “urbane middle-class” pursuing ‘the swirling milieu of artists, bohemians and immigrants” (Florida) as they create new, desirable landscapes with the “refuse of society” (Benjamin Charles Baudelaire 79; Ley New Middle Class). With Australia’s historic shifts in affordability in our major cities, this pattern that Ley identified in urban built environments can be seen across our states and regions as well.But with gentrification comes increased costs of living, as housing, shops and infrastructure all alter for an affluent consumer-resident. This diminishes what Bourdieu describes as “the suspension and removal of economic necessity” fundamental to the avant-garde (Bourdieu Distinction 54). That is to say, its relief from heavy pressure to materially survive is arguably critical to the reflexive, imaginative, and truly new offerings that art can provide. And as argued earlier, there seems an inbuilt economic irrationality in artmaking as a vocation—of dedicating one’s energy, time and resources to a pursuit that is notoriously impoverishing. But this irrationality may at the same time be critical to setting forth new ideas, perspectives, reflections and disruptions of taken-for-granted social assumptions, and why art is so indispensable in the first place (Bourdieu Field 39; Ley New Middle Class 2531; Weber on irrationality and the Enlightenment Project; also Adorno’s the ‘primitive’ in art). Australia’s cities, like those of most developed nations, increasingly demand we busy ourselves with the high-consumption of modern life that makes certain activities that sit outside this almost impossible. As gentrification unfolds from the metropolis to the regions, Australia faces a new level of far-reaching social inequality that has real consequences for who is able to participate in art-making, where these people can live, and ultimately what kind of diversity of ideas and voices participate in the generation of our national cultural life. ConclusionThe revival of some of Australia’s more popular regional towns has brought new life to some regional areas, particularly in reshaping their identities as cultural hubs worth experiencing, living amongst or supporting their development. Our interviews brought to life the significant benefits artists have experienced in relocating to country towns, whether by choice or necessity, as well as some setbacks. It was clear that economics played a major role in the demographic shift that took place in the area being examined; more specifically, that the general reorientation of social life towards consumption activities are having dramatic spatial consequences that we are currently seeing transform our major centres. The ability of art and creative practices to breathe new life into forgotten and devalued ideas and spaces is a foundational attribute but one that also creates a gentrification problem. Indeed, this is possibly the key drawback to the revivification of certain regional areas, alongside other prejudices and clashes between metro and regional cultures. It is argued that the transformative and redemptive actions art can perform need to involve the modern irrationality of not being transfixed by matters of economic materialism, so as to sit outside taken-for-granted value structures. This emphasises the importance of equality and open access in our spaces and landscapes if we are to pursue a vibrant, diverse and progressive national cultural sphere.ReferencesAbbing, Hans. Why Artists Are Poor: The Exceptional Economy of the Arts. Amsterdam: Amsterdam UP, 2002.Adorno, Theodor. Aesthetic Theory. London: Routledge, 1983.Australian Bureau of Statistics. “Population Growth: Capital City Growth and Development.” 4102.0—Australian Social Trends. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Sttaistics, 1996. <http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/2f762f95845417aeca25706c00834efa/924739f180990e34ca2570ec0073cdf7!OpenDocument>.Barr, Neil, Kushan Karunaratne, and Roger Wilkinson. Australia’s Farmers: Past, Present and Future. Land and Water Resources Research and Development Corporation, 2005. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://inform.regionalaustralia.org.au/industry/agriculture-forestry-and-fisheries/item/australia-s-farmers-past-present-and-future>.Benjamin, Walter. Charles Baudelaire: A Lyric Poet in the Era of High Capitalism. London: NLB, 1973.———. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Illuminations. Ed. Hannah Arendt. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books, 1969.Boland, Brooke. “What It Takes to Be a Leading Regional Centre of Culture.” Arts Hub 18 July 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://www.artshub.com.au/festival/news-article/sponsored-content/festivals/brooke-boland/what-it-takes-to-be-a-leading-regional-centre-of-culture-256110>.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1984.———. The Field of Cultural Production. New York: Columbia UP, 1993.Brown, Bill. “‘Restless Giant’ Lures Queensland Opera’s Artistic Director Lindy Hume to the Regional Art Movement.” ABC News 13 Sep. 2017. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-09-12/regional-creative-industries-on-the-rise/8895842>.Docherty, Glenn. “Why 5 Million Australians Can’t Get to Work, Home or School on Time.” Sydney Morning Herald 17 Feb. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/why-5-million-australians-can-t-get-to-work-home-or-school-on-time-20190215-p50y1x.html>.Fairley, Gina. “Big Hit Exhibitions to See These Summer Holidays.” Arts Hub 14 Dec. 2018. 1 Mar. 2019 <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/news/visual-arts/gina-fairley/big-hit-exhibitions-to-see-these-summer-holidays-257016>.Farrelly, Kate. “Bendigo: The Regional City That’s Transformed into a Foodie and Cultural Hub.” Domain 9 Apr. 2019. 10 Mar. 2019 <https://www.domain.com.au/news/bendigo-the-regional-city-you-didnt-expect-to-become-a-foodie-and-cultural-hub-813317/>.Florida, Richard. “A Creative, Dynamic City Is an Open, Tolerant City.” The Globe and Mail 24 Jun. 2002: T8.Gray, Ian, and Geoffrey Lawrence. A Future For Regional Australia: Escaping Global Misfortune. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.Hume, Lindy. Restless Giant: Changing Cultural Values in Regional Australia. Strawberry Hills: Currency House, 2017.Jayne, Mark. Cities and Consumption. London: Routledge, 2005.Ley, David. The New Middle Class and the Remaking of the Central City. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.———. “Artists, Aestheticisation and Gentrification.” Urban Studies 40.12 (2003): 2527–44.Menger, Pierre-Michel. “Artistic Labor Markets: Contingent Works, Excess Supply and Occupational Risk Management.” Handbook of the Economics of Art and Culture. Eds. Victor Ginsburgh and David Throsby. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. 766–811.Mangset, Per, Mari Torvik Heian, Bard Kleppe and Knut Løyland. “Why Are Artists Getting Poorer: About the Reproduction of Low Income among Artists.” International Journal of Cultural Policy 24.4 (2018): 539-58.Mitchell, Scott. “Want to Start Collecting Art But Don’t Know Where to Begin? Trust Your Own Taste, plus More Tips.” ABC Life, 31 Mar. 2019 <https://www.abc.net.au/life/tips-for-buying-art-starting-collection/10084036>.Murphy, Peter. “Sea Change: Re-Inventing Rural and Regional Australia.” Transformations 2 (March 2002).Regional Australia Institute. “The Rise of the Regional Bohemians.” Regional Australia Institute 24 May. 2017. 1 Mar. 2019 <http://www.regionalaustralia.org.au/home/2017/05/rise-regional-bohemians-painting-new-picture-arts-culture-regional-australia/>.Rentschler, Ruth, Kerrie Bridson, and Jody Evans. Regional Arts Australia Stats and Stories: The Impact of the Arts in Regional Australia. Regional Arts Australia [n.d.]. <https://www.cacwa.org.au/documents/item/477>.Simpson, Andrea. “The Regions: Delivering Exceptional Arts Experiences to the Community.” ArtsHub 11 Apr. 2019. <https://visual.artshub.com.au/news-article/sponsored-content/visual-arts/andrea-simpson/the-regions-delivering-exceptional-arts-experiences-to-the-community-257752>.

Introduction Negative stereotyping of alternative diets such as veganism and other plant-based diets has been common in Australia, conventionally a meat-eating culture (OECD qtd. in Ting). Indeed, meat consumption in Australia is sanctioned by the ubiquity of advertising linking meat-eating to health, vitality and nation-building, and public challenges to such plant-based diets as veganism. In addition, state, commercial enterprises, and various community groups overtly resist challenges to Australian meat-eating norms and to the intensive animal husbandry practices that underpin it. Hence activists, who may contest not simply this norm but many of the customary industry practices that comprise Australia’s meat production, have been accused of promoting a vegan agenda and even of undermining the “Australian way of life”.If veganism meansa philosophy and way of living which seeks to exclude—as far as is possible and practicable—all forms of exploitation of, and cruelty to, animals for food, clothing or any other purpose; and by extension, promotes the development and use of animal-free alternatives for the benefit of humans, animals and the environment. In dietary terms it denotes the practice of dispensing with all products derived wholly or partly from animals. (Vegan Society)then our interest in this article lies in how a stereotyped label of veganism (and other associated attributes) is being used across Australian public spheres to challenge the work of animal activists as they call out factory farming for entrenched animal cruelty. This is carried out in three main parts. First, following an outline of our research approach, we examine the processes of stereotyping and the key dimensions of vegan stereotyping. Second, in the main part of the article, we reveal how opponents to such animal activist organisations as Animals Australia attempt to undermine activist calls for change by framing them as promoting an un-Australian vegan agenda. Finally, we consider how, despite such framing, that organisation is generating productive public debate around animal welfare, and, further, facilitating the creation of new activist identifications and identities.Research ApproachData collection involved searching for articles where Animals Australia and animal activism were yoked with veg*n (vegan and vegetarian), across the period May 2011 to 2016 (discussion peaked between May and June 2013). This period was of interest because it exposed a flare point with public discord being expressed between communities—namely between rural and urban consumers, farmers and animal activists, Coles Supermarkets (identified by The Australian Government the Treasury as one of two major supermarkets holding over 65% share of Australian food retail market) and their producers—and a consequent voicing of disquiet around Australian identity. We used purposive sampling (Waller, Farquharson, and Dempsey 67) to identify relevant materials as we knew in advance the case was “information-rich” (Patton 181) and would provide insightful information about a “troublesome” phenomenon (Emmel 6). Materials were collected from online news articles (30) and readers’ comments (167), online magazines (2) and websites (2) and readers’ comments (3), news items (Factiva 13), Australian Broadcasting Commission television (1) and radio (1), public blogs (2), and Facebook pages from involved organisations, specifically Australia’s National Farmers’ Federation (NFF, 155 posts) and Coles Supermarkets (29 posts). Many of these materials were explicitly responsive to a) Animals Australia’s Make It Possible campaign against Australian factory farming (launched and highly debated during this period), and b) Coles Supermarket’s short-lived partnership with Animals Australia in 2013. We utilised content analysis so as to make visible the most prominent and consistent stereotypes utilised in these various materials during the identified period. The approach allowed us to code and categorise materials so as to determine trends and patterns of words used, their relationships, and key structures and ways of speaking (Weerakkody). In addition, discourse analysis (Gee) was used in order to identify and track “language-in-use” so as to make visible the stereotyping deployed during the public reception of both the campaign and Animals Australia’s associated partnership with Coles. These methods enabled a “nuanced approach” (Coleman and Moss 12) with which to spot putdowns, innuendos, and stereotypical attitudes.Vegan StereotypingStereotypes creep into everyday language and are circulated and amplified through mainstream media, speeches by public figures, and social media. Stereotypes maintain their force through being reused and repurposed, making them difficult to eradicate due to their “cumulative effects” and influence (Harris and Sanborn 38; Inzlicht, Tullett, Legault, and Kang; Pickering). Over time stereotypes can become the lens through which we view “the world and social reality” (Harris and Sanborn 38; Inzlicht et al.). In summation, stereotyping:reduces identity categories to particular sets of deeds, attributes and attitudes (Whitley and Kite);informs individuals’ “cognitive investments” (Blum 267) by associating certain characteristics with particular groups;comprises symbolic and connotative codes that carry sets of traits, deeds, or beliefs (Cover; Rosello), and;becomes increasingly persuasive through regulating language and image use as well as identity categories (Cover; Pickering; Rosello).Not only is the “iterative force” (Rosello 35) of such associative stereotyping compounded due to its dissemination across digital media sites such as Facebook, YouTube, websites, and online news, but attempts to denounce it tend to increase its “persuasive power” (29). Indeed, stereotypes seem to refuse “to die” (23), remaining rooted in social and cultural memory (Whitley and Kite 10).As such, despite the fact that there is increasing interest in Australia and elsewhere in new food norms and plant-based diets (see, e.g., KPMG), as well as in vegan lifestyle options (Wright), studies still show that vegans remain a negatively stereotyped group. Previous studies have suggested that vegans mark a “symbolic threat” to Western, conventionally meat-eating cultures (MacInnis and Hodson 722; Stephens Griffin; Cole and Morgan). One key UK study of national newspapers, for instance, showed vegans continuing to be discredited in multiple ways as: 1) “self-evidently ridiculous”; 2) “ascetics”; 3) having a lifestyle difficult and impossible to maintain; 4) “faddist”; 5) “oversensitive”; and 6) “hostile extremists” (Cole and Morgan 140–47).For many Australians, veganism also appears anathema to their preferred culture and lifestyle of meat-eating. For instance, the NFF, Meat & Livestock Australia (MLA), and other farming bodies continue to frame veganism as marking an extreme form of lifestyle, as anti-farming and un-Australian. Such perspectives are also circulated through online rural news and readers’ comments, as will be discussed later in the article. Such representations are further exemplified by the MLA’s (Lamb, Australia Day, Celebrate Australia) Australia Day lamb advertising campaigns (Bembridge; Canning). For multiple consecutive years, the campaign presented vegans (and vegetarians) as being self-evidently ridiculous and faddish, representing them as mentally unhinged and fringe dwellers. Such stereotyping not only invokes “affective reactions” (Whitley and Kite 8)—including feelings of disgust towards individuals living such lifestyles or holding such values—but operates as “political baits” (Rosello 18) to shore-up or challenge certain social or political positions.Although such advertisements are arguably satirical, their repeated screening towards and on Australia Day highlights deeply held views about the normalcy of animal agriculture and meat-eating, “homogenizing” (Blum 276; Pickering) both meat-eaters and non-meat-eaters alike. Cultural stereotyping of this kind amplifies “social” as well as political schisms (Blum 276), and arguably discourages consumers—whether meat-eaters or non-meat-eaters—from advocating together around shared goals such as animal welfare and food safety. Additionally, given the rise of new food practices in Australia—including flexitarian, reducetarian, pescatarian, kangatarian (a niche form of ethical eating), vegivores, semi-vegetarian, vegetarian, veganism—alongside broader commitments to ethical consumption, such stereotyping suggests that consumers’ actual values and preferences are being disregarded in order to shore-up the normalcy of meat-eating.Animals Australia and the (So-Called) Vegan Agenda of Animal ActivismGiven these points, it is no surprise that there is a tacit belief in Australia that anyone labelled an animal activist must also be vegan. Within this context, we have chosen to primarily focus on the attitudes towards the campaigning work of Animals Australia—a not-for-profit organisation representing some 30 member groups and over 2 million individual supporters (Animals Australia, “Who Is”)—as this organisation has been charged as promoting a vegan agenda. Along with the RSPCA and Voiceless, Animals Australia represents one of the largest animal protection organisations within Australia (Chen). Its mission is to:Investigate, expose and raise community awareness of animal cruelty;Provide animals with the strongest representation possible to Government and other decision-makers;Educate, inspire, empower and enlist the support of the community to prevent and prohibit animal cruelty;Strengthen the animal protection movement. (Animals Australia, “Who Is”)In delivery of this mission, the organisation curates public rallies and protests, makes government and industry submissions, and utilises corporate outreach. Campaigning engages the Web, multiple forms of print and broadcast media, and social media.With regards to Animals Australia’s campaigns regarding factory farming—including the Make It Possible campaign (see fig. 1), launched in 2013 and key to the period we are investigating—the main message is that: the animals kept in these barren and constrictive conditions are “no different to our pets at home”; they are “highly intelligent creatures who feel pain, and who will respond to kindness and affection – if given the chance”; they are “someone, not something” (see the Make It Possible transcript). Campaigns deliberately strive to engender feelings of empathy and produce affect in viewers (see, e.g., van Gurp). Specifically they strive to produce mainstream recognition of the cruelties entrenched in factory farming practices and build community outrage against these practices so as to initiate industry change. Campaigns thus expressly challenge Australians to no longer support factory farmed animal products, and to identify with what we have elsewhere called everyday activist positions (Rodan and Mummery, “Animal Welfare”; “Make It Possible”). They do not, however, explicitly endorse a vegan position. Figure 1: Make It Possible (Animals Australia, campaign poster)Nonetheless, as has been noted, a common counter-tactic used within Australia by the industries targeted by such campaigns, has been to use well-known negative stereotypes to discredit not only the charges of systemic animal cruelty but the associated organisations. In our analysis, we found four prominent interconnected stereotypes utilised in both digital and print media to discredit the animal welfare objectives of Animals Australia. Together these cast the organisation as: 1) anti-meat-eating; 2) anti-farming; 3) promoting a vegan agenda; and 4) hostile extremists. These stereotypes are examined below.Anti-Meat-EatingThe most common stereotype attributed to Animals Australia from its campaigning is of being anti-meat-eating. This charge, with its associations with veganism, is clearly problematic for industries that facilitate meat-eating and within a culture that normalises meat-eating, as the following example expresses:They’re [Animals Australia] all about stopping things. They want to stop factory farming – whatever factory farming is – or they want to stop live exports. And in fact they’re not necessarily about: how do I improve animal welfare in the pig industry? Or how do I improve animal welfare in the live export industry? Because ultimately they are about a meat-free future world and we’re about a meat producing industry, so there’s not a lot of overlap, really between what we’re doing. (Andrew Spencer, Australian Pork Ltd., qtd. in Clark)Respondents engaging this stereotype also express their “outrage at Coles” (McCarthy) and Animals Australia for “pedalling [sic]” a pro-vegan agenda (Nash), their sense that Animals Australia is operating with ulterior motives (Flint) and criminal intent (Brown). They see cultural refocus as unnecessary and “an exercise in futility” (Harris).Anti-FarmingTo be anti-farming in Australia is generally considered to be un-Australian, with Glasgow suggesting that any criticism of “farming practices” in Australian society can be “interpreted as an attack on the moral integrity of farmers, amounting to cultural blasphemy” (200). Given its objectives, it is unsurprising that Animals Australia has been stereotyped as being “anti-farming”, a phrase additionally often used in conjunction with the charge of veganism. Although this comprises a misreading of veganism—given its focus on challenging animal exploitation in farming rather than entailing opposition to all farming—the NFF accused Animals Australia of being “blatantly anti-farming and proveganism” (Linegar qtd. in Nason) and as wanting “to see animal agriculture phased out” (National Farmers’ Federation). As expressed in more detail:One of the main factors for VFF and other farmers being offended is because of AA’s opinion and stand on ALL farming. AA wants all farming banned and us all become vegans. Is it any wonder a lot of people were upset? Add to that the proceeds going to AA which may have been used for their next criminal activity washed against the grain. If people want to stand against factory farming they have the opportunity not to purchase them. Surely not buying a product will have a far greater impact on factory farmed produce. Maybe the money could have been given to farmers? (Hunter)Such stereotyping reveals how strongly normalised animal agriculture is in Australia, as well as a tendency on the part of respondents to reframe the challenge of animal cruelty in some farming practices into a position supposedly challenging all farming practices.Promoting a Vegan AgendaAs is already clear, Animals Australia is often reproached for promoting a vegan agenda, which, it is further suggested, it keeps hidden from the Australian public. This viewpoint was evident in two key examples: a) the Australian public and organisations such as the NFF are presented as being “defenceless” against the “myopic vitriol of the vegan abolitionists” (Jonas); and b) Animals Australia is accused of accepting “loans from liberation groups” and being “supported by an army of animal rights lawyers” to promote a “hard core” veganism message (Bourke).Nobody likes to see any animals hurt, but pushing a vegan agenda and pushing bad attitudes by group members is not helping any animals and just serves to slow any progress both sides are trying to resolve. (V.c. Deb Ford)Along with undermining farmers’ “legitimate business” (Jooste), veganism was also considered to undermine Australia’s rural communities (Park qtd. in Malone).Hostile ExtremistsThe final stereotype linking veganism with Animals Australia was of hostile extremism (cf. Cole and Morgan). This means, for users, being inimical to Australian national values but, also, being akin to terrorists who engage in criminal activities antagonistic to Australia’s democratic society and economic livelihood (see, e.g., Greer; ABC News). It is the broad symbolic threat that “extremism” invokes that makes this stereotype particularly “infectious” (Rosello 19).The latest tag team attacks on our pork industry saw AL giving crash courses in how to become a career criminal for the severely impressionable, after attacks on the RSPCA against the teachings of Peter Singer and trying to bully the RSPCA into vegan functions menu. (Cattle Advocate)The “extremists” want that extended to dairy products, as well. The fact that this will cause the total annihilation of practically all animals, wild and domestic, doesn’t bother them in the least. (Brown)What is interesting about these last two dimensions of stereotyping is their displacement of violence. That is, rather than responding to the charge of animal cruelty, violence and extremism is attributed to those making the charge.Stereotypes and Symbolic Boundary ShiftingWhat is evident throughout these instances is how stereotyping as a “cognitive mechanism” is being used to build boundaries (Cherry 460): in the first instance, between “us” (the meat-eating majority) and “them” (the vegan minority aka animal activists); and secondly between human interest and livestock. This point is that animals may hold instrumental value and receive some protection through such, but any more stringent arguments for their protection at the expense of perceived human interests tend to be seen as wrong-headed (Sorenson; Munro).These boundaries are deeply entrenched in Western culture (Wimmer). They are also deeply problematic in the context of animal activism because they fragment publics, promote restrictive identities, and close down public debate (Lamont and Molnár). Boundary entrenching is clearly evident in the stereotyping work carried out by industry stakeholders where meat-eating and practices of industrialised animal agriculture are valorised and normalised. Challenging Australia’s meat production practices—irrespective of the reason given—is framed and belittled as entailing a vegan agenda, and further as contributing to the demise of farming and rural communities in Australia.More broadly, industry stakeholders are explicitly targeting the activist work by such organisations as Animals Australia as undermining the ‘Australian way of life’. In their reading, there is an irreconcilable boundary between human and animal interests and between an activist minority which is vegan, unreasonable, extremist and hostile to farming and the meat-eating majority which is representative of the Australian community and sustains the Australian economy. As discussed so far, such stereotyping and boundary making—even in their inaccuracies—can be pernicious in the way they entrench identities and divisions, and close the possibility for public debate.Rather than directly contesting the presuppositions and inaccuracies of such stereotyping, however, Animals Australia can be read as cultivating a process of symbolic boundary shifting. That is, rather than responding by simply underlining its own moderate position of challenging only intensive animal agriculture for systemic animal cruelty, Animals Australia uses its campaigns to develop “boundary blurring and crossing” tactics (Cherry 451, 459), specifically to dismantle and shift the symbolic boundaries conventionally in place between humans and non-human animals in the first instance, and between those non-human animals used for companionship and those used for food in the second (see fig. 2). Figure 2: That Ain’t No Way to Treat a Lady (Animals Australia, campaign image on back of taxi)Indeed, the symbolic boundaries between humans and animals left unquestioned in the preceding stereotyping are being profoundly shaken by Animals Australia with campaigns such as Make It Possible making morally relevant likenesses between humans and animals highly visible to mainstream Australians. Namely, the organisation works to interpellate viewers to exercise their own capacities for emotional identification and moral imagination, to identify with animals’ experiences and lives, and to act upon that identification to demand change.So, rather than reactively striving to refute the aforementioned stereotypes, organisations such as Animals Australia are modelling and facilitating symbolic boundary shifting by building broad, emotionally motivated, pathways through which Australians are being encouraged to refocus their own assumptions, practices and identities regarding animal experience, welfare and animal-human relations. Indeed the organisation has explicitly framed itself as speaking on behalf of not only animals but all caring Australians, suggesting thereby the possibility of a reframing of Australian national identity. Although such a tactic does not directly contest this negative stereotyping—direct contestation being, as noted, ineffective given the perniciousness of stereotyping—such work nonetheless dismantles the oppositional charge of such stereotyping in calling for all Australians to proudly be a little bit anti-meat-eating (when that meat is from factory farmed animals), a little bit anti-factory farming, a little bit pro-veg*n, and a little bit proud to consider themselves as caring about animal welfare.For Animals Australia, in other words, appealing to Australians to care about animal welfare and to act in support of that care, not only defuses the stereotypes targeting them but encourages the work of symbolic boundary shifting that is really at the heart of this dispute. 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