Journal articles on the topic 'Community Business Scotland'

Abstract The force and coherency with which Margaret Thatcher and her inner circle outlined their vision for ‘enterprise culture’, like so many aspects of Thatcherism, have masked the complexity of its origins and the histories of alternative responses. This article provides a history of an alternative vision for enterprise culture by examining the community business movement in Scotland, the largest experiment of its kind in the UK in the 1980s and a forerunner of social enterprise. Working across Scotland, but with a hub of activity in the Strathclyde region, practitioners worked with local people to find ways to develop their neighbourhood economy while improving their environment, creating jobs, and developing services needed in their area. This article outlines the origins of the movement, the shared values of its founding members, and how their training in community development informed the community business model. It analyses how practitioners put their ideas into practice and the reasons behind the fragmentation of the movement in the 1990s. It argues that although at face value the concept of community business may appear to chime with the dominant political rhetoric of Thatcher’s ‘enterprise culture’, the history of the movement provides a signpost to an alternative, if unrealised, vision for Scotland’s recovery from social and economic depression. Where previous historical research has focused on the political consequences of Thatcher’s policies in Scotland, this research connects this discussion to the transformation of Scotland’s civic society in the wake of deindustrialization.

AbstractThis project explores the business practices and cultural place of independent bookshops in Scotland. The research examines the connections that independent bookshops have with their various stakeholders, and investigates the support and policy change bookshops require in order to survive and prosper. The research finds a wealth of expertise and business acumen across Scottish independent booksellers, uniquely driven by a commitment to literacy, community and a love of books. A strong contribution to communities, welfare and social capital is identified. Policy recommendations are made, which recognise the cultural and community contributions made by bookshops, as well as proposing that bookshops be at the centre of policy planning around the regeneration of high streets.

The prolonged economic slump which overshadowed much of the inter-war period encouraged a small number of Clydeside industrialists to intervene with bold plans to restructure and revive the Scottish economy. Key figures like Sir James Lithgow and Lord Weir exploited their business, banking and political connections, in Scotland and in London, to produce a uniquely Scottish response to the inter-war crisis. Championing the existing Union and imperial relationships, they nevertheless articulated a new sense of Scottish exceptionalism. Convinced that any revival in trade was dependent on rationalisation of the heavy industries and an ambitious programme of diversification, Lithgow, Weir and their associates promoted distinctive Scottish solutions. Building on the work of Graeme Morton, the article suggests that what emerged was an economic Unionist Nationalism which built alliances between business and civic Scotland to secure Scottish interests while acknowledging the primacy of Union. The mechanism used to achieve their aims was based upon the associational culture of Scottish business, ‘self-help’ voluntary bodies which carefully steered an independent path, avoiding, where possible, direct state involvement. Yet the depth and persistence of the global depression, and the urgency of the task at hand in Scotland itself, encouraged the business community to moderate its hostility to interventionism and economic planning and engage with new partners. The founding of the Scottish National Development Council in the early 1930s, bringing business and civil society together to help foster economic revival, was a crucial staging post on the journey towards corporatism. Motivated by a mix of public-spiritedness and self-interest, there was, however, a strong defensive element to their actions as the essentially conservative industrialists sought to ward off social, political and economic threats from within Scotland. Their willingness to step forward suggests a traditional sense of patrician responsibility, but there was also an acute awareness of the need to adapt; a progressive quality missing from other actors.

This paper aims to analyze the implications of Feed-In-Tariff (FIT) support removal in the UK’s community energy sector and make recommendations for future business practices. European countries, including the UK, have recognized the critical role of Community Energy Cooperatives (CECs) in achieving low-carbon-energy transition targets through citizen engagements. However, due to the withdrawal of FIT support and other incentives in the UK, CECs struggle to sustain their profitability and growth. The subsidy-free, market-oriented policies have necessitated that CECs explore new business opportunities in collaboration with other actors of the business ecosystems. In this paper, we reviewed the impact of FIT support removal on community groups in the UK's member states, England, Scotland, and Wales. We analyzed effective business practices that CECs could follow to improve business viability and achieve growth. Based on our review, we make three recommendations for the business practices that can help CECs to remain profitable and grow in the UK’s subsidy-free environment. We recommend that CECs 1) take part in shared ownership projects, 2) collaborate with local actors for bottom-up initiatives, and 3) explore low-interest financing models within the business ecosystem. The implication of findings from this paper includes new knowledge for CEC managers and policymakers in countries where the community energy sector is at a novice stage.

Theoretical basis Poverty, business strategy and sustainable development. International development planning and poverty alleviation strategies have moved beyond centralised, top-down approaches and now emphasise decentralised, community-based approaches that incorporate actors from the community, government, non-governmental agencies and business. Collective action by Bottom of the Pyramid residents gives them greater control in self-managing environmental commons and addressing the problems of environmental degradation. Co-creation and engaging in deep dialogue with stakeholders offer significant potential for launching new businesses and generating mutual value. The case study rests on the tenets of corporate social responsibility. It serves as an example of corporate best practices towards ensuring environmental sustainability and community engagement for providing livelihood support and well-being. It illustrates the tool kit for building community-based adaptive capacities against climate change. Research methodology The field-based case study was prepared from inputs received from detailed interviews of company functionaries. Company documents were shared by the company and used with their permission. Secondary data was accessed from newspapers, journal articles available online and information from the company website. Case overview/synopsis The case study is about the coming together of several vital agencies working in forest and wildlife conservation, climate change adaptation planning for ecosystems and communities, social upliftment and corporate social responsibility in the Kanha Pench landscape of Madhya Pradesh in Central India. The case traces several challenges. First, the landscape is degrading rapidly; it requires urgent intervention to revive it. Second, the human inhabitants are strained with debilitating poverty. Third, the long-term sustainability of the species of tigers living in the protected tiger reserves of Kanha and Pench needs attention as human-animal conflicts rise. Complexity academic level The case would help undergraduate and postgraduate students studying sustainability and corporate social responsibility.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is twofold. It seeks to explore the relationship between place branding in rural areas and community building. Furthermore, the paper advances the growing body of work, that examines the role of events in destination revitalisation and competitiveness. Design/methodology/approach The methodological approach stems from the Chicago School of Sociology, and visual methodologies. The ethnographic fieldwork consisted of purposeful conversations with event organisers, social interactions with members of the local community and other event attendees, field notes and photographs. Findings The Loch Fyne Food Fair in Argyll and Bute highlights a manifold disjuncture between place marketing and place branding, which, in turn, reflects the different approaches to how cities and rural areas seek to remain competitive. The authenticity of the brand, as signalled through image and language, is a key feature of the event’s success, as is the creation of a welcoming and inclusive “third place” environment. The interdependence between the aesthetic, escapist, educational and entertainment realms of the Fair experience have helped to secure the loyalty of visitors and locals, alike. Originality/value The paper offers practical insights into the ways in which place branding can be deployed to sustain a successful rural event and extends knowledge of the status of events and festivals as third places. The case study demonstrates how paying careful attention to the elements of the experience economy can enrich the distinctiveness of a rural event.

Our understanding of craft brewing is beginning to grow and a key theme to emerge from this artistic and intrinsically creative sector is the dependence on collaboration between entrepreneurial agents. In the North East of Scotland, the growth in craft beer is also recognised to come from a deep rooted collaboration, as a reaction to and in resistance of large mainstream competition. However, one such enterprise, BrewDog, has grown to achieve global reach to rival that of the large-scale brewers the craft scene sought to challenge. We consider what this unprecedented success means for the remaining collaborators in the local craft beer sector. Our findings point to a shared optimism and possibility of achievement among the craft brewers, aided by BrewDog’s success. However, the nature of collaboration is anchored more in community embeddedness and shared responsibility for market development, rather than in business growth and success replication. While the craft scene acknowledges the inspirational success of ‘one of their own’, strategic drive comes from more localised relations and a desire for independence. This has implications not only for craft beer but also on how collaboration among entrepreneurs sustains in respond to success from within the group.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to understand the processes whereby social entrepreneurs can contribute to community resilience and sustainability. Design/methodology/approach The study used a qualitative case study approach with 15 island communities located off the north and west coasts of Scotland and who were engaged in the development and implementation of renewable energy initiatives. Findings Peripheral communities provide an environment where entrepreneurial activities can flourish. Through a model of social enterprise, they were able to develop the necessary mechanisms to increase socio-economic resilience. The study indicates the importance of social capital in this process. Research limitations/implications External networks provide part of the framework to overcome market imperfections caused by distance and remoteness so that social entrepreneurs can develop their ability to build resilience and sustainability. More research is needed on how this framework can be utilised. Social implications In spite of the challenges presented in remote areas, these communities have shown the ability to adapt. This is an important component of resilience building. Originality/value This paper makes a unique contribution to the knowledge base through the interconnected concepts of social entrepreneurship and social capital. It provides new empirical insights into social enterprises and describes the mechanisms that help to build resilient rural communities in the context of renewable energy endeavours.

Purpose Festivals are often explicitly connected to the destinations in which they take place, explored here as contributing to broader processes of place-making and engagement with local communities. Place is defined at a local scale, primarily as experienced by volunteer contributors to an arts and cultural festival in urban Scotland. Networked relationships between festival volunteers inform the research methods and analysis, reflecting both observer and insider perspectives. This paper aims to comment on varying attitudes among the contributors, relating these findings to their positions in the festival’s social network. Design/methodology/approach Social network analysis methods were used to capture and examine data from a sample of festival volunteers: a survey instrument was distributed among individuals identified by the creative director, acting as a key informant. These data generated information on connections between the respondents, as well as demographic and opinion-based attribute data. Network centrality measures were used to sample the respondents for four follow-up interviews with festival volunteers. Findings The resulting network revealed a core-periphery structure to the festival’s organising team. The influential core group members were more established volunteers, recognised for their value to the team. The festival was widely endorsed as contributing to local place-making, though not uncritically. Management implications were identified for the dual nature of the festival organisation: a formal hierarchy with clear functional departments, acting as a platform for an intangible yet vital social network. Originality/value Social relationships are shown to have profound implications for the management and identity of this volunteer festival, in relation to its host neighbourhood. Combining social network analysis with semi-structured interviews has demonstrated the value of this mixed methods approach.

The contribution of community business to local economic development is being increasingly recognised. In Scotland's largest Region, Strathclyde, there are already 35 community businesses trading. The companies — community owned, community controlled and non-profit distributing – are almost exclusively based in 'deprived' areas. Glen Buchanan looks at the background of deteriorating employment opportunities against which community businesses have emerged, outlines the characteristics of community business, analyses their role as an agent for local economic development, and appraises the work of Strathclyde Community Business Ltd, the UK's largest community business development agency.

The focus of this paper is on the role of enterprise training among disabled people. The authors first review the literature, in particular comparing work on the theoretical benefits of enterprise training provision for disabled people with empirical studies of enterprise training initiatives for disabled people in various countries. In the analysis, low social capital is implicated as a cause of much disadvantage in economic and social life among disabled people, and this is particularly pertinent in modern knowledge-based economies where responsibility for development in the lifelong learning agenda is devolved from governments to individuals, including disabled individuals. Following this, an investigation of one publicly funded initiative in Fife, Scotland, is conducted and this is used to inform a wider debate about the potential uses and value of enterprise training for disabled people in the current stratified socioeconomic milieu. The paper argues that there is potential for enterprise training to contribute on a wider basis than simply independent entrepreneurship promotion and that the research community therefore has an opportunity to engage with this broader agenda.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to develop a modelized representation of the concept of opportunity structures for ethnic minority entrepreneurs in Glasgow, Scotland, that incorporates the different demand and supply side dimensions influencing entrepreneurial activity. Design/methodology/approach – An appropriate qualitative research design was implemented in order to capture and understand the influence of contextual dimensions on entrepreneurial behaviour of Polish EMEs in Glasgow. As part of the abductive and reflective process of the research, 21 semi-structured interviews were carried out in with Polish EMEs who are sole-owners of businesses. Findings – By contextualising ethnic minority entrepreneurship, the paper reveals the crucial and ambivalent role played by the community (for resource mobilisation and as the primary market) and by Polish EMEs’ perception of the opportunity structure, on their entrepreneurial behaviour. Moreover, it highlights the importance of the household as a contextual dimension on entrepreneurial decision making among those Polish entrepreneurs in Glasgow. Practical implications – Provides a comprehensive and operational model of opportunity structure for EMEs which can be used an operational tool for both scholars in the field as well as by policy makers. The proposed model constitutes a framework for analysing the influence of different contextual dimensions on EMEs’ entrepreneurial behaviour. Originality/value – The contribution is the provision of an original tool to enable further systematic comparative approaches while conducting research on EMEs across different communities and localities.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to examine young learners’ attitudes towards enterprise education within the context of a university led initiative to construct a sustainable framework which benefits identified stakeholders. Design/methodology/approach The research used self-completed questionnaires with 117 business studies students in Stages S4-S6 from secondary schools across Dundee and business students from Years 1-4 at one university in Dundee, Scotland. Findings The research reveals that respondents positively engage with enterprise education and felt that their project management, creative thinking, communication skills and confidence were enhanced by the activity of real-world business challenges. The findings support the notion that an enterprising spine embedded in the academic curriculum better equip the learner with the necessary hard and soft skills required for the employment market but not necessarily to be entrepreneurial. Research limitations/implications A limitation of this research was the sample size, which although representative of the pupil and student cohorts associated with the various stages of education being studied at the particular time of data collection, and is suitable for an exploratory study, the research would have benefited from being both larger and complimented by more of a qualitative component beyond the inclusion of open-ended questions. Practical implications As an exploratory study which informs a wider comparative study into enterprise education, the research examines learner’s perspectives and the measures they feel are required for effective engagement with enterprise education activities in schools and universities. The findings should assist education providers to deliver a better learning experience and the learners with improved enterprising and social skills, particularly the building of confidence. Social implications As an exploratory study which informs a wider comparative study into enterprise education, the research examines learner’s perspectives and the measures they feel are required for effective engagement with enterprise education activities in schools and universities. The findings should assist education providers to deliver a better learning experience and the learners with improved enterprising and social skills, particularly the building of confidence. Originality/value The research should prove useful to educational establishments who are considering the implementation of, or further engagement with, enterprise education and involvement with the business community and how such activities impact on their learners.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to explore how flood management practitioners rationalise the emergence of sustainable flood management. Key to this analysis are differences rooted in assumptions over what flood management is and should do. Design/methodology/approach – The popularity of natural flood management offers a case with which to explore how a dominant framing persists and how individuals at the government-public interface negotiate different visions of future flood management. The authors draw on the perceptions of flood experts, elucidating a deep hold amongst a professional community “grounded” in science and economics, but also their desire to innovate and become more open to innovative practices. Findings – The authors show how the idea of “sustainable” and “natural” flood management are understood by those doing flood management, which is with reference to pre-existing technical practices. Research limitations/implications – This paper explores the views of expert decision making, which suffers from challenges associated with small sample size. As such, the findings must be tempered, but with recognition for the influence of a small group of individuals who determine the nature of flood management in Scotland. Practical implications – The authors conclude that, in the context of this study, a technical framing persists by predetermining the criteria by which innovative techniques are judged. Originality/value – Broadly, these findings contribute to debates over the evolution of flood management regimes. This recognises the importance of events while also emphasising the preparations that shape the context and norms of the flood management community between events.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to propose the use of social impact assessment (SIA) principles to evaluate the contribution of cultural heritage to social sustainability, supporting both a people-centered and socially responsible approach to heritage management. Design/methodology/approach Specifically, the paper explores SIA as a methodological tool for post-project evaluation, used to define projects’ contributions to aspects of social sustainability through analyzing impacts of participation in a rural context case study, that of the Scapa Flow landscape heritage scheme in Orkney Islands, Scotland, UK. Findings Based on research findings from the thematic analysis of 40 semi-structured interviews on impacts (with heritage managers, planners and participants in the scheme), the paper proposes a combination of heritage value assessment process with social impact identification to achieve a context-relevant assessment of social sustainability. Existing research around social capital and sense of place supports the analysis of relevant impacts and heritage values. Findings support overlaps between socio-environmental impacts, when looking at the role of heritage for community well-being in rural contexts. Research limitations/implications The qualitative approach allows for a context-relevant, bottom up impact assessment and allows for multiple stakeholders perceptions to be included. Practical implications The proposed methodological approach has greater implications for the work of institutions and professionals involved in project evaluations that can inform participatory heritage project planning, ensuring high social relevance. Social implications Application of SIA principles in heritage sector can increase social benefits of heritage projects and enable wider community participation in processes of heritage management. Originality/value Through this case study, the effectiveness of SIA principles when applied in cultural heritage project evaluation is discussed, reflecting on a novel methodology for impact assessment in heritage.

To our valued hospitality community, welcome to this thought-provoking second issue of 2020. It has been a challenging, tumultuous and difficult year, especially for hospitality artisans, business owners and employees. At times, it seemed that offering hospitality to tourists, local guests and even close family members became instantaneously inaccessible, rather than being a fundamental right. Yet, with creativity and resilience, throughout 2020, hospitality professionals surmounted the challenges and adapted to new times with new ways. This issue takes a hopeful view of a post-pandemic future beginning with an inspiring opinion piece, 2021 dreams of a hospitable society, from Paul Lynch (AUT Adjunct Professor) writing from Scotland. It is followed by an original philosophical reflection that views COVID-19 as an “intruder”. Other topics include the importance of communicating effectively online about accessibility in hotel restaurants, how to extend hospitality to customers with epilepsy, an industry interview with a hotel General Manager in Auckland on what makes New Zealand hospitality unique and finally, the far reaching effects of the Covid-19 crisis on women working in the hospitality industry. The journal provides free, open access to the key implications of hospitality research for a wider readership along with opinion pieces of topical interest. We thus welcome your contributions to future editions of Hospitality Insights on the impact of COVID-19, as well as other issues currently testing the sustainable future of the hospitality industry and communities. He waka eke noa. We are all in this together.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to critically evaluate the use of the public sector improvement framework (PSIF) across public sector agencies in Scotland and explore the research gaps and consequent questions which arise. It is considered that the national promotion of a methodology for public sector improvement, while entirely legitimate, deserves independent scrutiny. Design/methodology/approach The assertions of purpose and effectiveness of PSIF made by both the Improvement Service and European Foundation for Quality Management (EFQM) have been critically examined and independent research which would support or challenge those assertions has been explored. Findings There are significant research gaps in the published literature which raise considerations around not only the effective deployment of EFQM but also the requirement for PSIF. The question whether there is a requirement to adapt EFQM for the public sector is also raised. Research limitations/implications This paper explores published academic research and does not reference any internal research undertaken by either the Improvement Service or EFQM. Practical implications Practitioners who have implemented or are considering implementing PSIF should do so from an informed perspective and be aware of the apparent lack of published research and the significant gaps and questions raised through this paper. Originality/value No published research on PSIF and its adaptation from the EFQM business model has been identified. Given the investment and impact of implementing PSIF organisation wide, it is considered extremely valuable to raise these questions for practitioners, as well as encourage the academic community in undertaking research in this area.

The problem of joint co-ownership in a Polish civil law partnership constitutes one of the most complex and contentious problems in Polish civil law. On one hand, there are many reasons why a civil law partnership should have legal capacity, capacity to be a party in civil cases, bankruptcy capacity and a status of an entrepreneur. On the other hand, the system of joint co-ownership precludes the partnership from being accorded that status. Recognising the legal capacity of a partnership would mean that it is a carrier of rights and obligations. This, however, would be defied by the system of joint co-ownership, since in that case it would be the partners, as coowners, that would be the carriers of rights and obligations. It is not possible that a partnership and its partners are both carriers of the same property rights; particularly, the right to the property of partnership. Even if the legislature de-cided that a civil law partnership is not just a civil law obligation, but also an organisa-tional unit and that the legal capacity should be accorded to it, then the system of joint co-ownership in a civil law partnership would also have to be waived. Numerous provi-sions of public law, including in particular tax law, suggest such a solution. They already treat a civil law partnership as a legal entity. Accordance of” as the act of granting civil law capacity would unify its status in all areas of law. Furthermore, there are cases from foreign law that speak for the above-presented solution. In France and Scotland a civil law partnership has legal personality. In Germany the equivalent partnership was granted legal capacity. In the latter country, this was possible without the need to resign from the system of community of joint co-ownership (Gesamthand). Contrary to the Polish joint co-ownership, the German Gesamthand is not a type of co-ownership, but a type of legal community of personal rather than property nature. In countries in which a civil law partnership has not been granted legal capacity, problems similar to those that occur in Polish law arise. The postulate of granting legal capacity to a civil law partnership is justified. However, it should be limited to partnerships that operate business activity. Ordinary external partnerships do not require legal capacity; therefore they can still retain the system of joint co-ownership.

Purpose Food tourism and events are often prefaced as tools for sustainability within national and intra-national food and agricultural policy contexts. Yet, the realities of enhancing sustainability through food tourism and events are problematic. Sustainability itself is often conceived broadly within policy proclaiming the benefits of food tourism and events, with a need for further deconstruction of the ways each dimension of sustainability – economic, environmental, social and cultural – independently enhances sustainability. The lack of clarity concerning the conceptual utilisation of sustainability works to compromise its value and utilisation for the development of food tourism and events in peripheral areas. In recognition, this paper aims to turn attention to social sustainability within the context of a local food festival, to ask the following: in what ways is social sustainability enhanced through a local food festival, who benefits from this sustainability, and how? Design/methodology/approach The paper examines the development of a local food festival in a rural coastal community on Scotland’s west coast. The concept of social capital is used to examine the unfolding power relations between committee members, as well as the committee and other social groups. Observant participation undertaken over a 10-month period, between December 2015 and September 2016, renders insights into the ways event planning processes were dependent on the pre-existing accruement of social capital by certain individuals and groups. Findings Local food festivals have the potential to enhance social sustainability, in offering opportunity to bridge relations across certain diverse groups and foster an environment conducive to cohabitation. Bridging, however, is dependent on preconceived social capital and power relations, which somewhat inhibits social integration for all members of a community. The temporally confined characteristics of events generates difficulties in overcoming the uneven enhancement of social sustainability. Care, thus, needs to be upheld in resolutely claiming enhancement of social sustainability through local food events. Further, broad conceptualisations of “community” need to be challenged during event planning processes; for it is difficult to develop a socially inclusive approach that ensures integration for diverse segments without recognising what constitutes a specific “community”. Originality/value This paper is situated within the context of a peripheral yet growing body of literature exploring the potential of events to develop social sustainability. In extending work examining events and social sustainaility the paper turns attention to the gastronomic – examining the extent to which social sustainability is enhanced through a local food festival, for a rural coastal community – Mallaig, on Scotland’s west coast.

Perfect vision for the path ahead? As I write this editorial it seems that once again, we stand on the threshold of yet another significant date. The fortieth anniversary of ISCPES and also that of this journal, that has been the voice of the society’s contribution over that period, has been and gone. This time it is 2020 that looms on the near horizon. It is a date that has long been synonymous with perfect vision. Many may perhaps see this as somewhat ironic, given the themes surrounding change and the directions it has taken, that have been addressed previously in these pages. Perfect vision and the clarity it can bring seem a far cry away from the turbulent world to which we seem to be becoming accustomed. So many of the divisions that we are facing today seem to be internal in nature and far different from the largely: nation against nation; system against system strife, we can remember from the cold war era. The US, for example, seems to be a nation perpetually at war with itself. Democrats v Republicans, deplorables v elites - however you want to label the warring sides - we can construct a number of divisions which seem to put 50% of Americans implacably opposed to the other 50%. In the UK, it has been the divide around the referendum to leave the European Union – the so-called Brexit debate. Nationally the division was 52% to 48% in favour of leaving. Yet the data can be reanalysed in, it seems, countless ways to show the splits within a supposedly ‘United’ Kingdom. Scotland v England, London and the South East v the English regions, young v old are just some of the examples. Similar splits seem to be increasing within many societies. Hong Kong has recently been the focus of world interest We have watched this erstwhile model of an apparently successful and dynamic compromise between two ‘diverse’ systems, appear to tear itself apart on our television screens. Iran, Brazil, Venezuela are just three further examples of longstanding national communities where internal divisions have bubbled to the surface in recent times. These internal divisions frequently have no simple and single fault line. In bygone times, social class, poverty, religion and ethnicity were simple universal indicators of division. Today ways of dividing people have become far more complex and often multi-dimensional. Social media has become a means to amplify and repeat messages that have originated from those who have a ‘gripe’ based in identity politics or who wish to signal to all and sundry how extremely ‘virtuous’ and progressive they are. The new technologies have proved effective for the distribution of information but remarkably unsuccessful in the promotion of communication. This has been exemplified by the emergence and exploitation of Greta Thunberg a sixteen-year-old from Sweden as a spokesperson for the ‘Extinction Rebellion’ climate change lobby. It is a movement that has consciously eschewed debate and discussion in favour of action. Consequently, by excluding learning from its operation, it is cutting itself off from the possibility of finding out what beneficial change will look like and therefore finding a way by which to achieve it. Put simply, it has predetermined its desired goal and defined the problem in inflexible terms. It has ignored a basic tenet of effective problem solving, namely that the key lies in the way you actually frame the problem. Unfortunately, the movement has adopted the polarised labelling strategies that place all humans into the category of either ‘believers’ or ‘deniers’. This fails to acknowledge and deal with the depth and complexity of the problem and the range of our possible responses to it. We are all the losers when problems, particularly given their potential significance, become addressed in such a way. How and where can human behaviour learn to rise above the limits of the processes we see being followed all around us? If leadership is to come, it must surely come from and through a process of education. All of us must assume some responsibility here – and certainly not abdicate it to elite and powerful groups. In other words, we all have a moral duty to educate ourselves to the best of our ability. An important part of the process we follow should be to remain sceptical of the limits of human knowledge. In addition, we need to be committed to applying tests of truth and integrity to the information we access and manage. This is why we form and support learned societies such as ISCPES. Their duty is to test, debate and promote ideas and concepts so that truth and understanding might emerge from sharing and exploring information, while at the same time applying the criteria developed by the wisdom and experience of those who have gone before. And so, we come to the processes of change and disruption as we are currently experiencing them at International Sports Studies. Throughout our history we have followed the traditional model of a scholarly journal. That is, our reason for existence is to provide a scholarly forum for colleagues who wish to contribute to and develop understanding within the professional and academic field of Comparative Physical Education and Sport. As the means of doing this, we encourage academics and professionals in our field to submit articles which are blind reviewed by experts. They then advise the editor on their quality and suitability for publication. As part of our responsibility we particularly encourage qualified authors from non-English speaking backgrounds to publish with us, as a means of providing a truly international forum for ideas and development. Where possible the editorial team works with contributors to assist them with this process. We have now taken a step further by publishing the abstracts in Portuguese, Spanish and Chinese on the website, in order to spread the work of our contributors more widely. Consistent with international changes in labelling and focus over the years, the title of the society’s journal was changed from the Journal of Comparative Physical Education and Sport to International Sports Studies in 1989. However, our aim has remained to advance understanding and communication between members of the global community who share a professional, personal or scholarly interest in the state and development of physical education and sport around the world. In line with the traditional model, the services of our editorial and reviewing teams are provided ex gratia and the costs of publication are met by reader and library subscriptions. We have always offered a traditional printed version but have, in recent years, developed an online version - also as a subscription. Over the last few years we have moved to online editorial support. From 2020 will be adopting the practice of making articles available online immediately following their acceptance. This will reduce the wait time experienced by authors in their work becoming generally available to the academic community. Readers will no doubt be aware of the current and recent turbulence within academic publishing generally. There has been a massive increase in the university sector globally. As a result, there has been an increasing number of academics who both want to and need to publish, for the sake of advancement in their careers. A number of organisations have seen this as providing a business opportunity. Consequently, many academics now receive daily emails soliciting their contributions to various journals and books. University libraries are finding their budgets stretched and while they have been, up until now, the major funders of scholarly journals through their subscriptions, they have been forced to limit their lists and become much more selective in their choices. For these reasons, open access has provided a different and attractive funding model. In this model, the costs of publication are effectively transferred to the authors rather than the readers. This works well for those authors who may have the financial support to pursue this option, as well as for readers. However, it does raise a question as to the processes of quality control. The question arises because when the writer becomes the paying customer in the transaction, then the interests of the merchant (the publisher) can become more aligned to ensuring the author gets published rather than guaranteeing the reader some degree of quality control over the product they are receiving. A further confounding factor in the scenario we face, is the issue of how quality is judged. Universities have today become businesses and are being run with philosophies similar to those of any business in the commercial world. Thus, they have ‘bought into’ a series of key performance indicators which are used to compare institutions one with another. These are then added up together to produce summative scores by which universities can be compared and ranked. There are those of us that believe that such a process belittles and diminishes the institutions and the role they play in our societies. Nonetheless it has become a game with which the majority appear to have fallen in line, seeing it as a necessary part of the need to market themselves. As a result, very many institutions now pay their chief executives (formerly Vice-Chancellors) very highly, in order to for them to optimise the chosen metrics. It is a similar process of course with academic journals. So it is, that various measures are used to categorise and rank journals and provide some simplistic measure of ‘quality’. Certain fields and methodologies are inherently privileged in these processes, for example the medical and natural sciences. As far as we are concerned, we address a very significant element in our society – physical education and sport - and we address it from a critical but eclectic perspective. We believe that this provides a significant service to our global community. However, we need to be realistic in acknowledging the limited and restricted nature of that community. Sport Science has become dominated by physiology, data analytics, injury and rehabilitation. Courses and staff studying the phenomenon of sport and physical education through the humanities and social sciences, seem to be rarer and rarer. This is to the great detriment of the wellbeing and development of the phenomenon itself. We would like to believe that we can make an important difference in this space. So how do we address the question of quality? Primarily through following our advertised processes and the integrity and competence of those involved. We believe in these and will stick with them. However, we appreciate that burying our heads in the sand and remaining ‘king of the dinosaurs’ does not provide a viable way forward. Therefore, in our search for continuing strategy and clear vision in 2020, we will be exploring ways of signalling our quality better, while at the same time remaining true to our principles and beliefs. In conclusion we are advising you, as our readers, that changes may be expected as we, of necessity, adapt to our changing environment while seeking sustainability. Exactly what they will be, we are not certain at the time of going to press. We believe that there is a place, even a demand for our contribution and we are committed to both maintaining its standard and improving its accessibility. Comments and advice from within and outside of our community are welcome and we remain appreciative, as always, of the immense contribution of our international review board members and our supportive and innovative publisher. So, to the contributors to our current volume. Once again, we would point with some pride to the range of articles and topics provided. Together, they provide an interesting and relevant overview of some pertinent current issues in sport and physical education, addressed from the perspectives of different areas across the globe. Firstly, Pill and Agnew provide an update to current pedagogical practices in physical education and sport, through their scoping review of findings related to the use of small-sided games in teaching and coaching. They provide an overview of the empirical research, available between 2006 and 2016, and conclude that the strategy provides a useful means of achieving a number of specific objectives. From Belgium, Van Gestel explores the recent development of elite Thai boxing in that country. He draws on Elias’ (1986) notion of ‘sportization’ which describes the processes by which various play like activities have become transformed into modern sport. Thai boxing provides an interesting example as one of a number of high-risk combat sports, which inhabit an ambiguous area between the international sports community and more marginalised combat activities which can be brutal in nature. Van Gestel expertly draws out some of the complexities involved in concluding that the sport has experienced some of the processes of sportization, but in this particular case they have been ‘slight’ in impact rather than full-blown. Abdolmaleki, Heidari, Zakizadeh XXABSTRACT De Bosscher look at a topic of considerable contemporary interest – the management of a high-performance sport system. In this case their example is the Iranian national system and their focus is on the management of some of the resources involved. Given that the key to success in high performance sport systems would appear to lie in the ability to access and implement some of the latest and most effective technological information intellectual capital would seem to be a critical component of the total value of a competitive high performance sport system Using a model developed by a Swedish capital services company Skandia to model intangible assets in a service based organisation, Abdolmaleki and his associates have argued for the contribution of human, relational and structural capital to provide an understanding of the current place of intellectual capital in the operations of the Iranian Ministry of Sport and Youth. An understanding of the factors contributing to the development of these assets, contributes to the successful operation of any organisation in such a highly competitive and fast changing environment. Finally, from Singapore, Chung, Sufri and Wang report on some of the exciting developments in school based physical education that have occurred over the last decade. In particular they identify the increase in the placement of qualified physical education teachers as indicative of the progress that has been made. They draw on Foucault’s strategy of ‘archaeological analysis’ for an explanation of how these developments came to be successfully put in place. Their arguments strongly reinforce the importance of understanding the social and political context in order to achieve successful innovation and development. May I commend the work of our colleagues to you and wish you all the best in the attempt to achieve greater clarity of vision for 2020!

IntroductionDespite claims that the importance of distance has been reduced due to technological and communications improvements (Cairncross; Friedman; O’Brien), the ‘power of place’ still resonates, often intensifying the role of geography (Christopherson et al.; Morgan; Pratt; Scott and Storper). Within the film industry, there has been a decentralisation of production from Hollywood, but there remains a spatial logic which has preferenced particular centres, such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague often led by a combination of incentives (Christopherson and Storper; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Goldsmith et al.; Miller et al.; Mould). The emergence of high end television, television programming for which the production budget is more than £1 million per television hour, has presented new opportunities for screen hubs sharing a very similar value chain to the film industry (OlsbergSPI with Nordicity).In recent years, interventions have proliferated with the aim of capitalising on the decentralisation of certain activities in order to attract international screen industries production and embed it within local hubs. Tools for building capacity and expertise have proliferated, including support for studio complex facilities, infrastructural investments, tax breaks and other economic incentives (Cucco; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Jensen; Goldsmith et al.; McDonald; Miller et al.; Mould). Yet experience tells us that these will not succeed everywhere. There is a need for a better understanding of both the capacity for places to build a distinctive and competitive advantage within a highly globalised landscape and the relative merits of alternative interventions designed to generate a sustainable production base.This article first sets out the rationale for the appetite identified in the screen industries for co-location, or clustering and concentration in a tightly drawn physical area, in global hubs of production. It goes on to explore the latest trends of decentralisation and examines the upturn in interventions aimed at attracting mobile screen industries capital and labour. Finally it introduces the Scottish screen industries and explores some of the ways in which Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity. The paper identifies some key gaps in infrastructure, most notably a studio, and calls for closer examination of the essential ingredients of, and possible interventions needed for, a vibrant and sustainable industry.A Compulsion for ProximityIt has been argued that particular spatial and place-based factors are central to the development and organisation of the screen industries. The film and television sector, the particular focus of this article, exhibit an extraordinarily high degree of spatial agglomeration, especially favouring centres with global status. It is worth noting that the computer games sector, not explored in this article, slightly diverges from this trend displaying more spatial patterns of decentralisation (Vallance), although key physical hubs of activity have been identified (Champion). Creative products often possess a cachet that is directly associated with their point of origin, for example fashion from Paris, films from Hollywood and country music from Nashville – although it can also be acknowledged that these are often strategic commercial constructions (Pecknold). The place of production represents a unique component of the final product as well as an authentication of substantive and symbolic quality (Scott, “Creative cities”). Place can act as part of a brand or image for creative industries, often reinforcing the advantage of being based in particular centres of production.Very localised historical, cultural, social and physical factors may also influence the success of creative production in particular places. Place-based factors relating to the built environment, including cheap space, public-sector support framework, connectivity, local identity, institutional environment and availability of amenities, are seen as possible influences in the locational choices of creative industry firms (see, for example, Drake; Helbrecht; Hutton; Leadbeater and Oakley; Markusen).Employment trends are notoriously difficult to measure in the screen industries (Christopherson, “Hollywood in decline?”), but the sector does contain large numbers of very small firms and freelancers. This allows them to be flexible but poses certain problems that can be somewhat offset by co-location. The findings of Antcliff et al.’s study of workers in the audiovisual industry in the UK suggested that individuals sought to reconstruct stable employment relations through their involvement in and use of networks. The trust and reciprocity engendered by stable networks, built up over time, were used to offset the risk associated with the erosion of stable employment. These findings are echoed by a study of TV content production in two media regions in Germany by Sydow and Staber who found that, although firms come together to work on particular projects, typically their business relations extend for a much longer period than this. Commonly, firms and individuals who have worked together previously will reassemble for further project work aided by their past experiences and expectations.Co-location allows the development of shared structures: language, technical attitudes, interpretative schemes and ‘communities of practice’ (Bathelt, et al.). Grabher describes this process as ‘hanging out’. Deep local pools of creative and skilled labour are advantageous both to firms and employees (Reimer et al.) by allowing flexibility, developing networks and offsetting risk (Banks et al.; Scott, “Global City Regions”). For example in Cook and Pandit’s study comparing the broadcasting industry in three city-regions, London was found to be hugely advantaged by its unrivalled talent pool, high financial rewards and prestigious projects. As Barnes and Hutton assert in relation to the wider creative industries, “if place matters, it matters most to them” (1251). This is certainly true for the screen industries and their spatial logic points towards a compulsion for proximity in large global hubs.Decentralisation and ‘Sticky’ PlacesDespite the attraction of global production hubs, there has been a decentralisation of screen industries from key centres, starting with the film industry and the vertical disintegration of Hollywood studios (Christopherson and Storper). There are instances of ‘runaway production’ from the 1920s onwards with around 40 per cent of all features being accounted for by offshore production in 1960 (Miller et al., 133). This trend has been increasing significantly in the last 20 years, leading to the genesis of new hubs of screen activity such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague (Christopherson, “Project work in context”; Goldsmith et al.; Mould; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). This development has been prompted by a multiplicity of reasons including favourable currency value differentials and economic incentives. Subsidies and tax breaks have been offered to secure international productions with most countries demanding that, in order to qualify for tax relief, productions have to spend a certain amount of their budget within the local economy, employ local crew and use domestic creative talent (Hill). Extensive infrastructure has been developed including studio complexes to attempt to lure productions with the advantage of a full service offering (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Internationally, Canada has been the greatest beneficiary of ‘runaway production’ with a state-led enactment of generous film incentives since the late 1990s (McDonald). Vancouver and Toronto are the busiest locations for North American Screen production after Los Angeles and New York, due to exchange rates and tax rebates on labour costs (Miller et al., 141). 80% of Vancouver’s production is attributable to runaway production (Jensen, 27) and the city is considered by some to have crossed a threshold as:It now possesses sufficient depth and breadth of talent to undertake the full array of pre-production, production and post-production services for the delivery of major motion pictures and TV programmes. (Barnes and Coe, 19)Similarly, Toronto is considered to have established a “comprehensive set of horizontal and vertical media capabilities” to ensure its status as a “full function media centre” (Davis, 98). These cities have successfully engaged in entrepreneurial activity to attract production (Christopherson, “Project Work in Context”) and in Vancouver the proactive role of provincial government and labour unions are, in part, credited with its success (Barnes and Coe). Studio-complex infrastructure has also been used to lure global productions, with Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney all being seen as key examples of where such developments have been used as a strategic priority to take local production capacity to the next level (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Studies which provide a historiography of the development of screen-industry hubs emphasise a complex interplay of social, cultural and physical conditions. In the complex and global flows of the screen industries, ‘sticky’ hubs have emerged with the ability to attract and retain capital and skilled labour. Despite being principally organised to attract international production, most studio complexes, especially those outside of global centres need to have a strong relationship to local or national film and television production to ensure the sustainability and depth of the labour pool (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003). Many have a broadcaster on site as well as a range of companies with a media orientation and training facilities (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003; Picard, 2008). The emergence of film studio complexes in the Australian Gold Coast and Vancouver was accompanied by an increasing role for television production and this multi-purpose nature was important for the continuity of production.Fostering a strong community of below the line workers, such as set designers, locations managers, make-up artists and props manufacturers, can also be a clear advantage in attracting international productions. For example at Cinecitta in Italy, the expertise of set designers and experienced crews in the Barrandov Studios of Prague are regarded as major selling points of the studio complexes there (Goldsmith and O’Regan; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). Natural and built environments are also considered very important for film and television firms and it is a useful advantage for capturing international production when cities can double for other locations as in the cases of Toronto, Vancouver, Prague for example (Evans; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Szczepanik). Toronto, for instance, has doubled for New York in over 100 films and with regard to television Due South’s (1994-1998) use of Toronto as Chicago was estimated to have saved 40 per cent in costs (Miller et al., 141).The Scottish Screen Industries Within mobile flows of capital and labour, Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity through multiple interventions, including investment in institutional frameworks, direct and indirect economic subsidies and the development of physical infrastructure. Traditionally creative industry activity in the UK has been concentrated in London and the South East which together account for 43% of the creative economy workforce (Bakhshi et al.). In order, in part to redress this imbalance and more generally to encourage the attraction and retention of international production a range of policies have been introduced focused on the screen industries. A revised Film Tax Relief was introduced in 2007 to encourage inward investment and prevent offshoring of indigenous production, and this has since been extended to high-end television, animation and children’s programming. Broadcasting has also experienced a push for decentralisation led by public funding with a responsibility to be regionally representative. The BBC (“BBC Annual Report and Accounts 2014/15”) is currently exceeding its target of 50% network spend outside London by 2016, with 17% spent in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Channel 4 has similarly committed to commission at least 9% of its original spend from the nations by 2020. Studios have been also developed across the UK including at Roath Lock (Cardiff), Titanic Studios (Belfast), MedicaCity (Salford) and The Sharp Project (Manchester).The creative industries have been identified as one of seven growth sectors for Scotland by the government (Scottish Government). In 2010, the film and video sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £120 million GVA and £120 million adjusted GVA to the economy and the radio and TV sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £50 million GVA and £400 million adjusted GVA (The Scottish Parliament). Beyond the direct economic benefits of sectors, the on-screen representation of Scotland has been claimed to boost visitor numbers to the country (EKOS) and high profile international film productions have been attracted including Skyfall (2012) and WWZ (2013).Scotland has historically attracted international film and TV productions due to its natural locations (VisitScotland) and on average, between 2009-2014, six big budget films a year used Scottish locations both urban and rural (BOP Consulting, 2014). In all, a total of £20 million was generated by film-making in Glasgow during 2011 (Balkind) with WWZ (2013) and Cloud Atlas (2013), representing Philadelphia and San Francisco respectively, as well as doubling for Edinburgh for the recent acclaimed Scottish films Filth (2013) and Sunshine on Leith (2013). Sanson (80) asserts that the use of the city as a site for international productions not only brings in direct revenue from production money but also promotes the city as a “fashionable place to live, work and visit. Creativity makes the city both profitable and ‘cool’”.Nonetheless, issues persist and it has been suggested that Scotland lacks a stable and sustainable film industry, with low indigenous production levels and variable success from year to year in attracting inward investment (BOP Consulting). With regard to crew, problems with an insufficient production base have been identified as an issue in maintaining a pipeline of skills (BOP Consulting). Developing ‘talent’ is a central aspect of the Scottish Government’s Strategy for the Creative Industries, yet there remains the core challenge of retaining skills and encouraging new talent into the industry (BOP Consulting).With regard to film, a lack of substantial funding incentives and the absence of a studio have been identified as a key concern for the sector. For example, within the film industry the majority of inward investment filming in Scotland is location work as it lacks the studio facilities that would enable it to sustain a big-budget production in its entirety (BOP Consulting). The absence of such infrastructure has been seen as contributing to a drain of Scottish talent from these industries to other areas and countries where there is a more vibrant sector (BOP Consulting). The loss of Scottish talent to Northern Ireland was attributed to the longevity of the work being provided by Games of Thrones (2011-) now having completed its six series at the Titanic Studios in Belfast (EKOS) although this may have been stemmed somewhat recently with the attraction of US high-end TV series Outlander (2014-) which has been based at Wardpark in Cumbernauld since 2013.Television, both high-end production and local broadcasting, appears crucial to the sustainability of screen production in Scotland. Outlander has been estimated to contribute to Scotland’s production spend figures reaching a historic high of £45.8 million in 2014 (Creative Scotland ”Creative Scotland Screen Strategy Update”). The arrival of the program has almost doubled production spend in Scotland, offering the chance for increased stability for screen industries workers. Qualifying for UK High-End Television Tax Relief, Outlander has engaged a crew of approximately 300 across props, filming and set build, and cast over 2,000 supporting artist roles from within Scotland and the UK.Long running drama, in particular, offers key opportunities for both those cutting their teeth in the screen industries and also by providing more consistent and longer-term employment to existing workers. BBC television soap River City (2002-) has been identified as a key example of such an opportunity and the programme has been credited with providing a springboard for developing the skills of local actors, writers and production crew (Hibberd). This kind of pipeline of production is critical given the work patterns of the sector. According to Creative Skillset, of the 4,000 people in Scotland are employed in the film and television industries, 40% of television workers are freelance and 90% of film production work in freelance (EKOS).In an attempt to address skills gaps, the Outlander Trainee Placement Scheme has been devised in collaboration with Creative Scotland and Creative Skillset. During filming of Season One, thirty-eight trainees were supported across a range of production and craft roles, followed by a further twenty-five in Season Two. Encouragingly Outlander, and the books it is based on, is set in Scotland so the authenticity of place has played a strong component in the decision to locate production there. Producer David Brown began his career on Bill Forsyth films Gregory’s Girl (1981), Local Hero (1983) and Comfort and Joy (1984) and has a strong existing relationship to Scotland. He has been very vocal in his support for the trainee program, contending that “training is the future of our industry and we at Outlander see the growth of talent and opportunities as part of our mission here in Scotland” (“Outlander fast tracks next generation of skilled screen talent”).ConclusionsThis article has aimed to explore the relationship between place and the screen industries and, taking Scotland as its focus, has outlined a need to more closely examine the ways in which the sector can be supported. Despite the possible gains in terms of building a sustainable industry, the state-led funding of the global screen industries is contested. The use of tax breaks and incentives has been problematised and critiques range from use of public funding to attract footloose media industries to the increasingly zero sum game of competition between competing places (Morawetz; McDonald). In relation to broadcasting, there have been critiques of a ‘lift and shift’ approach to policy in the UK, with TV production companies moving to the nations and regions temporarily to meet the quota and leaving once a production has finished (House of Commons). Further to this, issues have been raised regarding how far such interventions can seed and develop a rich production ecology that offers opportunities for indigenous talent (Christopherson and Rightor).Nonetheless recent success for the screen industries in Scotland can, at least in part, be attributed to interventions including increased decentralisation of broadcasting and the high-end television tax incentives. This article has identified gaps in infrastructure which continue to stymie growth and have led to production drain to other centres. Important gaps in knowledge can also be acknowledged that warrant further investigation and unpacking including the relationship between film, high-end television and broadcasting, especially in terms of the opportunities they offer for screen industries workers to build a career in Scotland and notable gaps in infrastructure and the impact they have on the loss of production.ReferencesAntcliff, Valerie, Richard Saundry, and Mark Stuart. Freelance Worker Networks in Audio-Visual Industries. University of Central Lancashire, 2004.Bakhshi, Hasan, John Davies, Alan Freeman, and Peter Higgs. "The Geography of the UK’s Creative and High–Tech Economies." 2015.Balkind, Nicola. World Film Locations: Glasgow. Intellect Books, 2013.Banks, Mark, Andy Lovatt, Justin O’Connor, and Carlo Raffo. "Risk and Trust in the Cultural Industries." Geoforum 31.4 (2000): 453-464.Barnes, Trevor, and Neil M. Coe. “Vancouver as Media Cluster: The Cases of Video Games and Film/TV." 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IntroductionThis paper is concerned with recent attempts to develop the creative economy in rural Scotland. Research shows that the creative economy is far from self-organising, and that an appropriate institutional landscape is important to its development (Andersson and Henrekson). In Scotland, there is a proliferation of support mechanisms – from those designed to help creative entrepreneurs improve their business, management, or technical expertise, to infrastructure projects, to collective capacity-building. In rural Scotland, this support landscape is particularly cluttered. This article tackles the question: How do rural creative entrepreneurs negotiate this complex funding and support landscape, and how do they aid the development of the rural creative economy ‘from below’? From Creative Industries to the Creative EconomyThe creative industries have been central to the UK’s economic growth strategy since the 1990s. According to the Centre for Economics and Business Research the creative industries contributed £5.9bn to the economy in 2013 (CEBR 17). In the last five years there have been significant improvements in ICTs, leading to growth in digital creative production, distribution, and consumption. The established creative industries, along with the nascent ‘digital industries’ are often grouped together as a separate economic sector – the ‘creative economy’ (Nesta A Manifesto for the Creative Economy).Given its close association with creative city discourses (see Florida 2002), research on the creative economy remains overwhelmingly urban-focused. As a result of this urban bias, the rural creative economy is under-researched. Bell and Jayne (209) note that in the last decade a small body of academic work on the rural creative economy has emerged (Harvey et al.; White). In particular, the Australian context has generated a wealth of discussion as regards national and regional attempts to develop the rural creative economy, the contribution of ‘creativity’ to rural economic and social development, sustainability and resilience, and the role that individual creative practitioners play in developing the rural creative economy (see Argent et al.; Gibson, Gibson and Connell; Waitt and Gibson).In the absence of suitable infrastructure, such as: adequate transport infrastructure, broadband and mobile phone connectivity, workspaces and business support, it often falls to rural creative practitioners themselves to ‘patch the gaps’ in the institutional infrastructure. This paper is concerned with the ways in which rural creative practitioners attempt to contribute to the development of the creative economy ‘from below’. ICTs have great potential to benefit rural areas in this respect, by “connecting people and places, businesses and services” (Townsend et al. Enhanced Broadband Access 581).The Scottish InfrastructureSince 1998, cultural policy has been devolved to Scotland, and has fallen under the control of the Scottish Government and Parliament. In an earlier examination of a Scottish creative business support agency, I noted that the Scottish Government has adopted a creative industries development strategy broadly in line with that coming out of Westminster, and subsequently taken up worldwide, and that the Scottish institutional infrastructure is extremely complex (Schlesinger et al.). Crucially, the idea of ‘intervention’, or, the availability of a draw-down programme of funding and support that will help creative practitioners develop a business from their talent, is key (Schlesinger).The main funder for Scottish artists and creative practitioners is Creative Scotland, who distribute money from the Scottish Government and the National Lottery. Highlands and Islands Enterprise (HIE) also offer funding and support for creative practitioners working in the Highlands and Islands region. Further general business support may be drawn down from Business Gateway (who work Scotland-wide but are not creative-industries specific), or Scottish Enterprise (who work Scotland-wide, are not creative-industries specific, and are concerned with businesses turning over more than £250,000 p.a.). Additionally, creative-sector specific advice and support may be sought from Cultural Enterprise Office (based in Glasgow and primarily serving the Central Belt), Creative Edinburgh, Dundee or Stirling (creative networks that serve their respective cities), the Creative Arts and Business Network (based in Dumfries, serving the Borders), and Emergents (based in Inverness, dealing with rural craftspeople and authors).MethodologyThe article draws on material gathered as part of three research projects, all concerned with the current support landscape for creative practitioners in Scotland. The first, ‘Supporting Creative Business’ was funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council, the second, ‘Towards a model of support for the rural creative industries’ was funded by the University of Glasgow and the third, ‘The effects of improved communications technology of rural creative entrepreneurs’ funded by CREATe, the Research Council's UK Centre for the Study of Copyright and New Business Models in the Creative Economy.In all three cases, the research was theoretically and practically informed by the multi-sited ethnographies of cultural, creative and media work conducted by Moeran (Ethnography at Work, The Business of Ethnography) and Mould et al. Whilst the methodology for all three of my projects was ethnography, the methods utilised included interviews (n=23) – with interviewees drawn from across rural Scotland – participant and non-participant observation, and media and document analysis. Interviewees and study sites were accessed via snowball sampling, which was enabled by the measure of continuity between the three projects. This paper draws primarily on interview material and ethnographic ‘vignettes’. All individuals cited in the paper are anonymised in line with the University of Glasgow’s ethics guidelines.Cities, Creativity, and ‘Buzz’As noted earlier, cities are seen as the driving force behind the creative industries; and accordingly, much of the institutional infrastructure that supports the rural creative industries is modelled on urban systems of intervention. Cities are seen as breeding grounds for creativity by virtue of what Storper and Venables call their ‘buzz’ – consider, for example, the sheer numbers of creative practitioners that congregate in cities, the presence of art schools, work spaces and so on. Several of the creative practitioners I spoke to identified the lack of ‘buzz’ as one key difference between working in cities and working from rural places:It can be isolating out here. There are days when I miss art school, and my peers. I really valued their support and just the general chit chat and news. […] And having everything on your doorstep. (Visual artist, Argyll)Of course, rural creatives didn’t equate the ‘buzz’ of activity in cities with personal or professional creative success. Rather, they felt that developing a creative business was made easier by the fact that most funders and support agencies were based in Scotland’s Central Belt. The creatives resident there were able to take advantage of that proximity and the relationships that it enabled them to build, but also, the institutional landscape was supplemented by the creative ‘buzz’, which was difficult to quantify and impossible to replicate in rural areas.Negotiating the Funding and Support LandscapeI spoke to rural creative practitioners about whether the institutional infrastructure – in this case, relevant policy at national and UK level, funding and support agencies, membership bodies etcetera – was adequate. A common perspective was that the institutional infrastructure was extremely complex, which acted as a barrier for creatives seeking funding and support:Everything works ok, the problem is that there’s so many different places to go to for advice, and so many different criteria that you have to meet if you wanted funding, and what’s your first port of call, and it’s just too complicated. I feel that as a rural artist I fall between the cracks […] am I a creative business, a rural creative business, or just a rural business? (Craftsperson, Shetland) Interviewees suggested that there were ‘gaps’ in the institutional infrastructure, caused not by the lack of appropriate policy, funders, or support agencies but rather by their proliferation and a sense of confusion about who to approach. Furthermore, funding agencies such as Creative Scotland have, in recent years, come under fire for the complexity of their funding and support systems:They have simplified their application process, but I just can’t be bothered trying to get anything out of Creative Scotland at the moment. I don’t find their support that useful and they directed me to Cultural Enterprise Office when I asked for advice on filling in the form and tailoring the application, and CEO were just so pushed for time, I couldn’t get a Skype with them. The issue with getting funding from anywhere is the teeny tiny likelihood of getting money, coupled with how time-consuming the application process is. So for now, I’m just trying to be self-sufficient without asking for any development funds. But I am not sure how sustainable that is. (Craftsperson, Skye, interview) There was a sense that ‘what works’ to enable urban creative practitioners to develop their practice is not necessarily sufficient to help rural creatives. Because most policymakers, funders and support bodies are based in the Central Belt, rural creatives feel that the challenges they face are poorly understood. One arts administrator summed up why, statingthe problem is that people in the Central Belt don’t get what we’re dealing with up here, unless they’ve actually lived here. The remoteness, poor transport links, internet and mobile access […] it impacts on your ability to develop your business. If I want to attend a course, some organisations will pay travel and accommodation. But they don’t account for the fact that if I travel from Eigg, I’ll need to work around the ferry times, which might mean two extra nights’ accommodation plus the cost of travel … we’re excluded from opportunities because of our location. (Arts administrator, the Small Isles) A further issue identified by several participants in this research is that funding and support agencies Scotland-wide tend to work to standardised definitions of the creative industries that privilege high-growth sectors (see Luckman). This led to many heritage and craft businesses feeling excluded. One local authority stakeholder told me,exactly what the creative industries are, well that might be obvious on paper but real life is a bit more complicated. Where do we put a craftsperson whose craft work is done in her spare time but pays just enough to stop her needing a second job? How do we tell people like this, who say they are in the creative industries, that they aren’t actually according to this criteria or that criteria? (Local authority stakeholder, Shetland, interview)Creating Virtual ‘Buzz’? The Potential of ICTsAccording to 2015 OFCOM figures (10-12), in rural Scotland 85.9% of households can receive broadband, and 6.3% can receive superfast. The Scottish Government’s ambition is to deliver superfast broadband to up to 90 per cent of premises in Scotland by March 2016, and to extend this to 95 per cent by 2017. Whilst the current landscape as regards broadband provision is far from ideal, there are signs that improved provision is profoundly affecting the way that rural creatives develop their practice, and the way they engage with the institutional infrastructure set up to support them.At an industry event run by HIE in July 2015, a diverse panel of rural creatives spoke of how they exploited the possibilities associated with improved ICTs in order to offset some of the aforementioned problems of working from rural and remote areas. As the event was conducted under Chatham House rules, the following is adapted from field notes,It was clear from the panel and the Q&A that followed that improved ICTs meant that creatives could access training and support in new ways–online courses and training materials, webinars, and one-on-one Skype coaching, training and mentoring. Whilst of course most people would prefer face-to-face contact in this respect, the willingness of training providers to offer online solutions was appreciated, and most of the creatives on the panel (and many in the audience) had taken advantage of these partial solutions. The rural creatives on the panel also detailed the tactics that they used in order to ‘patch the gaps’ in the institutional infrastructure:There were four things that emerged from the panel discussion, Q&A and subsequent conversations I had on how technology benefited rural creatives: peer support, proximity to decision-makers, marketing and sales, and heritage and provenance.In terms of peer support, the panel felt that improved connectivity allowed them to access ‘virtual’ peer support through the internet. This was particularly important in terms of seeking advice regarding funding, business support and training, generating new creative ideas, and seeking emotional support from others who were familiar with the strains of running a creative business.Rural creatives found that social media (in particular) meant that they had a closer relationship with ‘distant’ decision-makers. They felt able to join events via livestreaming, and took advantage of hash tagging to take part in events, ‘policy hacks’ and consultations. Attendees I spoke to also mentioned that prominent Government ministers and other decision-makers had a strong Twitter presence and made it clear that they were at times ‘open’ to direct communication. In this way, rural creatives felt that they could ‘make their voices heard’ in new ways.In terms of marketing and sales, panel members found social media invaluable in terms of building online ‘presence’. All of the panel members sold services and products through dedicated websites (and noted that improved broadband speeds and 3G meant that these websites were increasingly sophisticated, allowing them to upload photographs and video clips, or act as client ‘portals’), however they also sought out other local creatives, or creatives working in the same sector in order to build visible networks on social media such as Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. This echoes an interview I conducted with a designer from Orkney, who suggested that these online networks allowed designers to build a rapport with customers, but also to showcase their products and build virtual ‘buzz’ around their work (and the work of others) in the hope their designs would be picked up by bloggers, the fashion press and stylists.The designer on the panel also noted that social media allowed her to showcase the provenance of her products. As she spoke I checked her Twitter and Instagram feeds, as well as the feeds of other designers she was linked to; a large part of their ‘advertising’ through these channels entailed giving followers an insight into life on the islands. The visual nature of these media also allowed them to document how local histories of making had influenced their practice, and how their rural location had influenced their work. It struck me that this was a really effective way to capture consumers’ imaginations. As we can see, improved ICTs had a substantial impact on rural creatives’ practice. Not only did several of the panel members suggest that improved ICTs changed the nature of the products that they could produce (by enabling them to buy in different materials and tools, and cultivate longer and more complex supply chains), they also noted that improved ICTs enabled them to cultivate new markets, to build stronger networks and to participate more fully in discussions with ‘distant’ policymakers and decision makers. Furthermore, ICTs were seen as acting as a proxy for ‘buzz’ for rural creatives, that is, face-to-face communication was still preferred, but savvy use of ICTs went some way to mitigating the problems of a rural location. This extends Storper and Venables’s conceptualisation of the idea, which understands ‘buzz’ as the often-intangible benefits of face-to-face contact.Problematically however, as Townsend et al. state, “rural isolation is amplified by the technological landscape, with rural communities facing problems both in terms of broadband access technologies and willingness or ability of residents to adopt these” (Enhanced Broadband Access 5). As such, the development activities of rural creatives are hampered by poor provision and a slow ‘roll out’ of broadband and mobile coverage. ConclusionsThis paper is concerned with recent attempts to develop the rural creative economy in Scotland. The paper can be read in relation to a small but expanding body of work that seeks to understand the distinctive formation of the rural creative industries across Europe and elsewhere (Bell and Jayne), and how these can best be developed and supported (White). Recent, targeted intervention in the rural creative industries speaks to concerns about the emergence of a ‘two tier’ Europe, with remote and sparsely-populated rural regions with narrow economic bases falling behind more resilient cities and city-regions (Markusen and Gadwa; Wiggering et al.), yet exactly how the rural creative industries function and can be further developed is an underdeveloped research area.In order to contribute to this body of work, this paper has sketched out some of the problems associated with recent attempts to develop the creative economy in rural Scotland. On a Scotland-wide scale, there is a proliferation of policies, funding bodies, and support agencies designed to organise and regulate the creative economy. In rural areas, there is also an ‘overlap’ between Scotland-wide bodies and rural-specific bodies, meaning that many rural creatives feel as if they ‘fall through the cracks’ in terms of funding and support. Additionally, rural creatives noted that Central Belt-based funders and support agencies struggled to fully understand the difficulties associated with making a living from a rural location.The sense of being distant from decision makers and isolated in terms of practice meant that many rural creatives took it upon themselves to develop the creative economy ‘from below’. The creatives that I spoke to had an array of ‘tactics’ that they used, some of which I have detailed here. In this short paper I have focused on one issue articulated within interviews – the idea of exploiting ICTs in order to build stronger networks between creatives and between creatives and decision makers within funding bodies and support agencies. Problematically, however, it was recognised that these creative-led initiatives could only do so much to mitigate the effects of a cluttered, piecemeal funding and support landscape.My research suggests that as it stands, ‘importing’ models from urban contexts is alienating and frustrating for rural creatives and targeted, rural-specific intervention is required. Research demonstrates that creative practitioners often seek to bring about social and cultural impact through their work, rather than engaging in creative activities merely for economic gain (McRobbie Be Creative, Rethinking Creative Economies; Waitt and Gibson). Whilst this is true of creatives in both urban and rural areas, my research suggests that this is particularly important to rural creatives, who see themselves as contributing economically, social and culturally to the development of the communities within which they are embedded (see Duxbury and Campbell; Harvey et al.). ‘Joined up’ support for this broad-based set of aims would greatly benefit rural creatives and maximise the potential of the rural creative industries.ReferencesAndersson, Martin, and Magnus Henrekson. "Local Competiveness Fostered through Local Institutions for Entrepreneurship." Research Institute on Industrial Economics Work Paper Series (2014), 0-57. Argent, Neil, Matthew Tonts, Roy Jones and John Holmes. “A Creativity-Led Rural Renaissance? Amenity-Led Migration, the Creative Turn and the Uneven Development of Rural Australia.” Applied Geography 44 (2013): 88-98.Bell, David, and Mark Jayne. "The Creative Countryside: Policy and Practice in the UK Rural Cultural Economy." Journal of Rural Studies 26.3 (2010): 209-18.Centre for Economic and Business Research. The Contribution of the Arts and Culture to the National Economy. London: CEBR, 2013. 1-13.Duxbury, Nancy, and Heather Campbell. “Developing and Revitalizing Rural Communities through Arts and Culture.” Small Cities Imprint 3.1 (2011): 1-7.Florida, Richard. The Rise of the Creative Class: And How It's Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. London: Basic Books, 2002.Gibson, Chris. “Cultural Economy: Achievements, Divergences, Future Prospects.” Geographical Research 50.3 (2012): 282-290.Gibson, Chris, and Jason Connell. “The Role of Festivals in Drought-Affected Australian Communities.” Event Management 19.4 (2015): 445-459.Harvey, David, Harriet Hawkins, and Nicola Thomas. "Thinking Creative Clusters beyond the City: People, Places and Networks." Geoforum 43.3 (2012): 529-39.Luckman, Susan. Locating Cultural Work: The Politics and Poetics of Rural, Regional and Remote Creativity. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.McRobbie, Angela. Be Creative! London: Polity, 2016.———. “Rethinking Creative Economies as Radical Social Enterprise.” Variant 41 (2011): 32–33 Moeran, Brian. Ethnography at Work. London: A&C Black, 2007.———. The Business of Ethnography. London: Berg, 2005.Mould, Oliver, Tim Vorley, and Kai Liu. “Invisible Creativity? Highlighting the Hidden Impact of Freelancing in London's Creative Industries.” European Planning Studies 12 (2014): 2436-55.Nesta. Creative Industries and Rural Innovation. London: Nesta, 2007.———. A Manifesto for the Creative Economy. London: Nesta, 2013.Oakley, Kate. "Good Work? Rethinking Cultural Entrepreneurship." Handbook of Management and Creativity (2014): 145-59.O'Brien, Dave, and Peter Matthews. After Urban Regeneration: Communities, Policy and Place. London: Policy Press, 2015.Office of the Communications Regulator. Communications Market Report 2015. London: OFCOM, 2015. i-431.Schlesinger, Philip. “Foreword.” In Bob Last, Creativity, Value and Money. Glasgow: Cultural Enterprise Office, forthcoming 2016. 1-2.Schlesinger, Philip, Melanie Selfe, and Ealasaid Munro. Curators of Cultural Enterprise: A Critical Analysis of a Creative Business Intermediary. London: Springer, 2015. 1-134.Storper, Michael, and Anthony J. Venables. "Buzz: Face-to-Face Contact and the Urban Economy." Journal of Economic Geography 4.4 (2004): 351-70.Townsend, Leanne, Arjun Sathiaseelan, Gorry Fairhurst, and Claire Wallace. "Enhanced Broadband Access as a Solution to the Social and Economic Problems of the Rural Digital Divide." Local Economy 28.6 (2013): 580-95.Townsend, Leanne, Claire Wallace, Alison Smart, and Timothy Norman. “Building Virtual Bridges: How Rural Micro-Enterprises Develop Social Capital in Online and Face-to-Face Settings.” Sociologia Ruralis 56.1 (2016): 29-47.Waitt, Gordon, and Chris Gibson. “The Spiral Gallery: Non-Market Creativity and Belonging in an Australian Country Town.” Journal of Rural Studies 30 (2013): 75-85.White, Pauline. "Creative Industries in a Rural Region: Creative West: The Creative Sector in the Western Region of Ireland." Creative Industries Journal 3.1 (2010): 79-88.

Image 1: View from Geodha Sgoilt towards the sea stacks, Uig, Isle of Lewis. Image credit: George Jaramillo.IntroductionOver the cliffs of Mangerstadh on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis, is a small plot of land called Geodha Sgoilt that overlooks the North Atlantic Ocean (Image 1). On the site is a small dirt gravel road and the remnants of a World War II listening station. Below, sea stacks rise from the waters, orange and green cliff sides stand in defiance to the crashing waves. An older gentleman began to tell me of what he believed could be located here on the site. A place where visitors could learn of the wonders of St Kilda that contained all types of new storytelling technologies to inspire them. He pointed above the ruined buildings, mentioning that a new road for the visitors’ vehicles and coaches would be built. With his explanations, you could almost imagine such a place on these cliffs. Yet, before that new idea could even be built, this gentleman and his group of locals and incomers had to convince themselves and others that this new heritage centre was something desired, necessary and inevitable in the development of the Western Isles.This article explores the developing relationships that come about through design innovation with community organisations. This was done through a partnership between an academic institution and a non-profit heritage community group as part of growing study in how higher education design research can play an active partner in community group development. It argues for the use of design thinking and innovation in improving strategy and organisational processes within non-profit organisations. In this case, it looks at what role it can play in building and enabling organisational confidence in its mission, as well as, building “beyond the museum”. The new approach to this unique relationship casts new light towards working with complexities and strategies rather than trying to resolve issues from the outset of a project. These enabling relationships are divided into three sections of this paper: First it explores the context of the island community group and “building” heritage, followed by a brief history of St Kilda and its current status, and designation as a World Heritage site. Second, it seeks the value of developing strategy and the introduction of the Institute of Design Innovation (INDI). This is followed by a discussion of the six-month relationship and work that was done that elucidates various methods used and ending with its outcomes. The third section reflects upon the impacts at the relationship building between the two groups with some final thoughts on the partnership, where it can lead, and how this can represent new ways of working together within community groups. Building HeritageCurrent community research in Scotland has shown struggles in understanding issues within community capability and development (Barker 11; Cave 20; Jacuniak-Suda, and Mose 23) though most focus on the land tenure and energy (McMorran 21) and not heritage groups. The need to maintain “resilient” (Steiner 17) communities has shown that economic resilience is of primary importance for these rural communities. Heritage as economic regenerator has had a long history in the United Kingdom. Some of these like the regeneration of Wirksworth in the Peak District (Gordon 20) have had great economic results with populations growing, as well as, development in the arts and design. These changes, though positive, have also adversely impacted the local community by estranging and forcing lower income townspeople to move away due to higher property values and lack of work. Furthermore, current trends in heritage tourism have managed to turn many rural regions into places of historic consumption (Ronström 7) termed “heritagisation” (Edensor 35). There is thus a need for critical reflection within a variety of heritage organisations with the increase in heritage tourism.In particular, existing island heritage organisations face a variety of issues that they focus too much on the artefactual or are too focused to strive for anything beyond the remit of their particular heritage (Jacuniak-Suda, and Mose 33; Ronström 4). Though many factors including funding, space, volunteerism and community capability affect the way these groups function they have commonalities that include organisational methods, volunteer fatigue, and limited interest from community groups. It is within this context that the communities of the Outer Hebrides. Currently, projects within the Highlands and islands focus on particular “grassroots” development (Cave 26; Robertson 994) searching for innovative ways to attract, maintain, and sustain healthy levels of heritage and development—one such group is Ionad Hiort. Ionad Hiort Ionad Hiort is a community non-profit organisation founded in 2010 to assist in the development of a new type of heritage centre in the community of Uig on the Isle of Lewis (“Proposal-Ionad Hiort”). As stated in their website, the group strives to develop a centre on the history and contemporary views of St Kilda, as well as, encouraging a much-needed year-round economic impetus for the region. The development of the group and the idea of a heritage centre came about through the creation of the St Kilda Opera, a £1.5 million, five-country project held in 2007, led by Scotland’s Gaelic Arts agency, Proiseact nan Ealan (Mckenzie). This opera, inspired by the cliffs, people, and history of St Kilda used creative techniques to unite five countries in a live performance with cliff aerobatics and Gaelic singing to present the island narrative. From this initial interest, a commission from the Western Isles council (2010), developed by suggestions and commentary from earlier reports (Jura Report 2009; Rebanks 2009) encouraged a fiercely contentious competition, which saw Ionad Hiort receive the right to develop a remote-access heritage centre about the St Kilda archipelago (Maclean). In 2013, the group received a plot of land from the local laird for the establishment of the centre (Urquhart) thereby bringing it closer to its goal of a heritage centre, but before moving onto this notion of remote-heritage, a brief history is needed on the archipelago. Image 2: Location map of Mangerstadh on the Isle of Lewis and St Kilda to the west, with inset of Scotland. Image credit: © Crown Copyright and Database Right (2017). Ordnance Survey (Digimap Licence).St KildaSt Kilda is an archipelago about 80 kilometres off the coast of the Outer Hebrides in the North Atlantic (Image 2). Over 2000 years of habitation show an entanglement between humans and nature including harsh weather, limited resources, but a tenacity and growth to develop a way of living upon a small section of land in the middle of the Atlantic. St Kilda has maintained a tenuous relationship between the sea, the cliffs and the people who have lived within its territory (Geddes, and Gannon 18). Over a period of three centuries beginning in the eighteenth century an outside influence on the island begin to play a major role, with the loss of a large portion of its small (180) population. This population would later decrease to 100 and finally to 34 in 1930, when it was decided to evacuate the final members of the village in what could best be called a forced eviction.Since the evacuation, the island has maintained an important military presence as a listening station during the Second World War and in its modern form a radar station as part of the Hebridean Artillery (Rocket) Range (Geddes 14). The islands in the last thirty years have seen an increase in tourism with the ownership of the island by the National Trust of Scotland. The UNESCO World Heritage Organisation (UNESCO), who designated St Kilda in 1986 and 2004 as having outstanding universal value, has seen its role evolve from not just protecting (or conserving) world heritage sites, but to strategically understand sustainable tourism of its sites (“St Kilda”). In 2012, UNESCO selected St Kilda as a case study for remote access heritage conservation and interpretation (Hebrides News Today; UNESCO 15). This was partly due to the efforts of 3D laser scanning of the islands by a collaboration between The Glasgow School of Art and Historic Environment Scotland called the Centre for Digital Documentation and Visualisation (CDDV) in 2009.The idea of a remote access heritage is an important aspect as to what Ionad Hiort could do with creating a centre at their site away from St Kilda. Remote access heritage is useful in allowing for sites and monuments to be conserved and monitored “from afar”. It allows for 3D visualisations of sites and provides new creative engagements with a variety of different places (Remondino, and Rizzi 86), however, Ionad Hiort was not yet at a point to even imagine how to use the remote access technology. They first needed a strategy and direction, as after many years of moving towards recognition of proposing the centre at their site in Uig, they had lost a bit of that initial drive. This is where INDI was asked to assist by the Highlands and Islands Enterprise, the regional development organisation for most of rural Scotland. Building ConfidenceINDI is a research institute at The Glasgow School of Art. It is a distributed, creative collective of researchers, lecturers and students specialising in design innovation, where design innovation means enabling creative capabilities within communities, groups and individuals. Together, they address complex issues through new design practices and bespoke community engagement to co-produce “preferable futures” (Henchley 25). Preferable futures are a type of future casting that seeks to strive not just for the probable or possible future of a place or idea, but for the most preferred and collectively reached option for a society (McAra-McWilliam 9). INDI researches the design processes that are needed to co-create contexts in which people can flourish: at work, in organisations and businesses, as well as, in public services and government. The task of innovation as an interactive process is an example of the design process. Innovation is defined as “a co-creation process within social and technological networks in which actors integrate their resources to create mutual value” (Russo‐Spena, and Mele 528). Therefore, innovation works outside of standard consultancy practices; rather it engenders a sense of mutual co-created practices that strive to resolve particular problems. Examples include the work that has looked at creating cultures of innovation within small and medium-sized enterprises (Lockwood 4) where the design process was used to alter organisational support (Image 3). These enterprises tend to emulate larger firms and corporations and though useful in places where economies of scale are present, smaller business need adaptable, resilient and integrated networks of innovation within their organisational models. In this way, innovation functioned as a catalyst for altering the existing organisational methods. These innovations are thus a useful alternative to existing means of approaching problems and building resilience within any organisation. Therefore, these ideas of innovation could be transferred and play a role in enabling new ways of approaching non-profit organisational structures, particularly those within heritage. Image 3: Design Council Double Diamond model of the design process. Image credit: Lockwood.Developing the WorkIonad Hiort with INDI’s assistance has worked together to develop a heritage centre that tries to towards a new definition of heritage and identity through this island centre. Much of this work has been done through local community investigations revolving around workshops and one-on-one talks where narratives and ideas are held in “negative capability” (McAra-McWilliam 2) to seek many alternatives that would be able to work for the community. The initial aims of the partnership were to assist the Uig community realise the potential of the St Kilda Centre. Primarily, it would assist in enabling the capabilities of two themes. The first would be, strategy, for Ionad Hiort’s existing multi-page mission brief. The second would be storytelling the narrative of St Kilda as a complex and entangled, however, its common views are limited to the ‘fall from grace’ or ‘noble savage’ story (Macdonald 168). Over the course of six months, the relationship involved two workshops and three site visits of varying degrees of interaction. An initial gathering had InDI staff meet members of Ionad Hiort to introduce members to each other. Afterwards, INDI ran two workshops over two months in Uig to understand, reflect and challenge Ionad Hiort’s focus on what the group desired. The first workshop focused on the group’s strategy statement. In a relaxed and facilitated space in the Uig Community Hall, the groups used pens, markers, and self-adhesive notes to engage in an open dialogue about the group’s desires. This session included reflecting on what their heritage centre could look like, as well as what their strategy needed to get there. These resulted in a series of drawings of their ‘preferred’ centre, with some ideas showing a centre sitting over the edge of the cliffs or one that had the centre be an integral component of the community. In discussing that session, one of members of the group recalled:I remember his [one of INDI’s staff] interrogation of the project was actually pretty – initially – fairly brutal, right? The first formal session we had talking about strategy and so on. To the extent that I think it would be fair to say he pissed everybody off, right? So much so that he actually prompted us to come back with some fairly hard hitting ripostes, which, after a moment’s silence he then said, ‘That’s it, you’ve convinced me’, and at that point we kind of realised that that’s what he’d been trying to do; he’d been trying to really push us to go further in our articulation of what we were doing and … why we were doing it in this particular way than we had done before. (Participant A, 2016).The group through this session found out that their strategy could be refined into a short mission statement giving a clear focus as to what they wanted and how they wanted to go about doing it. In the end, drawings, charts, stories (Image 4) were drawn to reflect on what the community had discussed. These artefacts became a key role-player in the following months of the development of the group. Image 4: View of group working through their strategy workshop session. Image credit: Fergus Fullarton-Pegg (2014). The second set of workshops and visits involved informal discussion with individual members of the group and community. This included a visit to St Kilda with members from INDI, Ionad Hiort and the Digital Design Studio, which allowed for everyone to understand the immensity of the project and its significance to World Heritage values. The initial aims thus evolved into understanding the context of self-governance for distributed communities and how to develop the infrastructure of development. As discussed earlier, existing development processes are useful, though limited to only particular types of projects, and as exemplified in the Highlands and Islands Enterprise and Western Isles Council commission, it tends to put communities against each other for limited pots of money. This existing system can be innovated upon by becoming creative liaisons, sharing and co-creating from existing studies to help develop more effective processes for the future of Ionad Hiort and their ‘preferable future’. Building RelationshipsWhat the relationship with GSA has done, as a dialogue with the team of people that have been involved, has been to consolidate and clarify our own thinking and to get us to question our own thinking across several different aspects of the whole project. (Participant A, 2016)As the quote states, the main notion of using design thinking has allowed Ionad Hiort to question their thinking and challenge preconceptions of what a “heritage centre” is, by being a critical sounding board that is different from what is provided by consultants and other stakeholders. Prior to meeting INDI, Ionad Hiort may have been able to reach their goal of a strategy, however, it would have taken a few more years. The work, which involved structured and unstructured workshops, meetings, planning events, and gatherings, gave them a structured focus to move ahead with their prospectus planning and bidding. INDI enabled the compression and focus of their strategy making and mission strategy statement over the course of six months into a one-page statement that gave direction to the group and provided the impetus for the development of the prospectus briefs. Furthermore, INDI contributed a sense of contemporary content to the historic story, as well as, enable the community to see that this centre would not just become another gallery with café. The most important outcome has been an effective measure in building relationships in the Outer Hebrides, which shows the changing roles between academic and third sector partnerships. Two key points can be deemed from these developing relationships: The first has been to build a research infrastructure in and across the region that engages with local communities about working with the GSA, including groups in North Uist, Barra and South Uist. Of note is a comment made by one of the participants saying: “It’s exciting now, there’s a buzz about it and getting you [INDI] involved, adding a dimension—we’ve got people who have got an artistic bent here but I think your enthusiasm, your skills, very much complement what we’ve got here.” (Participant B, 2016). Second, the academic/non-profit partnership has encouraged younger people to work and study in the area through a developing programme of student research activity. This includes placing taught masters students with local community members on the South Uist, as well as, PhD research being done on Stornoway. These two outcomes then have given rise to interest in not only how heritage is re-developed in a community, but also, encourages future interest, by staff and students to continue the debate and fashion further developments in the region (GSAmediacentre). Today, the cliffs of Mangerstadh continue to receive the pounding of waves, the blowing wind and the ever-present rain on its rocky granite surface. The iterative stages of work that the two groups have done showcase the way that simple actions can carve, change and evolve into innovative outcomes. The research outcomes show that through this new approach to working with communities we move beyond the consultant and towards an ability of generating a preferable future for the community. In this way, the work that has been created together showcases a case study for further island community development. We do not know what the future holds for the group, but with continued support and maintaining an open mind to creative opportunities we will see that the community will develop a space that moves “beyond the museum”. AcknowledgementsThe author would like to thank Ionad Hiort and all the residents of Uig on the Isle of Lewis for their assistance and participation in this partnership. For more information on their work please visit http://www.ionadhiort.org/. The author also thanks the Highlands and Islands Enterprise for financial support in the research and development of the project. Finally, the author thanks the two reviewers who provided critical commentary and critiques to improve this paper. ReferencesBarker, Adam. “Capacity Building for Sustainability: Towards Community Development in Coastal Scotland.” Journal of Environmental Management 75.1 (2005): 11-19. Canavan, Brendan. “Tourism Culture: Nexus, Characteristics, Context and Sustainability.” Tourism Management 53 (2016): 229-43. ———. “The Extent and Role of Domestic Tourism in a Small Island: The Case of the Isle of Man.” Journal of Travel Research 52.3 (2012): 340-52. Cape, Ruth. Exploring Growth and Empowerment of Communities in the Western Isles. Stornoway, 2013. Bullen, Elizabeth, Simon Robb, and Jane Kenway. “‘Creative Destruction’: Knowledge Economy Policy and the Future of the Arts and Humanities in the Academy.” Journal of Education Policy 19.1 (2004): 3–22. Brown, Tim, and Jocelyn Wyatt. “Design Thinking for Social Innovation.” Stanford Social Innovation Review Winter (2010): 30-35. <https://ssir.org/articles/entry/design_thinking_for_social_innovation>.Briscoe, Gerard, and Mark Plumbley. Creating Cultures of Innovation: The Digital Creative Industries. <https://qmro.qmul.ac.uk/xmlui/bitstream/handle/123456789/11403/Creating%20Cultures%20of%20Innovation.pdf?sequence=7>.Edensor, Tim. Industrial Ruins: Spaces, Aesthetics, and Materiality. Oxford: Berg, 2005. Geddes, George. The Magazine and Gun Emplacement, St Kilda A Conservation Statement. Edinburgh, 2008. Geddes, George, and Angela Gannon. St Kilda: The Last and Outmost Isle. Edinburgh: Royal Commission on the Ancient & Historical Monuments of Scotland, 2015. Gordon, Michel, and Arthur Percival. The Wirksworth Story: New Life for An Old Town. Wirksworth: Civic Trust, 1984. GSAmediacentre. “The Glasgow School of Art Contributes to St Kilda Centre Symposium in Stornoway.” GSA Media Centre, The Glasgow School of Art, 17 Aug. 2016. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.gsapress.blogspot.co.uk/2016/08/the-glasgow-school-of-art-contributes.html>.Henchley, Norman. "Making Sense of Future Studies." Alternatives 7.2 (1978): 24-28. Jacuniak-Suda, Marta, and Ingo Mose. “Social Enterprises in the Western Isles (Scotland) – Drivers of Sustainable Rural Development ?” Europa Regional 19.2011.2 (2014): 23-40. Lockwood, Joseph, Madeline Smith, and Irene McAra-McWilliam. “Work-Well: Creating a Culture of Innovation through Design.” International Design Management Research Conference, Boston, 2012. 1-11. McAra-McWilliam, Irene. “Impossible Things? Negative Capability and the Creative Imagination.” Creativity or Conformity Conference, Cardiff, 2007. 1-8. <https://www.academia.edu/1246770/Impossible_things_Negative_Capability>.McKenzie, Steven. "Opera Celebrates St Kilda History." BBC News 23 Jun. 2007. 6 Apr. 2017 <http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/highlands_and_islands/6763371.stm>.McMorran, Rob, and Alister Scott. “Community Landownership: Rediscovering the Road to Sustainability.” Lairds: Scottish Perspectives on Upland Management (2013): 20-31. Maclean, Diane. “Bitter Strife over St Kilda Visitor Centre.” The Caledonian Mercury 29 Jan. 2010. 6 Apr. 2017 <http://www.caledonianmercury.com/2010/01/29/bitter-strife-over-st-kilda-visitor-centre/001383>.News Editor. “Double Boost for St Kilda Project.” Hebrides News Today 20 Nov. 2013. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.hebridestoday.com/2013/11/double-boost-for-st-kilda-project/>.Portschy, Szabolcs. “Design Partnerships between Community-Engaged Architecture and Academic Education Programs.” Pollack Periodica 10.1 (2015): 173-180.“Proposal – Ionad Hiort.” Ionad Hiort. 6 Apr. 2017 <http://www.ionadhiort.org/the-proposal>. Rebanks, James. “World Heritage Status: Is There Opportunity for Economic Gain? Research and Analysis of the Socio-Economic Impact Potential of UNESCO World Heritage Site Status.” 2009. <http://icomos.fa.utl.pt/documentos/2009/WHSTheEconomicGainFinalReport.pdf>.Robertson, Iain James McPherson. “Hardscrabble Heritage: The Ruined Blackhouse and Crofting Landscape as Heritage from Below.” Landscape Research 40.8 (2015): 993–1009. Ronström, Owe. “Heritage Production in the Island of Gotland.” The International Journal of Research into Island Cultures 2.2 (2008): 1-18. Russo‐Spena, Tiziana, and Cristina Mele. “‘Five Co‐s’ in Innovating: A Practice‐Based View.” Ed. Evert Gummesson. Journal of Service Management 23.4 (2012): 527-53. “St Kilda.” World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.whc.unesco.org/en/list/387/>.Steiner, Artur, and Marianna Markantoni. “Unpacking Community Resilience through Capacity for Change.” Community Development Journal 49.3 (2014): 407-25.Shortall, S. “Rural Development in Practice: Issues Arising in Scotland and Northern Ireland.” Community Development Journal 36.2 (2001): 122-33. UNESCO. Using Remote Access Technologies: Lessons Learnt from the Remote Access to World Heritage Sites – St Kilda to Uluru Conference. London, 2012. Urquhart, Frank. “St Kilda Visitor Centre in Hebrides Step Closer.” People Places, The Scotsman 20 Nov. 2013. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/st-kilda-visitor-centre-in-hebrides-step-closer-1-3195287>. Watson, Amy. “Plans for St Kilda Centre at Remote World Heritage Site.” People Places, The Scotsman 16 Aug. 2016. 6 Apr. 2017 <www.scotsman.com/heritage/people-places/plans-for-st-kilda-centre-at-remote-world-heritage-site-1-4204606>.

The release of Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth and his subsequent training of thousands of Climate Presenters marks a critical transition point in communication around climate change. An analysis of Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth presentation and of the guidelines we were taught as Presenters in The Climate Project, show they reflect the marketing principles that the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) report Weathercocks and Signposts (Crompton) argues cannot achieve the systemic and transformational changes required to address global warming. This paper will consider the ultimate effectiveness of social marketing approaches to Climate change communication and the Al Gore Climate Project in the light of the WWF critique. Both the film and the various slideshow presentations of An Inconvenient Truth conclude with a series of suggestions about how to “how to start” changing “the way you live.” The audience is urged to: Reduce your own emissions Switch to green power Offset the rest Spread the word The focus on changing individual consumption in An Inconvenient Truth is also reflected in the climate campaign page Get Involved on the website of the Australian Conservation Foundation (ACF)—the Australian partner in Al Gore’s The Climate Project (TCP). Al Gore’s Climate Project, with over 3,000 Climate Presenters worldwide, could be seen as a giant experimental test of the merits of marketing approaches to social change as compared to the recommendations in the WWF critique authored by Crompton. In Orion magazine, Derrick Jensen has described this emphasis on “personal consumption” instead of “organized political resistance” as “a campaign of systematic misdirection.” Jensen points out that “even if every person in the United States did everything the movie suggested, U.S. carbon emissions would fall by only 22 percent.” The latest scientific reports show we are on the edge of a tipping point into catastrophic climate change—runaway warming which would render the planet uninhabitable for most life forms, including humans (Hansen et al 13). To reduce the risk of catastrophic climate change to a still worrying 13% we need significant action between now and 2012, and carbon dioxide levels will need to be stabilised at between 350 and 375 parts per million by 2050 (Elzen and Meinshausen 17). Because Americans and Australians are taking far more than our share of the global atmospheric commons, we need to reduce our emissions to less than 90% below 1990 levels by 2050 as our share of the global emission reduction targets (Elzen and Meinshausen 24; Garnaut 283). In other words, if one takes the science seriously there is a huge shortfall between the reductions which can be achieved by individual changes to consumption and the scale of reductions that are required to reduce the risk of catastrophic climate change to a half-way tolerable level. The actions being promoted as solutions are nowhere near “inconvenient” enough to solve the problem. Like Crompton and Jensen I was inclined to take the gap between goal and means as overwhelming evidence for the inadequacy of marketing approaches emphasising changes to individual consumption choices. Like them I was concerned that the emphasis on consumption in marketing approaches may even reinforce the consumerism and materialism that drives the growth in emissions. Whilst being generally critical of marketing approaches, Crompton says he accepts the importance marketers place on tailoring the message to fit the motivations of the target audience (25). However, while Crompton describes Rose and Dade’s “Values Modes analysis” as “a sophisticated technique for audience segmentation” (21), he rejects the campaign strategies designed around the target audiences they identify (23). Market segmentation provides communications practitioners with the “extensive knowledge of whom you are trying to reach and what moves them” which is one of the “three must haves” of a successful communication campaign (Fenton 3). Rose and Dade’s segmentation analysis categorises people based on the motivational hierarchy in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. They identify three population groupings—the Settlers, driven by security; the Prospectors, esteem driven; and the Pioneers, who are motivated by intrinsic values (1). As with Maslow’s hierarchy these “Values Modes” are developmentally dynamic. The satisfaction of more basic needs, like physical safety and economic security, support a developmental pathway to the next level. Just as the satisfaction of the need for social acceptance and status free the individual to become motivated by self-actualisation, universal and compassionate ethics, and transcendence. Because individuals move in and out of Values Modes, depending on the degree to which economic, social and political conditions facilitate the satisfaction of their needs, the percentage of the population in each group varies across time and location (Rose and Dade 1). In 2007 the UK population was 20% Settlers, 40% Prospectors, and 40% Pioneers (Rose and Dade 1), but the distribution in other countries would need to be determined empirically. Rose et al provide a strategic rationale for a marketing based climate campaign targeted at changing the behaviours of Prospectors, rather than appealing to Pioneers. While the Pioneers are 40% of the population, they don’t like being “marketed at,” they seek out information for themselves and make up their own minds, and “will often have already considered your ideas and decided what to do” (6). They are also well catered for by environmental groups’ existing ethical and issues based campaigns (3). Prospectors, on the other hand, are the 40% of the population which are the “least reached” by existing ethical or issues oriented environmental campaigning; are the most enthusiastic (or “voracious”) consumers, so their choices will sway business; and they tend to be swinging voters, so if their opinions change it will sway politicians (4). Rose et al (13) found that in order to appeal to Prospectors a climate change communications campaign should: Refer to local, visible, negative changes involving loss or damage [In the UK] show the significance of UK emissions and those of normal people (i.e. like them) Use interest in homes and gardens Deploy the nag factor of their children Create offers which are above all easy, cost-effective, instant and painless Prospectors don’t like, and will be put off by campaigns that (Rose et al 13): Talk about the implications: too remote and they are not very bothered Use messengers (voices) which lack authority or could be challenged Criticise behaviours (e.g. wrong type of car, ‘wasting’ energy in your home) Ask them to give things up Ask them to be the first to change (amongst their peers) Invoke critical judgement by others Crompton recommends an environmental campaign that attempts to persuade Prospectors that they are wrong in thinking material consumption and “ostentatious displays of wealth” contribute to their happiness. Prospectors see precisely these sorts of comments by Concerned Ethicals as a judgemental criticism of their love of things, and a denial of their need for the acceptance and approval of others. Maslow’s developmental model, as well as the Value Modes research, would suggest that Crompton’s proposal is the exact opposite of what is required to move Prospectors into the Pioneer value mode. It is by accepting the values people have, and allowing them to meet the needs that drive them, that they can move on to more intrinsically motivated action. Crompton would appear to fall into the common “NGO or public sector campaign […] trap” of devising a campaign based on what will appeal to the 10% of the population that are Concerned Ethicals, but in the process “particularly annoy or intimidate” the strategically significant 40% of the population that are Prospectors (Rose et al 8). Crompton ignores the evidence from marketing campaign research that campaigns can’t directly change people’s basic motivations, while they can change people’s behaviours if they target their existing motivations. Contrary to Crompton’s claim that promoting green consumption will reinforce consumerism and materialism (16), Rose and Dade base their campaign strategy on the results of research into cognitive dissonance, which show that if you can get someone to act a certain way, they will alter their beliefs and preferences, as well as their self concept, to fit with their actions. Crompton confuses a tactic in a larger game, with the end goal of the game. “The trick is to get them to do the behaviour, not to develop the opinion” (Rose, “VBCOP” 2). Prospectors are persuaded to adopt a behaviour if they see it as “in,” and as what everyone else like them is doing. They are more easily persuaded to buy a product than adopt some other sort of behavioural change. The next part of an environmental marketing strategy like this is to label, praise and reward the behaviour (Futerra 11). Rose suggests that Prospectors can be engaged politically if governments are called on to recognise and reward the behaviour “say by giving them a tax break or paying them for their rooftop energy contribution” (“VBCOP” 3). Once governments have given such rewards, both Settlers and Propectors will fight to keep them, where they are normally disinclined to fight political battles. Once Prospectors identify themselves as, for example, in favour of renewable energy, politicians can be persuaded they need to act to get and keep votes, and business can be persuaded to change in order to continue to attract buyers for their products. In order to achieve the scale of emission reductions required individuals need to change their consumption patterns; politicians need to change the regulatory and planning context in which both individual and corporate decisions are made; and the economic system needs to be transformed so it internalises environmental costs and operates within environmental limits. Social marketing analyses have identified changing Prospectors buying habits as the wedge, or leverage point that can lead to such a cascading set of social, political and economic changes. Just as changing Prospector product choices can be exploited as a key leverage point, Al Gore identified getting United States commitment to emission reduction as a key leverage point towards achieving global commitments to binding reduction targets. Because the United States had the highest national greenhouse emissions, and was one of the two industrialised countries who had failed to sign the Kyoto Protocol, changing behaviour and belief in the United States was strategically critical to achieving global action on emissions reduction. Al Gore initially attempted to get the United States to sign the Kyoto Protocol and commit to emission reduction by working directly at the political level, without building the popular support for action that would encourage other politicians to support his proposals. In the movie, Al Gore talks about the defeat of his initial efforts to get the United States to sign the Kyoto Protocol, and of his recognition of the need to gain wider public support before political action would be taken. He talks about the unsuitability of the mass news media as a vehicle for achieving social and political change on climate emissions. The priority given to conflict as a news value means journalists focus on the personalities involved in disputes about climate change rather than provide an analysis of the issue. When climate experts explain the consensus position of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), they are “balanced” with opposing statements from the handful of (commonly fossil fuel industry funded) climate deniers. Because climate emissions are part of a complex process of slow change occurring over long time lines they do not fit easily into standard news values like timeliness, novelty and proximity (Harrison). When Al Gore realised he wouldn’t be able to gain the wider public support he needed through the mass news media he began a quest to spread his message “meeting by meeting,” “person by person.” Al Gore turned his slide show into a movie in order to deliver the message to more people than he could reach face to face, and then trained Presenters to reach even more people. When the movie won an Oscar for Best Documentary it turned Al Gore into something of a celebrity. Al Gore’s celebrity status rubs off on Climate Presenters through their association with him, giving them access to community and business groups across the world. When a celebrity recommends or displays a behaviour, Prospectors are more likely to see it as the in thing and thus more willing to do the recommended action. The movie created an opportunity for Al Gore to be a more persuasive messenger than he had been as a politician. Al Gore began The Climate Project to increase the impact of the movie and spread the message further than he could take it by himself. The multiplication of modes of communicating the message fits with Fenton Communications’ “Rule of Three.” In Now Hear This they say the target audience “should read about us in the paper, see us on TV, hear about us from a neighbour and a friend […] have their kid mention us […] and so on” (17). The Presenter training emphasises the “direct communication, especially face to face” recommended by Rose (“To do” 174). During the Presenter training Al Gore warned of the danger of being too negative as it risked moving people “from denial to despair without stopping to act,” and of the need to present the story in such a way as to create hope. This is backed up by the communications marketing literature, which warns that “negative messages may actually induce despair and actually [sic] paralysis while the positive focus can inspire” (Boykoff 172). While it employs dramatic visual images and animations, the movie tends to downplay the potential severity of the consequences of runaway global warming, and presents these in a way that gives the impression of a contracted time frame for the consequences of warming in order to activate motivation based on near term implications. The movie responds to Prospectors’ disinterest in distant implication of climate change by emphasising near-term threats, such as the rising monetary cost of damages, as well as threats to life and property from disease, drought, fire, flood, storm, and rising sea levels. After training an initial round of American Presenters, Al Gore identified training Australian Presenters as the next strategic priority. While Australia’s collective emissions are small, our per capita emissions are higher than those of Americans, and as the only other industrialised nation that had not signed, it was believed our becoming a signatory to the Kyoto Protocol would increase the pressure on the United States to sign. The ACF provided Australian Presenters with additional slides containing vivid images of Australian impacts, and Presenters were encouraged to find their own examples to illustrate impacts relevant to specific local audiences. The importance of identifying local impacts to persuade and move their audiences is impressed upon Presenters during the training. Regular slide updates reinforce this priority. While authors like Crompton and Jensen note the emphasis on changes in consumption as suggested solutions to climate change, other elements of the presentation are just as important in appealing to Prospectors. Prospectors want to belong and gain status by doing whatever is highly regarded by others. The presentation has numerous slides emphasising who else has made commitments to Kyoto and emission reduction. The American presentation includes lists of other countries, and towns and states in the United States that had signed up to Kyoto. The Australian presentation includes graphics emphasising the overwhelming number of Australians who support action. Prospectors don’t like being asked to give things up, and the presentation insists on the high cost of failing to act, compared to the small cost of acting now. Doing something to stop climate change is presented as easy and achievable. Contrary to Crompton’s claim that promoting green consumption would not build the widespread awareness and support for the more far-reaching government action that is required to achieve systemic change (9), the results of recent opinion research show that upwards of 80% of Americans support effective and wide-ranging action to reduce emissions and develop new renewable energy technologies (Climate Checklist). Whereas it would not have been surprising if the financial crisis had dimmed the degree of enthusiasm for action to reduce greenhouse emissions, the high support for action on climate change in their polling continues to encourage the Australian government to use it as a wedge issue against the opposition. Without high levels of public support, there would be little or no chance that politicians would be willing to vote for measures that will reduce emissions. That the push for change in individual consumption choices was only ever one tactic in a wider campaign is also demonstrated by the other projects instigated by Al Gore and his team. Projects like RepoWEr America and WE can solve the climate crisis leverage the interest developed by the Climate Project to increase public pressure on politicians to support regulatory change. The RepoWEr America and WE can solve the climate crisis sites target individuals as citizens and make it easy for them to participate in the political process. Forms help them sign petitions, write letters and meet with their elected officials, write for newspapers and call in to talkback radio, and organise local community meetings or events. Al Gore’s own web site adds a link to the Live Earth company to add to these arsenals. Live Earth “creates innovative, engaging events and media that challenge global leaders, local communities and every individual to actively participate in solving our planet's urgent environmental crises.” These sites provide the infrastructure to make it easy for individuals to move into action in the political domain. But they do it in ways that will appeal to Prospectors. They involve fun, their actions are celebrated, prizes are offered, the number of people involved is emphasised so they feel part of the “happening” thing. RepoWEr America and WE can solve the climate crisis help Prospectors to engage in political action in order to achieve regulatory change. Finally, or first, Al Gore’s Generation Investment Management Company, operating since 2004, is oriented towards systemic transformation in the economic system, so that economic drivers are aligned with sustainability imperatives. Al Gore and his partner David Blood reject Gross Domestic Product—the current measure of economic growth, and a major driver of unsustainable economic activity—as “dangerously imprecise in its ability to account for natural and human resources” and challenge business to accept the “need to internalize externalities” in order to create a sustainable economy. In their Thematic Research Highlights, Al Gore’s Generation company critiques the “Hedonic Treadmill”—which puts “material gains ahead of personal happiness” (32), and challenges “governments, companies, and individuals [...] to broaden their scope of responsibility to match their sphere of influence” (13). While the Climate Project would appear to ignore the inadequacy of individual consumption change as a means of emission reduction, the information and analysis targeted at business by Generation demonstrates this has not been ignored in the overall strategy to achieve systemic change. Al Gore suggests that material consumption should no longer be the measure of economic welfare, an argument he backs with an analysis showing business that long term wealth creation depends on accepting environmental and social sustainability as priorities. While An Inconvenient Truth promotes consumption change as the (inadequate) solution to Global Warming, this is just one strategically chosen tactic in a much larger and coordinated campaign to achieve systemic change through regulatory change and transformation of the economic system. References Australian Conservation Foundation. “Get Involved.” 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.acfonline.org >. Path: Campaigns; Climate Project; Get Involved. Al Gore. AlGore.com. 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.algore.com/ >. An Inconvenient Truth. Dir. Davis Guggenheim. Paramount Classics and Participant Productions, 2006. Boykoff, Maxwell T. “Book Review on: Creating a Climate for Change: Communicating Climate Change and Facilitating Social Change. Eds. Susanne C. Moser and Lisa Dilling.” International Journal of Sustainability Communication 3 (2008): 171-175. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.ccp-online.org/docs/artikel/03/3_11_IJSC_Book_Review_Boykoff.pdf >. Climate Checklist: Recent Opinion Research Findings and Messaging Tips. 2007 Sightline Institute. 27 Aug. 2009. < http://www.sightline.org/research/sust_toolkit/communications-strategy/flashcard2-climate-research-compendium/ >. Crompton, Tom. Weathercocks and Signposts. World Wildlife Fund. April 2008. 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.wwf.org.uk/filelibrary/pdf/weathercocks_report2.pdf >. Den Elzen, Michel, and Malte Meinshausen. “Meeting the EU 2°C Climate Target: Global and Regional Emission Implications”. Report 728001031/2005. 18 May 2005. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.rivm.nl/bibliotheek/rapporten/728001031.pdf >. Fenton Communications. Now Hear This: The 9 Laws of Successful Advocacy Communications. Fenton Communications. 2009. 24 Aug. 2009. < http://www.fenton.com/FENTON_IndustryGuide_NowHearThis.pdf >. Futerra Sustainability Communications. New Rules: New Game. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.futerra.co.uk/downloads/NewRules:NewGame.pdf >. Garnaut, Ross. “Targets and Trajectories.” The Garnaut Climate Change Review: Final Report. 2008. 277–298. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.garnautreview.org.au/pdf/Garnaut_Chapter12.pdf >. Generation Investment Management. Thematic Research Highlights. May 2007. 28 Aug. 2009 < http://www.generationim.com/media/pdf-generation-thematic-research-v13.pdf >. Generation Investment Management LLP 2004-09. < http://www.generationim.com/ >. Gore, Al and David Blood. “We Need Sustainable Capitalism: Nature Does Not Do Bailouts.” Generation Investment Management LLP. 5 Nov. 2008. 28 Aug. 2009 < http://www.generationim.com/sustainability/advocacy/sustainable-capitalism.html >. Hansen, James, Makiko Sato, Pushker Kharecha, David Beerling, Valerie Masson-Delmotte, Mark Pagani, Maureen Raymo, Dana L. Royer and James C. Zachos. “Target Atmospheric CO2: Where Should Humanity Aim?” Open Atmospheric Science Journal 2 (2008): 217-231. 24 Aug. 2009 < http://www.columbia.edu/~jeh1/2008/TargetCO2_20080407.pdf >. Harrison, Karey. “Ontological Commitments and Bias in Environmental Reporting.” Environment and Society Conference. Sunshine Coast, Australia, 1999. Jackson, Tim. Prosperity without Growth? The Transition to a Sustainable Economy. Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Sustainable Development Commission. 30 March 2009. 5 Oct. 2009 < http://www.sd-commission.org.uk/publications/downloads/prosperity_without_growth_report.pdf >. Jensen, Derrick. “Forget Shorter Showers: Why Personal Change Does not Equal Political Change?” Orion July/Aug. 2009. 5 Aug. 2009 < http://www.orionmagazine.org/index.php/articles/article/4801/ >. Live Earth. Live Earth 2009. 28 Aug. 2009 < http://liveearth.org/en >. RepoWEr America. The Alliance for Climate Protection. 2009. 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.repoweramerica.org >. Rose, Chris, and Pat Dade. Using Values Modes. campaignstrategy.org 2007 < http://www.campaignstrategy.org/articles/usingvaluemodes.pdf >. Rose, Chris, Les Higgins and Pat Dadeii. “Who Gives a Stuff about Climate Change and Who's Taking Action—Part of the Nationally Representative British Values Survey.” 2008. 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.campaignstrategy.org/whogivesastuff.pdf >. Rose, Chris, Pat Dade, and John Scott. Research into Motivating Prospectors, Settlers and Pioneers to Change Behaviours That Affect Climate Emissions. campaignstrategy.org 2007. 27 Aug. 2009 < http://www.campaignstrategy.org/articles/behaviourchange_climate.pdf >. Rose, Chris. “To Do and Not to Do.” How to Win Campaigns: 100 Steps to Success. London: Earthscan Publications, 2005. Rose, Chris. “VBCOP—A Unifying Campaign Strategy Model”. 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We are our own subjects. How our subjectivity becomes entangled in the lives of others is and has always been our topic. (Denzin 27)This article reflects on the process of disclosing the ethnographic self, particularly in relation to the use of e-mails and social networking sites, such as Facebook. Previous work has examined virtual ethnography as the main research method or its place within a mixed method approach (Orgad; Hine, Virtual Ethnography; Fay; Greschke). My focus lies on the voluntary and involuntary intertwining of physical ethnographic work (i.e. going to a specific location to immerse oneself in a culture) and the virtual relations formed with informants in the course of such fieldwork. Connecting with informants on Facebook has brought a new dimension to the active approach of impression management that is encouraged in traditional texts on ethnography and participant observation (Hammersley and Atkinson; Taylor and Bogdan; Ellen). Examples are drawn from my experience of three phases of geographically located fieldwork for my thesis on Spanish- and English-language media and the Cuban-American community in Miami, Florida, and from online “repercussions” of my physical presence in the field.In an ideal (research) world, the process of immersing oneself in a culture, studying and understanding its values, dynamics and symbolism is paired with professional and personal distance and reflexivity. Most of the time, the reality of fieldwork does not adhere to this ideal (Kleinman and Copp). Data collection does not take place in a void. On the contrary, it is a personal, emotional, embodied and challenging experience in which the researcher’s persona is highly involved: “If informants are people and have rights that affect ethical practice, ethnographers are also human and have identities that affect research practice” (Brewer 99).The researcher’s identity has a strong influence on the research process, but the same holds true the other way around. Ethnographic encounters have an effect on the ethnographer’s sense of identity or sense of self. The researcher’s identity, just like the informant’s, is ever-changing and in a constant process of negotiation that continues throughout the ethnographic experience. As Sarah Pink (47) points out, individuals not only position themselves and their identity in relation to others, but also in relation to objects and discourses (see also: Miller).Therefore the process of relating to the field does not end with physically removing oneself from it (Coffey). Dealing, relating and “coming to terms” with the field and those we encounter is much more complex. The assumption made that the researcher would not be influenced by this, meaning that the field has no impact whatsoever on the one collecting data, has been challenged severely, often by feminist scholars among others, over the past decades (Hey; Roberts; Berger).Establishing and positioning oneself and one’s role in the field can be a daunting process (Lindner). It can be informed by fears of acceptance, uncertainties about conventions not (fully) understood yet and the underlying dynamics one still hopes to uncover. The process of role(s) and identity negotiation of the researcher in the field goes on when writing the field, going through field notes and making sense of what we have experienced (Okely). So even though strict temporal and spatial boundaries might never have existed to the extent ethnography textbooks would have us believe, the use of e-mails and social networking sites have brought the field even closer to home. I have structured the following reflections on disclosing the ethnographic self in face-to-face conversations, that is, exposures made while being physically present in the field, and those taking place online. However, it is worth remembering that this is an artificial distinction as they are clearly interlinked and can overlap in time. Disclosure in Face-to-Face ConversationsWith establishing and negotiating one’s identity in the field and fieldwork relations comes the question of how much to disclose of oneself. How much should informants know about me? There are obvious ethical requirements: Every researcher should be clear about scope and aim of the research project, institutional affiliations, the way data will be stored and used (Mauthner et al.). But beyond that, how much of myself do I have to expose? What stands in the way of a straight-forward answer is the undefined nature of relationships of those we meet in the field: “Fieldwork relationships are at once professional and personal, yet not necessarily readily characterized as either”(Coffey 39).Arguably, there is not one right way to proceed, as it depends on the kind of field the researcher is finding herself in, her personality, role, identity and the type of relationship she wishes to establish with informants. The process of relationship-building to the field as a whole as constructed in the ethnographer’s mind and to individuals in the field is of course ongoing and very likely to evolve and change over time. This applies not only to the relationships built but also to the researcher’s sense of self and how he or she relates to those encountered in the field. It is partly in and through these encounters that the researcher’s understanding of self is influenced, shaped and negotiated on a continual basis. During three phases of fieldwork in 2006, 2007 and 2008 I interviewed over 40 Hispanic journalists, media executives and active members of the Cuban-American community in Miami, Florida. How much was I willing to disclose of myself during these encounters and subsequent e-mail exchanges? Should I correct informants when they wrongly assumed I was British because I was based at a British institution? Do they need to know why I have chosen to research this particular topic and them as a group, why I was based at a Scottish university and what brought me to the U.K. in the first place? The answers were no secrets, but neither was I comfortable to share them with all informants I met in the field. Gender and age-related dynamics came into play here with the majority of interviewees being male and significantly older than me (Easterday). At times, I was uneasy when it came to talking about myself. While I defined the majority of my initial relations as mostly, though not entirely, professional, some interviewees did have a different take on this. In particular, I felt that one interviewee who after the interview started asking me personal questions about my move to Scotland, clearly overstepped an invisible line, although it would have been perfectly alright from my perspective to ask him questions similar, though different in tone, within the context of an interview. A further aspect of disclosure within the context of ethnographic work is the open discussion of the research process with informants. Although this can be very fruitful, it can also be source of scorn and end in closed doors, especially in the highly polarised field I was researching: Once interviews were finished, some interviewees would ask whom I had interviewed previously—maybe just out of interest, maybe to go on and suggest future interviewees. I had never considered in detail what kind of reactions interviewees might have by my naming of previous contacts because for one, reactions had so far been positive and secondly, all interviewees had some understanding of what research entails and that I would naturally want to speak to as many people and as many “sides” as possible. In one particular case, though, the interviewee showed clear disapproval of my talking to a journalist at a well-known Miami-based newspaper. At the time, I did not take this minor condemnation very seriously, but in retrospect it turned out that this interviewee could have been a valuable source for further information and contacts. It taught me that it is wise to hold my cards closer to my chest in such a sensitive environment. This does not mean, however, that secrecy and constant striving towards a neutral position is always the best way to proceed, nor a believable position to hold as Kloos (511) found out: “One of the clergymen in Eastern Flevoland asked me once: ‘Do you have any opinions of your own?’”Virtual Exposure and DisclosurePrevious studies underlined that relationships forged and maintained online mirror offline everyday-life contacts, interests, concerns and vice versa. (Castells; Miller and Slater) For ethnographers whose informants have ready Internet access, this can bring significant advantages as well as challenges. Contacting informants whom I had heard about but not yet met in person by e-mail proved an extremely useful approach. An e-mail allowed me to say a few words about myself and introduce my research project. If there was no response to the e-mail, I was much more comfortable to call the person at this stage—rather than before an e-mail had been sent. E-mails proved a very successful way in contacting informants, thanking people after the interview and exchanging further information that had been touched upon in conversation. What surprised me, however, was that e-mails were also used by interviewees to contact me months after I had been in touch with them and had physically left the field. On a couple of occasions, interviewees sent me information that they thought was essential for my research or, in fact, asked me to fill out a questionnaire and comment on matters relating to my research topic. My role in the field and my relation to informants had turned from researcher to research participant, or interviewee in this case.While e-mails offer a rather controlled environment when approaching informants, other information about the researcher might be more unpredictable and harder to control or manage. I sometimes found myself wondering what information about me informants would find when they Googled my name. How would they combine and make sense of their offline construction of me as a researcher with my virtual persona? And to which extent is impression management in the context of social networking sites feasible and perhaps to be recommended? Of course these questions do not solely apply in a research context. However, it is worth considering them in an effort of understanding the dynamics which underlie the research process. Even though my research methodology included an online component, such as the monitoring of selected blogs and discussion forums, the majority of the data was gathered in clearly defined periods of physical ethnographic work. The relationship that evolved via e-mails and on Facebook outside of fieldwork phases were initiated by informants. I could obviously have ignored these contacts, however, as someone involved in media research I thought it strange and discourteous not to respond or accept informants as “Friends,” while seeking them out offline.Disclosing (personal) information on Facebook can become a risky business due to the diverse relationship of the people merged through Facebook’s list of “Friends.” Facebook does not force users to define or distinguish between different types of relationships. In my role as a researcher, I have always been highly uneasy to put on detailed information about “What’s on my Mind,” the facility Facebook offers for bringing others up to date on what is happening in one’s life. Reporting to my “Friends,” including informants, that most of my time was spent struggling with the data I had gathered in the field, could undermine their view of me as a researcher and a person worth talking to. Apart from that, there were obvious faux-pas that I needed to avoid online. Joining a Ernesto “Che” Guevara Fan group—like wearing a ‘Che’ T-shirt or pin – is not a smart move when trying to build a relationship with Cuban exiles. But even expressing fairly main-stream political opinion did not seem a good idea. Without being aware of it at the time, I was trying to perform a “stable research self,” as opposed to a fragmented, continuously changing and relationally constructed one. Following Geertz’s line of thought, I furthermore hoped that “the natives” had a similar perspective to mine and would perceive me as the balanced, neutral researcher that I was trying to be (Geertz).Arguably, Facebook allows for personal information and entries to be hidden from some contacts. It gives users the option to group contacts, thereby specifying who gets to see what kind of information. However, all contacts can see all contacts, to allow for networking to take place. Given the politically-charged and polarised nature of the community I was researching—and keeping in mind the incident recounted above, with one informant disapproving of me talking to a certain journalist and subsequently breaking up all communication—being connected with some people can have unwelcome side-effects for the research process.Personal and intercultural variations when reading and making sense of social networking sites are a further aspect worth noting in this context. Dalsgaard (10-12) underlines the hierarchical nature which characterises the practical use of the Internet and often mirrors offline power constellations. Unlike earlier celebration of the horizontal communication devoid of power structures, Internet interaction reproduces and adds further stratifications and “forms of ranking—some hierarchical, some not”. This also holds true for the number of contacts on a social networking site:Networks consist of nodes, and in the ‘Facebook society’, every person is a node. But there are differences between nodes. Some are more central than others and function as the hub for many more transactions. Some may only have ten ‘connections’ or ‘friends’, while others may have several hundreds – notwithstanding that there is qualitative difference between relationships, that not all relationships are personal, that many ‘friends’ are perhaps what we would normally call acquaintances and so on. (Dalsgaard 10)Drawing on Goffman, Dalsgaard (12) argues that popularity on social networking sites, has a symbolic or performance-orientated character, as it can be safely assumed that not every contact is “an important relationship built on long-term mutual exchange of greetings, gifts, favours, opinions and so on.”Even the number of friends and contacts can be understood as disclosing something about ourselves. How many people from the field and from outside the field are on my list of contacts? Who is there and who is not? Which relations are not included, pursued online, kept secret or ignored? Concerns of how individual informants would read my Facebook profile have left me feeling uneasy while keeping my activities to a minimum. However, secrecy, inactivity—which is in a way an attempt of the impossible act of non-performance or disappearance, can be just as harmful as disclosure. During the time of research I kept wondering whether someone working towards a doctorate in communication studies should know how to “work” Facebook. My wariness of disclosing too much of myself, aspects of my identity that would threaten my performance as a “stable researcher self,” held other parts of my fragmented identity captive and disclosed. In a way, I was happy with the relational construction of myself as the doctoral researcher in face-to-face encounters, but online encounters, not initiated by myself, had a different quality to them. They led me to struggle with the authentic, stable and singular self that Facebook encourages people to present to the outside world.Concluding RemarksManaging and handling acts of disclosure in geographically located fieldwork has been explored in great depth in recent scholarship. Voluntary and involuntary disclosure of the researcher’s fragmented identity in the context of social networking sites is a new phenomenon, and an unexpected challenge for those who did not see virtual ethnography as part of their main methodology. Similar to the fading dichotomy of public/private, e-mails and social networking sites have torn down the temporal and spatial boundaries fieldwork and the performance of the ethnographic self has been associated with. For the researcher who is connected with informants on Facebook, or other social networking sites, this can mean an ongoing performance of the researcher’s role; a continuous relating and positioning to those encountered in the field. This process might fade out with the end of a project, turning the informant into an acquaintance, friend or someone who happens to be our “Friend” on Facebook but has little further impact on our life and sense of self. When researching a group of people with ready access to digital media, virtual ethnography should possibly be part of the mix from the start. Hine (Virtual Methods 8) has pointed out that defining what exactly ethnography entails is problematic in itself. Immersing oneself in the field can take many different forms. Ethnography as a method is flexible enough to encompass encountering informants on social networking sites. In itself, it is worth noting who is online, who is not and what kind of interaction the informant is looking for. However, gathering this type of information raises ethical questions about the research process. In my case, geographically located field work was considered and approved by the university’s ethics committee, but online encounters—outside the chosen methodology—were not covered. Dealings with research participants were therefore institutionally endorsed within temporal and spatial limits and this indisputably contributed to my sense of a professional research self. Being contacted by informants on a social networking site, significantly challenges this framework and clouds the terms of reference. Whose rules apply? Or are there no rules? Observing participants’ profiles as an add-on to previously collected data, though tempting it may be, seems not a good option. But then informants might monitor the researcher’s profile for their own purposes, be it general curiosity, entertainment, or simply an enjoyable free-time activity. Once again, traditional roles of researcher and researched are easily reversed in the online encounter. For the time being, ethical guidelines generally assume a situation in which the researcher in some form is seeking out the researched, not the other way around. With the proliferation of social networking sites and online encounters, standard institutional ethical protocols fall short here.Nonetheless, online encounters between researcher and researched also bear potential. Asymmetric power structures can shift with the informant being able to contact, construct the researcher and disclose aspects of the researcher’s identity, or rather online persona, on their own terms and in a less controlled environment. As the incidence recounted above shows, this can entail a role reversal which blurs the lines between researcher and researched and underlines the performative and relational aspect of self. Furthermore, this indicates a much more flexible approach to roles of the researcher and informant which allow for mutual disclosing and exchanging—if both parties are willing to let this happen. On the other hand, this potential shift in power does not absolve the researcher from the responsibility inherent in the research process. As with other aspects of ethnographic work, “there can be no set formulae, only broad guidelines, sensitive to specific cases” (Okely 32). The unexplored terrain and ongoing experimentation of integrating social networking sites into everyday life call for a heightened sense of reflexivity and ethical awareness in the research process.ReferencesBerger, Peter L. Invitation to Sociology. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1966.Brewer, John. Ethnography. Buckingham: Open UP, 2000.Castells, Manuel. The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture, Vol. 1, The Rise of the Network Society. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000.Coffey, Amanda. The Ethnographic Self: Fieldwork and Representation of Identity. London: Sage, 1999.Dalsgaard, Steffen. “Facework on Facebook: the Presentation of Self in Virtual Life and its Role in the US Election.” Anthropology Today 24.6 (2008): 8–12.Denzin, Norman K. Interpretive Ethnography: Ethnographic Practices for the 21st Century. London: Sage, 1997.Easterday, Lois, Diana Papademas, Laura Schoor and Catherine Valentine. “The Making of Female Researcher: Role Problems in Fieldwork.” Field Research: A Sourcebook and Field Manual. Ed. Robert G. Burgess. London: George, Allen and Unwin, 1982. 62–67.Ellen, Roy F. Ethnographic Research: A Guide to General Conduct. London: Academic Press, 1984.Fay, Michaela. “Mobile Subjects, Mobile Methods: Doing Virtual Ethnography in Feminist Online Network.” Forum: Qualitative Social Research 8.3 ( 2007). 23 Oct. 2009 < http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/278/612 >.Geertz, Clifford. “‘From the Native’s Point of View’: On the Nature of Anthropological Understanding.” Bulletin of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences 28.1 (1974): 26–45.Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971.Greschke, Heike Mónica. “Bin ich drin?—Methodologische Reflektionen zur ethnografischen Forschung in einem plurilokalen, computervermittelten Feld.” Forum: Qualitative Social Research 8.3 (2007). 23 Oct. 2009 < http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/279/614 >.Hammersley, Martyn, and Paul Atkinson. Ethnography: Principles in Practice. London: Tavistock, 1983.Hey, Valerie. “‘Not as nice as she was supposed to be’: Schoolgirls’ Friendship." Ethnographic Research: A Reader. Ed. Stephanie Taylor. London: Sage, 2002. 67–90.Hine, Christine. Virtual Ethnography. London: Sage, 2000.–––, ed. Virtual Methods: Issues in Social Research on the Internet. Oxford: Berg, 2005.Kleinman, Sherryl, and Martha Copp. Emotions and Fieldwork. London: Sage, 1993.Kloos, Peter. “Role Conflicts in Social Fieldwork.” Current Anthropology, 10.5 (1969): 509–512.Lindner, Rolf. “Die Angst des Forschers vor dem Feld. Überlegungen zur teilnehmenden Beobachtung als Interaktionsprozess.” Zeitschrift für Volkskunde 77 (1981): 51-66.Mauthner, Melanie, Maxine Birch, Julie Jessop and Tina Miller. Ethics in Qualitative Research. London: Sage, 2002.Miller, Daniel. The Comfort of Things. Cambridge: Polity, 2009.Miller, Daniel and Don Slater. The Internet: An Ethnographic Approach. Oxford: Berg, 2000.Okely, Judith. “Anthropology and Autobiography: Participatory Experience and Embodied Knowledge.” Anthropology and Autobiography. Ed. Judith Okely and Helen Callaway. London: Routledge, 1992. 1-28.Orgad, Shani. “How Can Researchers Make Sense of the Issues Involved in Collecting and Interpreting Online and Offline Data?” Internet Inquiry: Conversations about Method. Ed. Annette N. Markham and Nancy K. Baym. London: Sage. 33–53.Pink, Sarah. Doing Visual Ethnography. London: Sage, 2007.Roberts, Brian. Getting the Most out of the Research Experience: What Every Researcher Needs to Know. London: Sage, 2007.Taylor, Steven and Robert Bogdan, Introduction to Qualitative Methods: A Phenomenological Approach to the Social Sciences. New York: Wiley, 1975.AcknowledgementsI would like to thank my supervisors Prof. Philip Schlesinger, Prof. Raymond Boyle and Dr. Myra Macdonald for their advice throughout this project. My gratitude also to the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland for funding fieldwork in 2007 and 2008. Finally, a big thank you to the editors and reviewers of M/C Journal for their insightful comments.

Like any genre or mode, the Gothic is malleable, changing according to time and place. This is particularly apparent when what is considered Gothic in one era is compared with that of another. The giant helmet that falls from the sky in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) is a very different threat to the ravenous vampires that stalk the novels of Anne Rice, just as Ann Radcliffe’s animated portraits may not inspire anxiety for a contemporary reader of Stephen King. The mutability of Gothic is also apparent across various versions of national Gothic that have emerged, with the specificities of place lending Gothic narratives from countries such as Ireland, Scotland and Australia a distinctive flavour. In New Zealand, the Gothic is most commonly associated with Pakeha artists exploring extreme psychological states, isolation and violence. Instead of the haunted castles, ruined abbeys and supernatural occurrences of classic Gothics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as those produced by writers as diverse as Charles Brockden Brown, Matthew Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Radcliffe, Bram Stoker and Walpole, New Zealand Gothic fiction tends to focus on psychological horror, taking its cue, according to Jenny Lawn, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which ushered in a tendency in the Gothic novel to explore the idea of a divided consciousness. Lawn observes that in New Zealand “Our monsters tend to be interior: they are experiences of intense psychological states, often with sexual undertones within isolated nuclear families” (“Kiwi Gothic”). Kirsty Gunn’s novella Rain (1994), which focuses on a dysfunctional family holidaying in an isolated lakeside community, exemplifies the tendency of New Zealand Gothic to omit the supernatural in favour of the psychological, with its spectres being sexual predation, parental neglect and the death of an innocent. Bronwyn Bannister’s Haunt (2000) is set primarily in a psychiatric hospital, detailing various forms of psychiatric disorder, as well as the acts that spring from them, such as one protagonist’s concealment for several years of her baby in a shed, while Noel Virtue’s The Redemption of Elsdon Bird (1987) is another example, with a young character’s decision to shoot his two younger siblings in the head as they sleep in an attempt to protect them from the religious beliefs of his fundamentalist parents amply illustrating the intense psychological states that characterise New Zealand Gothic. Although there is no reason why Gothic literature ought to include the supernatural, its omission in New Zealand Gothic does point to a confusion that Timothy Jones foregrounds in his suggestion that “In the absence of the trappings of established Gothic traditions – castles populated by fiendish aristocrats, swamps draped with Spanish moss and possessed by terrible spirits” New Zealand is “uncertain how and where it ought to perform its own Gothic” (203). The anxiety that Jones notes is perhaps less to do with where the New Zealand Gothic should occur, since there is an established tradition of Gothic events occurring in the bush and on the beach, while David Ballantyne’s Sydney Bridge Upside Down (1968) uses a derelict slaughterhouse as a version of a haunted castle and Maurice Gee successfully uses a decrepit farmhouse as a Gothic edifice in The Fire-Raiser (1986), but more to do with available ghosts. New Zealand Gothic literature produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries certainly tends to focus on the psychological rather than the supernatural, but earlier writing that utilises the Gothic mode is far more focused on spooky events and ghostly presences. There is a tradition of supernatural Gothic in New Zealand, but its representations of Maori ghosts complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. The stories in D. W. O. Fagen’s collection Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand (1952) illustrate the tendency in colonial New Zealand literature to represent Maori in supernatural terms expressive both of anxieties surrounding Maori agency and indigeneity, as well as Western assumptions regarding Maori culture. In much colonial Gothic, Maori ghosts, burial grounds and the notion of tapu express settler anxieties while also working to contain those anxieties by suggesting the superstitious and hence backward nature of indigenous culture. In Fagan’s story “Tapu”, which first appeared in the Bulletin in 1912, the narrator stumbles into a Maori burial ground where he is confronted by the terrible sight of “two fleshless skeletons” that grin and appear “ghastly in the dim light” (37). The narrator’s desecration of land deemed tapu fills him with “a sort of nameless terror at nothing, a horror of some unknown impending fate against which it was useless to struggle and from which there was no escape” (39). This expresses a sense of the authenticity of Maori culture, but the narrator’s thought “Was there any truth in heathen devilry after all?” is quickly superseded by the relegation of Maori culture as “ancient superstitions” (40). When the narrator is approached by a tohunga following his breach of tapu, his reaction is outrage: "Here was I – a fairly decent Englishman, reared in the Anglican faith and living in the nineteenth century – hindered from going about my business, outcast, excommunicated, shunned as a leper, my servant dying, all on account of some fiendish diablerie of heathen fetish. The affair was preposterous, incredible, ludicrous" (40). Fagan’s story establishes a clear opposition between Western rationalism and “decency”, and the “heathen fetishes” associated with Maori culture, which it uses to infuse the story with the thrills appropriate to Gothic fiction and which it ultimately casts as superstitious and uncivilised. F. E. Maning’s Old New Zealand (1863) includes an episode of Maori women grieving that is represented in terms that would not be out of place in horror. A group of women are described as screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of tuhua, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger – a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. (Maning 120–21) The gory quality of this episode positions Maori as barbaric, but Patrick Evans notes that there is an incident in Old New Zealand that grants authenticity to indigenous culture. After being discovered handling human remains, the narrator of Maning’s text is made tapu and rendered untouchable. Although Maning represents the narrator’s adherence to his abjection from Maori society as merely a way to placate a local population, when a tohunga appears to perform cleansing rituals, the narrator’s indulgence of perceived superstition is accompanied by “a curious sensation […] like what I fancied a man must feel who has just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness” (qtd. in Evans 85). Evans points out that Maning may represent the ritual as solely performative, “but the result is portrayed as real” (85). Maning’s narrator may assert his lack of belief in the tohunga’s power, but he nevertheless experiences that power. Such moments of unease occur throughout colonial writing when assertions of European dominance and rational understanding are undercut or threatened. Evans cites the examples of the painter G. F. Angus whose travels through the native forest of Waikato in the 1840s saw him haunted by the “peculiar odour” of rotting vegetation and Edward Shortland whose efforts to remain skeptical during a sacred Maori ceremony were disturbed by the manifestation of atua rustling in the thatch of the hut in which it was occurring (Evans 85). Even though the mysterious power attributed to Maori in colonial Gothic is frequently represented as threatening, there is also an element of desire at play, which Lydia Wevers highlights in her observation that colonial ghost stories involve a desire to assimilate or be assimilated by what is “other.” Wevers singles out for discussion the story “The Disappearance of Letham Crouch”, which appeared in the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine in 1901. The narrative recounts the experiences of an overzealous missionary who is received by Maori as a new tohunga. In order to learn more about Maori religion (so as to successfully replace it with Christianity), Crouch inhabits a hut that is tapu, resulting in madness and fanaticism. He eventually disappears, only to reappear in the guise of a Maori “stripped for dancing” (qtd. in Wevers 206). Crouch is effectively “turned heathen” (qtd. in Wevers 206), a transformation that is clearly threatening for a Christian European, but there is also an element of desirability in such a transformation for a settler seeking an authentic New Zealand identity. Colonial Gothic frequently figures mysterious experiences with indigenous culture as a way for the European settler to essentially become indigenous by experiencing something perceived as authentically New Zealand. Colonial Gothic frequently includes the supernatural in ways that are complicit in the processes of colonisation that problematizes them as models for contemporary writers. For New Zealanders attempting to produce a Gothic narrative, the most immediately available tropes for a haunting past are Maori, but to use those tropes brings texts uncomfortably close to nineteenth-century obsessions with Maori skeletal remains and a Gothicised New Zealand landscape, which Edmund G. C. King notes is a way of expressing “the sense of bodily and mental displacement that often accompanied the colonial experience” (36). R. H. Chapman’s Mihawhenua (1888) provides an example of tropes particularly Gothic that remain a part of colonial discourse not easily transferable into a bicultural context. Chapman’s band of explorers discover a cave strewn with bones which they interpret to be the remains of gory cannibalistic feasts: Here, we might well imagine, the clear waters of the little stream at our feet had sometime run red with the blood of victims of some horrid carnival, and the pale walls of the cavern had grown more pale in sympathy with the shrieks of the doomed ere a period was put to their tortures. Perchance the owners of some of the bones that lay scattered in careless profusion on the floor, had, when strong with life and being, struggled long and bravely in many a bloody battle, and, being at last overcome, their bodies were brought here to whet the appetites and appease the awful hunger of their victors. (qtd. in King) The assumptions regarding the primitive nature of indigenous culture expressed by reference to the “horrid carnival” of cannibalism complicate the processes through which contemporary writers could meaningfully draw on a tradition of New Zealand Gothic utilising the supernatural. One answer to this dilemma is to use supernatural elements not specifically associated with New Zealand. In Stephen Cain’s anthology Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side (1996) there are several instances of this, such as in the story “Never Go Tramping Alone” by Alyson Cresswell-Moorcock, which features a creature called a Gravett. As Timothy Jones’s discussion of this anthology demonstrates, there are two problems arising from this unprecedented monster: firstly, the story does not seem to be a “New Zealand Gothic”, which a review in The Evening Post highlights by observing that “there is a distinct ‘Kiwi’ feel to only a few of the stories” (Rendle 5); while secondly, the Gravatt’s appearance in the New Zealand landscape is unconvincing. Jones argues that "When we encounter the wendigo, a not dissimilar spirit to the Gravatt, in Ann Tracy’s Winter Hunger or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, we have a vague sense that such beings ‘exist’ and belong in the American or Canadian landscapes in which they are located. A Gravatt, however, has no such precedent, no such sense of belonging, and thus loses its authority" (251). Something of this problem is registered in Elizabeth Knox’s vampire novel Daylight (2003), which avoids the problem of making a vampire “fit” with a New Zealand landscape devoid of ancient architecture by setting all the action in Europe. One of the more successful stories in Cain’s collection demonstrates a way of engaging with a specifically New Zealand tradition of supernatural Gothic, while also illustrating some of the potential pitfalls in utilising colonial Gothic tropes of menacing bush, Maori burial caves and skeletal remains. Oliver Nicks’s “The House” focuses on a writer who takes up residence in an isolated “little old colonial cottage in the bush” (8). The strange “odd-angled walls”, floors that seem to slope downwards and the “subterranean silence” of the cottage provokes anxiety in the first-person narrator who admits his thoughts “grew increasingly dark and chaotic” (8). The strangeness of the house is only intensified by the isolation of its surroundings, which are fertile but nevertheless completely uninhabited. Alone and unnerved by the oddness of the house, the narrator listens to the same “inexplicable night screeches and rustlings of the bush” (9) that furnish so much New Zealand Gothic. Yet it is not fear inspired by the menacing bush that troubles the narrator as much as the sense that there was more in this darkness, something from which I felt a greater need to be insulated than the mild horror of mingling with a few wetas, spiders, bats, and other assorted creepy-crawlies. Something was subtlely wrong here – it was not just the oddness of the dimensions and angles. Everything seemed slightly off, not to add up somehow. I could not quite put my finger on whatever it was. (10) When the narrator escapes the claustrophobic house for a walk in the bush, the natural environment is rendered in spectral terms. The narrator is engulfed by the “bare bones of long-dead forest giants” (11) and “crowding tree-corpses”, but the path he follows in order to escape the “Tree-ghosts” is no more comforting since it winds through “a strange grey world with its shrouds of hanging moss, and mist” (12). In the midst of this Gothicised environment the narrator is “transfixed by the intersection of two overpowering irrational forces” when something looms up out of the mist and experiences “irresistible curiosity, balanced by an equal and opposite urge to turn and run like hell” (12). The narrator’s experience of being deep in the threatening bush continues a tradition of colonial writing that renders the natural environment in Gothic terms, such as H. B. Marriot Watson’s The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure (1891), which includes an episode that sees the protagonist Palliser become lost in the forest of Te Tauru and suffer a similar demoralization as Nicks’s narrator: “the horror of the place had gnawed into his soul, and lurked there, mordant. He now saw how it had come to be regarded as the home of the Taniwha, the place of death” (77). Philip Steer points out that it is the Maoriness of Palliser’s surroundings that inspire his existential dread, suggesting a certain amount of settler alienation, but “Palliser’s survival and eventual triumph overwrites this uncertainty with the relegation of Maori to the past” (128). Nicks’s story, although utilising similar tropes to colonial fiction, attempts to puts them to different ends. What strikes such fear in Nicks’s narrator is a mysterious object that inspires the particular dread known as the uncanny: I gave myself a stern talking to and advanced on the shadow. It was about my height, angular, bony and black. It stood as it now stands, as it has stood for centuries, on the edge of a swamp deep in the heart of an ancient forest high in this remote range of hills forming a part of the Southern Alps. As I think of it I cannot help but shudder; it fills me even now with inexplicable awe. It snaked up out of the ground like some malign fern-frond, curving back on itself and curling into a circle at about head height. Extending upwards from the circle were three odd-angled and bent protuberances of unequal length. A strange force flowed from it. It looked alien somehow, but it was man-made. Its power lay, not in its strangeness, but in its unaccountable familiarity; why did I know – have I always known? – how to fear this… thing? (12) This terrible “thing” represents a return of the repressed associated with the crimes of colonisation. After almost being devoured by the malevolent tree-like object the narrator discovers a track leading to a cave decorated with ancient rock paintings that contains a hideous wooden creature that is, in fact, a burial chest. Realising that he has discovered a burial cave, the narrator is shocked to find more chests that have been broken open and bones scattered over the floor. With the discovery of the desecrated burial cave, the hidden crimes of colonisation are brought to light. Unlike colonial Gothic that tends to represent Maori culture as threatening, Nicks’s story represents the forces contained in the cave as a catalyst for a beneficial transformative experience: I do remember the cyclone of malign energy from the abyss gibbering and leering; a flame of terror burning in every cell of my body; a deluge of shrieking unreason threatening to wash away the bare shred that was left of my mind. Yet even as each hellish new dimension yawned before me, defying the limits even of imagination, the fragments of my shattered sanity were being drawn together somehow, and reassembled in novel configurations. To each proposition of demonic impossibility there was a surging, answering wave of kaleidoscopic truth. (19) Although the story replicates colonial writing’s tendency to represent indigenous culture in terms of the irrational and demonic, the authenticity and power of the narrator’s experience is stressed. When he comes to consciousness following an enlightenment that sees him acknowledging that the truth of existence is a limitless space “filled with deep coruscations of beauty and joy” (20) he knows what he must do. Returning to the cottage, the narrator takes several days to search the house and finally finds what he is looking for: a steel box that contains “stolen skulls” (20). The narrator concludes that the “Trophies” (20) buried in the collapsed outhouse are the cause for the “Dark, inexplicable moods, nightmares, hallucinations – spirits, ghosts, demons” that “would have plagued anyone who attempted to remain in this strange, cursed region” (20). Once the narrator returns the remains to the burial cave, the inexplicable events cease and the once-strange house becomes an ideal home for a writer seeking peace in which to work. The colonial Gothic mode in New Zealand utilises the Gothic’s concern with a haunting past in order to associate that past with the primitive and barbaric. By rendering Maori culture in Gothic terms, such as in Maning’s blood-splattered scene of grieving or through the spooky discoveries of bone-strewn caves, colonial writing compares an “uncivilised” indigenous culture with the “civilised” culture of European settlement. For a contemporary writer wishing to produce a New Zealand supernatural horror, the colonial Gothic is a problematic tradition to work from, but Nicks’s story succeeds in utilising tropes associated with colonial writing in order to reverse its ideologies. “The House” represents European settlement in terms of barbarity by representing a brutal desecration of sacred ground, while indigenous culture is represented in positive, if frightening, terms of truth and power. Colonial Gothic’s tendency to associate indigenous culture with violence, barbarism and superstition is certainly replicated in Nicks’s story through the frightening object that attempts to devour the narrator and the macabre burial chests shaped like monsters, but ultimately it is colonial violence that is most overtly condemned, with the power inhabiting the burial cave being represented as ultimately benign, at least towards an intruder who means no harm. More significantly, there is no attempt in the story to explain events that seem outside the understanding of Western rationality. The story accepts as true what the narrator experiences. Nevertheless, in spite of the explicit engagement with the return of repressed crimes associated with colonisation, Nicks’s engagement with the mode of colonial Gothic means there is a replication of some of its underlying notions relating to settlement and belonging. The narrator of Nicks’s story is a contemporary New Zealander who is placed in the position of rectifying colonial crimes in order to take up residence in a site effectively cleansed of the sins of the past. Nicks’s narrator cannot happily inhabit the colonial cottage until the stolen remains are returned to their rightful place and it seems not to occur to him that a greater theft might underlie the smaller one. Returning the stolen skulls is represented as a reasonable action in “The House”, and it is a way for the narrator to establish what Linda Hardy refers to as “natural occupancy,” but the notion of returning a house and land that might also be termed stolen is never entertained, although the story’s final sentence does imply the need for the continuing placation of the powerful indigenous forces that inhabit the land: “To make sure that things stay [peaceful] I think I may just keep this story to myself” (20). The fact that the narrator has not kept the story to himself suggests that his untroubled occupation of the colonial cottage is far more tenuous than he might have hoped. References Ballantyne, David. Sydney Bridge Upside Down. Melbourne: Text, 2010. Bannister, Bronwyn. Haunt. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2000. Calder, Alex. “F. E. Maning 1811–1883.” Kotare 7. 2 (2008): 5–18. Chapman, R. H. 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