Journal articles on the topic 'Human security, governance, Cambodia, Security Council'

Human security is a global concern relating to the protection and expansion of fundamental human freedoms. Focus on survival, dignity and the ability to maintain a livelihood must be central to the integrated policies that are vital to protecting human security. Many interconnecting issues form part of human security and range from topics surrounding the protection of people from poverty, violence, instability as well as tackling lack of education, healthcare and financial stability.<br/> Dr Takuto Sakamoto is part of the University of Tokyo's Graduate School of Arts and Sciences Human Security Program (HSP) and has taken the approach of using cutting-edge analysis methods from data and network sciences to scrutinise and evaluate global efforts relating to human security.<br/> The team is currently focused on three sub-projects. The first of these centres on the analysis of policy discussions held by the UN Security Council (UNSC). In this, they will look in detail at the meeting records for the UNSC over the past decades. The second project uses development assistance flow data to complete a network analysis to systematically clarify the dynamics of global collaboration in various areas, including poverty reduction and infectious disease control and they will work on visualising and analysing the financial flow of humanitarian and development assistance over the last 60 years. The final pilot study investigates sexual exploitation and abuse (SEA) in UN peace operations. This has become a major issue relating to UN peacekeeping operations in conflict and post- conflict areas in recent years.

The Nigerian Armed Forces personnel have over the years maintained a trackrecord of effective peace keeping campaigns in the world. The role Nigeria playedin especially crises ridden Sierra Leone and Liberia can not be overemphasized.Paradoxically though, this record does not seem to be playing out in their securityand crisis operations in the country. Analysts would quickly make reference toUmuechem, Odi and recently, the military bombardment of Ijaw communities inGbaramatu Kingdom in Warri South West Council of Delta State. Some studieshave shown that at the end of most of those operations, the military stay behind as“armies of occupation”. This paper therefore, raises a number of questions whichinclude: how effective and to whose benefit have measures adopted (like aerialbombardment) in the management of internal crisis by security forces in Nigeriabeen in recent times (1999-2011)? Is it not an indirect call for military interregnum,when democratic regimes authorize the rolling out of war machines by the militaryagainst the civilians? Are the military forces fully trained in surveillance and othernon-combative skills of security maintenance? This study intends to consider anumber of options available for the country to adopt and solve crisis situationswith minimal collateral damage. These options include good governance, genuinenational dialogue, adequate surveillance of the Niger Delta creeks, blocking of thesources of small and light weapons importation and sale of illegally bunkered crudeoil into the international market.

Security is a very important human need, which is addressed at all levels of local governance both by the central and local government bodies. As regards local government, the scope of tasks involving the provision of security on the local and regional levels has been adjusted to the capabilities (including financial) of individual local government units. Basic tasks are carried out at the municipal district level, supra-municipal tasks — at the county level, and regional tasks — at the provincial level, except that in the province there is a dualism of administration, meaning that administrative authority is shared between a central government-appointed governor, called the provincial governor, and an elected assembly called the regional council. In the case of the county, security-related tasks, as well as the competences relevant to this area, must be clearly defined in the act. At this level of public administration there is no presumption of competence for the benefit of the county authority. The county council performs the public tasks of a supra-municipal character set out by statute rather than the tasks not reserved for other entities. In order to ensure public order and safety of citizens, as well as fire and flood protection, the legislator authorises the county council to use technical means to record what is happening (CCTV cameras) in the area of public space, with the consent of the area manager or an entity holding a legal title to this area, or on the property and in civil structures constituting the property of the county or organisational units of the county, as well as in the area around such premises and structures, if it is necessary to ensure public order and the safety of citizens or provide fire and flood protection.

AbstractThe United Nations established a counterterrorism mechanism in the form of the Counterterrorism Committee when it adopted Security Council Resolution 1373 (2001). The Committee has so far worked with regional organizations and individual states in capacity building efforts to augment local counterterrorism abilities. However, ethical bottlenecks remain. The problem of ethics arises when laws lack legitimacy regarding criminality and state power and when they diverge from the rule of law and good governance. Regional organizations are keenly placed to ensure that states adopt legitimate counterterrorism measures, thus avoiding ethical bottlenecks. By working with states to maintain the moral high ground, regional organizations such as the OSCE can prevent unnecessary compromises between human rights and security.

In September 2008, the European Court of Justice found EU measures implementing UN Security Council resolutions which had called for the imposition of financial sanctions against certain persons and entities associated with Usama bin Laden, the Taliban and the Al– Qaeda network to be illegal. In a robust, inward–looking, human rights oriented, constitutionbased judgment, the ECJ provided a venue for indirect judicial review of Security Council resolutions and restored the EU legal order to its constitutional foundations. The ECJ furthermore buttressed the bridges between the EU legal order and the ECHR legal order, while erecting high walls between the former and the international law–UN legal order. The dispute before the EU judiciary highlights the multifaceted nature of modern, multilevel governance (multilateral: UN; regional: European; and national). It juxtaposes multilateralism with regionalism; the need to effectively combat international terrorism with the need to protect human rights; and the predominance in international relations of politics and diplomacy with the predominance of international and EU law. This article tackles all these themes, highlights the importance and complexities of the issues involved and analyses the commendable manner in which the ECJ addressed them.

This article examines intersection of three contemporary issues that occupy academic thought intensively: China’s global politics, its changing voting practice at the United Nations Security Council (UNSC), and the international response to the civil war in Syria. The aim of the article is to provide quantitative and qualitative analysis of China’s voting practice in the UNSC regarding the civil war in Syria, to outline a legal and political interpretation of its voting patterns and to conceptualise China’s politics in the UNSC regarding this issue. The article argues that reasons behind China’s rapidly growing use of the veto in the UNSC regarding Syria are vaguely related to the case of Syria itself, but directly reflect the primacy of China’s domestic politics and its strategic aspirations to reshape global governance. Growing concern within the international community about the human rights abuses taking place on a mass scale against Uighurs in Xinjiang is the most prominent catalyst that enables and provokes China’s systemic reaction. Therefore, although China has neither geopolitical nor strategic interests in Syria, Syria’s case serves as a battleground for China’s attempts to transform the collectively accepted interpretation of multilateralism, democratic values, and norms. This aspect underlines the necessity to observe China’s politics from the perspective of social constructivism. Methodologically, this article draws on political discourse analysis theory, examines China’s arguments in the UNSC and argues that China’s voting behaviour in the UNSC regarding Syria focused on reinterpretation of two grand concepts of international law: state sovereignty and non-interference.

The article is devoted to the United Nations Organization, which turns 75 this year. The article reveals the cooperation between Ukraine and the UN. Despite the ongoing aggression by the Russian Federation, Ukraine pays special attention to the UN's efforts to maintain international peace and security, considering participation in it as an important factor in its foreign policy. Ukraine is an active participant in the activities of the UN system in the field of human rights, a party to all major UN human rights instruments, including the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, the Optional Protocols and the International Convention on the Elimination of all forms of racial discrimination. Since March 2014, at the invitation of our state, the UN Monitoring Mission in the field of human rights has been operating in Ukraine, recording the human rights consequences of Russian aggression. Our country receives significant technical, advisory and financial assistance from UN specialized agencies, its funds and programs, in particular, in the areas of democratic governance, poverty alleviation, achieving the National Sustainable Development Goals, supporting public administration, combating HIV / AIDS and other serious diseases, environment. In connection with the above, it should be emphasized that Ukraine, as a founding member of the United Nations, does not stand aside, but actively cooperates with this respected international organization in all areas of its activities. Ukraine remains a supporter of strengthening and increasing the effectiveness of the UN and adapting to modern challenges in the world. Keywords: United Nations Organization, Ukraine, Security Council, human rights, peacekeeping.

Having evolved since the 1990s into a political and ideological concept, global governance has become one of the priorities of the program documents of EU states and institutions, today formulated as “rules-based order”. A distinctive feature of this concept is the “blurring” of interstate interaction on the world stage in favor of non-state and supranational interaction. Under global governance, there is allegedly no hierarchy between state actors and nonstate or supra-state actors. This article critically examines this thesis with the help of the sociological theory of diff erentiation. According to diff erentiation theory, the state does not remain on the sidelines of global governance but takes the lead in the hierarchy of levels of world politics. The fi nal part of the article deals with the principles of EU coordination in the UN system. To promote ideas of global governance, the EU aims at major reform of the UN through intertwining intergovernmental interaction with nongovernmental interaction. This model is used especially often when non-core issues (e.g., human rights or climate in the Security Council) are considered in a UN body, allowing for broader participation in negotiations and, from a strategic perspective, a revision of the UN Charter. The main conclusion of the article is that the EU’s actions in the UN system refute the position of global governance that there is no hierarchy between the interstate and supranational levels of world politics. Despite the active promotion of global governance by the EU states, the EU itself is based on interstate coordination and a rigid hierarchy among states, as well as between states and nongovernmental actors.

INTRODUCTION. The article, using the example of the Republic of Finland, analyzes the activities of the European Union (hereinafter referred to as the EU) to improve the legal regulation of countering extremism. The influence of the EU on the tackling against extremism and radicalism in the Republic of Finland is examined. The role of the EU in countering global threats, the position of Finland in relation to international co- operation in countering extremism and radicalism is assessed. The methods used in Finland to counter violent extremism are being studied.MATERIALS AND METHODS. The article examines the conceptual documents of the UN, EU and Finland; Report of the Secretary-General of the United Nations, an action plan to prevent violent extremism, Commission Staff Working Paper; Comprehensive assessment of the EU security policy; Message from the Commission to the European Parliament, European Council Ninth report on progress towards an effective and genuine Security Union; Finland's response to OHCHR's request for information on how the protection and promotion of human rights contribute to preventing and combating violent extremism; Finland's Chairmanship Program for the Sustainable Europe Sustainable Future program; Decision of the Commission on the creation of the Expert Group of the HighLevel Commission on Radicalization, Report of the Council of Europe Committee on Counter-Terrorism, Anti-Terrorism Profiles Finland, Report of the Government of Finland on human rights for 2014; decisions of the Expert Group of the High-Level Commission on Radicalization; Human Rights Council materials.RESEARCH RESULTS. The author puts forward the thesis that the measures used to counter violent extremism depend on the needs of Member States and require the development of various approaches, depending on specific circumstances. In the addition, there is a common interest in EU member states in further expanding the exchange of experience and close cooperation between various national actors at the pan-European and international levels to counter extremism and radicalism. These measures require the development of new regulatory measures, including international ones. The author believes it is possible and interesting, using the example of the Republic of Finland, to study the level of interaction and cooperation between the Member States and the European Union in the field of im- proving the legal regulation of countering extremism, as well as the measures used in Finland to prevent and combat violent extremism.DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS. In EU Member States, the European Union plays a key role in shaping international cooperation, which includes strengthening the existing governance system and, when necessary, reforming the existing system for preventing and countering violent extremism, subject to the fundamental principles of the United Nations. The Republic of Finland fully supports the efforts of the international community to prevent and counter extremism, through the development of international anti-extremism instruments to help states collectively combat this threat. The educational system of Finland can successfully form the fundamental foundations for countering violent extremism.

It has become an overused, indeed dated, cliché to claim that the European Union (EU) is at a crossroads. Today it is more common, and perhaps also more accurate, to argue that the EU faces an existential crisis. This is not just an academic opinion, but the language that is increasingly present in the EU’s political, policy and strategic documents. The changing, indeed deteriorating, domestic, regional and global security environment, which has openly put the very existence of the EU at risk, has consequently increased demands for a genuine and robust EU common security and defence policy (CSDP). The latter is not a recent invention. It has a long history, with many ups and downs, not unlike the process of European integration, in which concerns about national sovereignty and related national comprehensive, if too often parochial, priorities have been struggling to match normative ambitions, and solemn declarations that have been developed in response to the actual growing security concerns. How have the EU and its Member States coped with the Scylla of national sovereigntist defence priorities and the Charybdis of the objective needs of supranational cooperation in the dire straits of the CSDP? What are the current most acute security challenges? What can or should be done to improve the CSDP and are there grounds for pessimism or optimism with a view to its future development? These are the questions that this special issue of Contemporary Military Challenges, dedicated to the CSDP, explores across five articles written by legal, international, social and security science academics, as well as security and defence experts. The picture these articles have painted is a mixed one. Modest optimism in terms of the progress of the CSDP mechanisms is combined with chagrin related to missed opportunities, too often due to the culture of non-compliance, and concerns related to the changes taking place in the overall global model of governance. The latter are particularly addressed in the article penned by Senčar. He persuasively demonstrates how, in the course of the last 20 years, the European post-Cold War consensus and mindset, embedded in the Kantian ideals of liberal democracy, rule of law, protection of human rights and solidarity in and between the states has gradually, but almost without notice, given way to a Hobbesian, strategic and competitive world order, primed by national sovereigntist interests. However, due to technological progress, the collapse of the post-Cold War consensus and the resulting change in paradigm possesses new, as yet still unexplored security threats, which will affect nothing as much as our minds. As Senčar powerfully demonstrates, contemporary and, in particular, future warfare will be directed against our heads, featuring a paramount cognitive dimension. It is for this reason that the EU and its Member States must invest in the cognitive aspects of the CSDP, in particular with an eye on the leading revisionist power, Russia. However, to do so the EU must be in possession of the necessary and appropriate competencies, backed by a sufficient national political will. The remaining four articles are thus dedicated to the examination of this issue. The article by Katarina Vatovec comes across as the most optimistic. She traces the process of the ‘communitarization’ of the EU’s defence policies and identifies the required socio-political grounds for strengthening this process in the future. In her view, communitarization, which has traditionally stood for bringing a particular policy field from an intergovernmental to a supranational pillar, subject to an ordinary legislative procedure based on qualified majority voting, can be gradually introduced through the presence of a sufficient political will resulting from actual experience, successfully implemented policy initiatives, and growing awareness of the increasing security threats. While according to this author the future of the European Defence Union remains in the hands of the Member States and intergovernmental cooperation, following the important breakthrough with the Treaty of Lisbon, a number of institutional, legal, policy, soft-law and financial measures have intensified the functioning of EU defence policy and, simultaneously, driven it in the direction of further communitarization. The article by Dick Zandee partakes of a similar normative premise. He believes that the CSDP is faced with the dilemma of making a breakthrough or simply continuing to muddle through. For him the answer is unequivocal. What is needed is a breakthrough, which would contribute to closing the gap between rhetorical commitments and action. A concrete opportunity for that is presented by the Strategic Compass. This is envisaged as a concrete, ambitious and actionable tool that should provide tangible direction for the EU’s role in security and defence over the next five or ten years. To meet this goal, according to Zandee, nothing is required more than realism. The article thus concludes by laying down eight concrete and realistic actions by which the EU could break out of its current status quo in the CSDP and turn itself into a truly global power before it is too late. Aleksandra Koziol’s contribution, quite fittingly, complements Zandee’s contribution by putting some empirical flesh on the normative agenda. She describes the EU’s current security and defence engagement in Europe and abroad, the major challenges that it poses, and the actual capacity of the EU to address them. This remains relatively weak and sometimes questionable for a variety of political, organizational, financial and sometimes also ad hoc reasons. The latter are currently the most explicit in form of the Covid-9 pandemic, which has importantly hampered, as the author demonstrates, the European Commission’s ambition of assuming the role of a geopolitical commission. In the author’s opinion it is decisive for the future development of the CSDP that the EU simultaneously builds on the civilian and the military side of the CSDP and develops its capacities for early warnings, early actions and a rapid response. Finally, the article by Jelena Juvan, after describing the historical evolution of the CSDP in the context of European integration, looks into the future of CDSP, paying special attention to the role of small Member States, such as Slovenia, in it. The author notes that size matters, and that the development of supranational security and defence structures could especially work to the advantage of the small Member States. Their capacity to shape the development of the CSDP is, however, limited, unless they invest in specialization and cooperation, and also prudently seize the opportunity when presiding over the Council of the EU in their mediating and to an extent also agenda-setting role. While time will tell how Slovenia is going to use its opportunity as the head of the Council of the EU, the article insists that, especially for small Member States with limited human and financial resources, setting the CSDP priorities matter most. When these are set and the agreements entered into, they must also be delivered upon. In the opposite case a culture of non-compliance prevails, which effectively leaves the CSDP as only a half-built house. In conclusion, the five reviewed articles contained in this volume yet again confirm Kintis’ impression that the field of the CSDP, more than any other EU policy field, is torn between ambition and paralysis. This results, in particular, from the discrepancy between the ever-changing security and defence challenges brought about by an increasingly dynamic global environment, and the actual EU capacity to address them that is, in turn, dependent on the national political will. The articles contained in this volume express their concerns with the slow progress of the CSDP, but they also try to overcome it by putting forward some new proposals or, at least, by raising the right questions. Eventually, however, the CSDP can only make a real, qualitative and required step forward when a consensus on the legal and political nature of the EU is formed. As long as the latter stays in its current, sui-generis, hybrid form, the CSDP will remain stuck between ‘ambition and paralyzis’. The operationalization of the CSDP and its actual functional character thus first requires the addressing of the constitutional question of the nature, object and purpose of the European Union itself.

The Mangroves for the Future initiative (MFF) has operated since 2006 as a strategic regional and partnership-led programmeworking in response to the continued degradation of coastal ecosystems, which threatens the livelihoods and security of coastal communities and makes them more vulnerable to impacts from climate change. MFF follows the principle that healthy coastal ecosystems (principally mangroves, coral reefs and sea grass beds) can contribute significantly to human well-being and the resilience of man and nature to climate change. In its initial phase to 2010, MFF supported India, Indonesia, Maldives, Seychelles, Sri Lanka and Thailand to deliver a targeted response to the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004. Since then, country membership has expanded to include Bangladesh, Cambodia, Myanmar, Pakistan and Viet Nam and the initiative has grown towards a wider response to the current and emerging challenges for coastal management in the Indian Ocean and South China Sea regions. MFF is also engaged with Malaysia on an outreach basis; and with the Philippines as a dialogue country. Co-chaired by International Union for Conservation of nature (IUCN) and United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and with ASEAN Centre for Biodiversity (ACB), Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations (FAO), United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP), and Wetland International (WI) as institutional partners, MFF provides a unique platform for representatives from governments, civil society and private sectors to meet, discuss and take actions together at both regional and national scales. At the regional level, MFF is governed by a Regional Steering Committee that provides strategic leadership for policy change and advocacy and also serves as a forum for country to country information exchange and discussions on emerging issues of regional importance. Within each MFF member country, a National Coordination body has oversight on the programme implementation as guided by its National Strategy and Action Plan and delivery of the small, medium and regional grant facilities1. Through its inclusive partnership approach, MFF has significantly strengthened the collaboration between the key stakeholders from governments, civil society, and private sectors addressing national and regional coastal zone management issues. In particular, the MFF initiative has supported national and local governments in developing and implementing participatory and sustainable resource management strategies, and, through awareness and capacity building activities, empowered coastal communities to participate in the decision making processes relating to the management of the natural resources on which they depend for their livelihoods. The present paper elaborates successful examples of regional collaboration initiated through MFF that have contributed to better coastal governance in India Ocean region. The examples include the transboundary cooperation between Pakistan and Iran in Gawatar Bay, between India and Sri Lanka for in the Gulf of Mannar, and between Guangxi and Quang Ninh Provinces in China and Viet Nam. The paper also highlights the importance of the Sustainable Development Goals, especially the Goal 14 and concepts like Blue Economy for sustainable ocean and coastal management in the light of the rapid development in maritime trade, race for exploration of the ocean bed for mineral resources, unsustainable exploitation of fish resources, and increasing pollution load to ocean waters from rapidly developing coastal urban growth in the Indian Ocean region.

Targeted sanctions—often referred to as “smart sanctions”—began in large measure as a response to the UN Security Council sanctions imposed on Iraq in 1990 and 1991, after its invasion of Kuwait. By 1991 it was clear that the sanctions on Iraq, initially welcomed by antiwar activists as a peaceful alternative to military action, were different from any sanctions seen before. Combined with the destruction from the bombing campaign of the Gulf War, they were devastating to the Iraq economy and infrastructure, resulting in widespread malnutrition, epidemics of water-borne diseases, and the collapse of every system necessary to ensure human well-being in a modern society. As the sanctions seemed to have no end in sight, there was considerable “sanctions fatigue” within the United Nations, as well as a growing body of literature that questioned whether sanctions were effective at obtaining compliance by the target state, even when there was considerable impact on its economy.In the wake of these concerns, there were efforts in many venues to design sanctions that would not have the humanitarian impact of broad trade sanctions, and that would also be more effective by putting direct pressure on individual national policy-makers. These targeted sanctions included arms embargoes, financial sanctions on the assets of individuals and companies, travel restrictions on the leaders of a sanctioned state, and trade sanctions on particular goods. Many viewed targeted sanctions as an especially promising tool for foreign policy and international governance, and many still see targeted sanctions as a natural and obvious solution to a broad array of difficult situations. But there are considerable difficulties with each type of targeted sanction, with regard to implementation, humanitarian impact, and, in some cases, due process rights. Some of these difficulties may be resolved as these measures continue to be refined. Others are rooted in fundamental conflicts between competing interests or intractable logistical challenges.

The policy of Ukraine for the establishment and development of relations with the European Union began in 1993, was carried out all the years of Ukraine’s existence, and received intensive deepening with the beginning of the formation of an international treaty – the Association Agreement, which includes a list of legal, social, economic, and technical regulations, and Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Area (DCFTA), in 2014 and its final signing in 2017. Political and economic objectives of the Agreement are of fundamental importance to the future of both Ukraine and the whole European region. The political goal is to implement European standards on the territory of Ukraine. This implies the introduction of fundamental European values, namely democracy, rule of law, respect for human rights and the standards of the European security system. The Agreement does not foresee membership in the European Union, however, does not exclude such an opportunity in the future. The economic goal is to help to modernize the Ukrainian economy by expanding trade volumes with the EU and other countries, as well as reforming economic regulation mechanisms in line with the best European practices. Subject to the improvement of the business climate, Ukraine will become attractive for foreign and domestic investment for further production for export to the EU and other markets of the world. Harmonization of standards and European regulations has become a much more important process than the fulfilment of strictly technical requirements and underlies the introduction of effective governance without corruption. In the process of harmonization of interaction, an adaptive institutional mechanism was formed (the highest level – annual Summits; the key coordinator is the Association Council, consisting of members of the Council of the European Union and members of the European Commission, and members of the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine; the level of operational coordination – the Association Parliamentary Committee, which includes members of the European Parliament, representatives of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, and the Civil Society Platform; in order to coordinate processes on the territory of Ukraine, the Ukrainian government has introduced a few supervisory committees and commissions). The harmonization of the economic aspect of the mechanism has been determined in solving issues of openness of markets for duty-free import from Ukraine in April 2014, obtaining a visa-free regime with the EU, abolishing export-import tariffs, implementing European technical standards for food safety, phytosanitary norms, competition policy, service provision, and public procurement policy. The issues of further deepening of relations include a review of the terms for the introduction of regulations and legislative provisions before their actual implementation, stabilization of financial and economic processes in the country, and further development of democratic values and social institutions.

IntroductionLinkage and retention in HIV medical care remains problematic in the USA. Extensive health utilisation data collection through electronic health records (EHR) and claims data represent new opportunities for scientific discovery. Big data science (BDS) is a powerful tool for investigating HIV care utilisation patterns. The South Carolina (SC) office of Revenue and Fiscal Affairs (RFA) data warehouse captures individual-level longitudinal health utilisation data for persons living with HIV (PLWH). The data warehouse includes EHR, claims and data from private institutions, housing, prisons, mental health, Medicare, Medicaid, State Health Plan and the department of health and human services. The purpose of this study is to describe the process for creating a comprehensive database of all SC PLWH, and plans for using BDS to explore, identify, characterise and explain new predictors of missed opportunities for HIV medical care utilisation.Methods and analysisThis project will create person-level profiles guided by the Gelberg-Andersen Behavioral Model and describe new patterns of HIV care utilisation. The population for the comprehensive database comes from statewide HIV surveillance data (2005–2016) for all SC PLWH (N≈18000). Surveillance data are available from the state health department’s enhanced HIV/AIDS Reporting System (e-HARS). Additional data pulls for the e-HARS population will include Ryan White HIV/AIDS Program Service Reports, Health Sciences SC data and Area Health Resource Files. These data will be linked to the RFA data and serve as sources for traditional and vulnerable domain Gelberg-Anderson Behavioral Model variables. The project will use BDS techniques such as machine learning to identify new predictors of HIV care utilisation behaviour among PLWH, and ‘missed opportunities’ for re-engaging them back into care.Ethics and disseminationThe study team applied for data from different sources and submitted individual Institutional Review Board (IRB) applications to the University of South Carolina (USC) IRB and other local authorities/agencies/state departments. This study was approved by the USC IRB (#Pro00068124) in 2017. To protect the identity of the persons living with HIV (PLWH), researchers will only receive linked deidentified data from the RFA. Study findings will be disseminated at local community forums, community advisory group meetings, meetings with our state agencies, local partners and other key stakeholders (including PLWH, policy-makers and healthcare providers), presentations at academic conferences and through publication in peer-reviewed articles. Data security and patient confidentiality are the bedrock of this study. Extensive data agreements ensuring data security and patient confidentiality for the deidentified linked data have been established and are stringently adhered to. The RFA is authorised to collect and merge data from these different sources and to ensure the privacy of all PLWH. The legislatively mandated SC data oversight council reviewed the proposed process stringently before approving it. Researchers will get only the encrypted deidentified dataset to prevent any breach of privacy in the data transfer, management and analysis processes. In addition, established secure data governance rules, data encryption and encrypted predictive techniques will be deployed. In addition to the data anonymisation as a part of privacy-preserving analytics, encryption schemes that protect running prediction algorithms on encrypted data will also be deployed. Best practices and lessons learnt about the complex processes involved in negotiating and navigating multiple data sharing agreements between different entities are being documented for dissemination.

Background Despite having the tools at our disposal to enable an adequate food supply for all people, inequities in food acquisition, distribution, and most importantly, food sovereignty, worsen food insecurity. The detrimental impact of climate change on food systems and mental health is further exacerbated by a lack of food sovereignty. We urgently require innovative solutions to enable food sovereignty, minimize food insecurity, and address climate change–related mental distress (ie, solastalgia). Indigenous communities have a wealth of Traditional Knowledge for climate change adaptation and preparedness to strengthen food systems. Traditional Knowledge combined with Western methods can revolutionize ethical data collection, engagement, and knowledge mobilization. Objective The Food Equity and Environmental Data Sovereignty (FEEDS) Project takes a participatory action, citizen science approach for early detection and warning of climate change impacts on food sovereignty, food security, and solastalgia. The aim of this project is to develop and implement a sustainable digital platform that enables real-time decision-making to mitigate climate change–related impacts on food systems and mental well-being. Methods Citizen science enables citizens to actively contribute to all aspects of the research process. The FEEDS Project is being implemented in five phases: participatory project planning, digital climate change platform customization, community-led evaluation, digital platform and project refinement, and integrated knowledge translation. The project is governed by a Citizen Scientist Advisory Council comprising Elders, Traditional Knowledge Keepers, key community decision makers, youth, and FEEDS Project researchers. The Council governs all phases of the project, including coconceptualizing a climate change platform, which consists of a smartphone app and a digital decision-making dashboard. Apart from capturing environmental and health-related big data (eg, weather, permafrost degradation, fire hazards, and human movement), the custom-built app uses artificial intelligence to engage and enable citizens to report on environmental hazards, changes in biodiversity or wildlife, and related food and mental health issues in their communities. The app provides citizens with valuable information to mitigate health-related risks and relays big data in real time to a digital dashboard. Results This project is currently in phase 1, with the subarctic Métis jurisdiction of Île-à-la-Crosse, Saskatchewan, Canada. Conclusions The FEEDS Project facilitates Indigenous Peoples’ self-determination, governance, and data sovereignty. All citizen data are anonymous and encrypted, and communities have ownership, access, control, and possession of their data. The digital dashboard system provides decision makers with real-time data, thereby increasing the capacity to self-govern. The participatory action research approach, combined with digital citizen science, advances the cocreation of knowledge and multidisciplinary collaboration in the digital age. Given the urgency of climate change, leveraging technology provides communities with tools to respond to existing and emerging crises in a timely manner, as well as scientific evidence regarding the urgency of current health and environmental issues. International Registered Report Identifier (IRRID) PRR1-10.2196/31389

The article touches upon the issues of law enforcement and court practice related to the collective rights of aboriginal communities.The purpose of the article is to reveal the content of the right to self-determination through the prism of the most significant cases related to indigenous peoples.The methodological basis of research is the general principles of scientific knowledge, widely used in works in the field of law: system-structural, formal-legal, comparative-legal, historical, methods of analysis and synthesis, analogies, etc. Particular attention was paid to the formal legal method, which was used by the authors of the study to analyze international judicial practice on the rights of indigenous peoples, as well as, in some cases, the national legislation of the countries participating in a particular case.The main results, scope of application. The right to self-determination of indigenous peoples is multicomponent and includes a number of specific elements and facets of interpretation. The authors have made an attempt to reveal the fundamental elements of the right to self-determination of indigenous peoples, which, in their opinion, consist of: the right to sovereignty as such, or autonomy and recognition as collective subjects of law, the right to land and resources, traditional nature management, autonomous education, mothertongue and culture.For each of the above-mentioned elements, a specific case is described, which was considered in international courts, primarily in the International Court of Justice, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, the ECHR and etc.Conclusions. International recognition of a state through inclusion in the UN General Assembly is impossible without the permission of the Security Council; the issue of “effective occupation” has played and continues to play a large role in the issue of governance and sovereignty over a specific space and territory, and not only settlers, but also traditionally living indigenous peoples play a significant role;Indigenous peoples living in the coastal zone should have the right to dispose of income from the exploitation of the continental shelf; the relationship with the land is not only a matter of ownership and production, but a material and spiritual element that indigenous peoples must fully enjoy, if only to preserve their cultural heritage and pass it on to future generations; the status of “national minority” deprives the indigenous people of priority in the use of land for traditional reindeer herding; means of ensuring freedom of expression of indigenous peoples is an important element for the promotion of identity, language, culture, self-identification, collective rights.

Flood and drought are two forms of water security, which are key governance challenges, as it causes disaster to human, society, and the environment. Water governance in Cambodia has been challenged by too much water in the wet season, causing flooding, and by too little in the dry season, inducing drought. A proper water practice is needed in place to manage water and reduce water security to support the development of the country. This study is designed to explore the best practice of water management in Cambodia. To provide an answer to this exploration, the study reviews the relevant literature and undertakes a case study of indigenous water management practice in the Tonle Sap Lake. In doing so, the study examines the Metuk water management practice and examines how it contributes to improving water security and reducing its impacts on the livelihoods of local communities. It concludes that the Metuk system is a best practice for water management, which is operated by local communities, using local human and financial resources, with little hands of government agencies from all levels, to address future water governance in Cambodia.

This article addresses gender-responsive governance reforms in post-conflict Kosovo from two perspectives: (1) the perspective of human rights as fundamental for state-building, and (2) the resolutions of the UN Security Council regarding Women, Peace, and Security (WPS), notably the initial UNSCR 1325. Special focus is laid on women's agency in governance matters—at the level of the state and at the level of civil society. A gender approach to three dimensions of governance—political-administrative governance, security governance, and socioeconomic governance—shows successes and problems in this post-conflict society. Special attention is given to the strategies of the women's movement in reaching gender-responsive governance. Some initiatives for new masculinities address the necessity of norm change in gender governance. The analysis of the literature and documents, supplemented by interviews, reveals the transformative potential of gender governance that solidly roots in women's rights and combines a multi-actor approach at grassroots, and at national and international levels with strong alliances and very concrete actions.

This article analyzes the role of the European Union (EU) and Canada in the promotion of Security Sector Reforms (SSR) activities in two regional organizations, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). The concept of SSR seeks to address the effective governance of security in post-conflict environment by transforming the security institutions within a country in order for them to have more efficient, legitimate and democratic role in implementing security. Recent debates within the EU have led to the adoption of an SSR concept from the Council and a new strategy from the European Commission on the SSR activities. Within the framework of the ESDP, the EU has positioned itself as a leading actor, in this domain, including in its crisis management operations. On the other hand, Canada, through its whole-of government and human security programs has also been an important actor in the promotion of SSR activities. Yet, even though several international organizations (including the United Nations, the OSCE and NATO) are effectively doing SSR activities on the ground, there does not exist a common framework within any of these organizations despite the role of the EU and Canada. As such, it is surprising to found no global common policy for SSR while this approach is precisely holistic in its foundations. Taking these elements into consideration, this paper analyzes two specific aspects : a) the absence of a common policy framework within international organizations and b) the major differences between the approaches of the OSCE and NATO in the domain of SSR and the implications for the EU and Canada’ roles.

This article analyzes the role of the European Union (EU) and Canada in the promotion of Security Sector Reforms (SSR) activities in two regional organizations, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). The concept of SSR seeks to address the effective governance of security in post-conflict environment by transforming the security institutions within a country in order for them to have more efficient, legitimate and democratic role in implementing security. Recent debates within the EU have led to the adoption of an SSR concept from the Council and a new strategy from the European Commission on the SSR activities. Within the framework of the ESDP, the EU has positioned itself as a leading actor, in this domain, including in its crisis management operations. On the other hand, Canada, through its whole-of government and human security programs has also been an important actor in the promotion of SSR activities. Yet, even though several international organizations (including the United Nations, the OSCE and NATO) are effectively doing SSR activities on the ground, there does not exist a common framework within any of these organizations despite the role of the EU and Canada. As such, it is surprising to found no global common policy for SSR while this approach is precisely holistic in its foundations. Taking these elements into consideration, this paper analyzes two specific aspects : a) the absence of a common policy framework within international organizations and b) the major differences between the approaches of the OSCE and NATO in the domain of SSR and the implications for the EU and Canada’ roles. Full extt available at: https://doi.org/10.22215/rera.v3i2.186

AbstractBy analyzing specific legislative and institutional aspects of UNMIK's administration of Kosovo, this article attempts to highlight the discrepancy between the nature of an international security presence and civilian administration (under Security Council peacekeeping mandate), and effective human rights remedies, as well as principles of democratic governance such as accountability, lawfulness and constitutionality. The `constitutional' aspects of the current system of governance in Kosovo are described and difficulties of creating an international administration, which seeks to gain a certain level of acceptance by the subjected population, are pointed out. The article explains how UNMIK went about establishing a Joint Interim Administrative Structure while dismantling parallel, illegitimate power structures. It further addresses the Constitutional Framework for Provisional Self-Governance and evaluates briefly its human rights-related aspects. Legislative issues and questions concerning the rule of law are discussed in another section, which deals with UNMIK's formal commitments to adhere to the highest level of internationally recognized human rights standards. Several important Regulations issued by the Special Representative of the Secretary General (SRSG) are analyzed. Consequently, the most significant structures and mechanisms for the protection, promotion and monitoring of human rights are shortly presented and put in context. The article raises several crucial questions concerning the access to effective remedy and the effectiveness of human rights institutions in an environment of legal uncertainty, the absence of the rule of law and the supremacy of international authority, which is beyond the reach of judicial control or review. It concludes that if effective human rights protection shall be the outcome of structures dedicated to human rights, these structures have to be constructed to offer real remedies, proper judicial procedures and legal clarity. The present nature of international peace missions (military and civilian) is not compatible with the requirements of a law-based administration according to the Rechtsstaat-model, which is arguably a prerequisite for effective human rights protection.

This fourth Synthesis of the Science Diplomacy Action series involves that pedagogy of common-interest building among allies and adversaries alike as a negotiation skill to apply, train and refine. This serial edition also represents a journey with science diplomacy and its engine of informed decisionmaking among friends who facilitated the first formal dialogue between the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and Russia regarding security in the Arctic, which we co-directed at the University of Cambridge in 2010. The starting point for that NATO-Russia dialogue was science diplomacy, as an holistic (international, interdisciplinary and inclusive) process to balance national interests and common interests for the benefit of all on Earth across generations. Operation of this holistic process became clear in 2016 during the 1st International Dialogue on Science and Technology Advice in Foreign Ministries, when the ‘continuum of urgencies’ was identified from security time scales (mitigating risks of political, economic, cultural and environmental instabilities that are immediate) to sustainability time scales (balancing economic prosperity, environmental protection and societal well-being across generations). The following year, the theoretical framework of informed decisionmaking – operating across a ‘continuum of urgencies’ short-term to long-term – emerged with the case study published in Science about the 2017 Agreement on Enhancing International Arctic Scientific Cooperation, which has entered into force among the eight Arctic states. With continuing acceleration, in 2020, Springer published the first volume in the new book series on INFORMED DECISIONMAKING FOR SUSTAINABILITY. The graduate course on “Science Diplomacy: Environmental Security and Law in the Arctic Ocean” was introduced in 2016 with the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, involving a Mock Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting as the culminating synthesis with the Student Ambassadors. Framed around their working papers for the Mock Arctic Council Ministerial Meeting, the Student Ambassadors negotiated a declaration, which they adopted by consensus and signed at end of that first semester. In subsequent years, additional holistic integration exercises were introduced into the course, including the Common-Interest Building – Training Game with the pedagogy of the seventeen United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, each of which has international, interdisciplinary and inclusive relevance at local-global levels (APPENDIX 1: Syllabus – Spring 2020). From 2017 through 2020, the graduate course was expanded to Science Diplomacy: Environmental Security and Law in the Arctic Ocean, involving The Fletcher School in Medford (Massachusetts, United States) and the International Law Programme at MGIMO University in Moscow (Russian Federation). Building on a Memorandum of Understanding between our institutions, this joint video-conferencing course was approved by the Russian Ministry of Education and involved Carnegie Corporation of New York funding that was directed by Prof. Paul Arthur Berkman, contributing to the soon-to-be Russia and Eurasia Program at The Fletcher School. Each year, Student Ambassadors from the United States and Russian Federation adopted and signed joint declarations by consensus, as an exercise in common-interest building. Results of training skills with common-interest building are reflected herein with the compilation of consensus declarations crafted by the Student Ambassadors in their Mock Arctic Council Ministerial Meetings from 2016 to 2020. The essence of common-interest building is to make inormed decisions that operate across time in view of urgencies, short-term to long-term, tactical and strategic. Urgencies are embedded across diverse time scales with local-global relevance, as demonstrated by accelerating impacts through: month-years with our global pandemic; years-decades with high technologies; and decades-centuries with global human population size and atmospheric carbon-dioxide concentration in our Earth system. The underlying process of informed decisionmaking involves holistic integration with science as the ‘study of change’, revealed with the natural sciences and social sciences as well as Indigenous knowledge, all of which characterize patterns, trends and processes (albeit with different methods) that become the bases for decisions. Contributing with research and action, the institutions involved with decisionmaking produce: governance mechanisms (laws, agreements and policies as well as regulatory strategies, including insurance, at diverse jurisdictional levels); and built infrastructure (fixed, mobile and other assets, including communication, observing, information and other systems that require technology plus investment). Coupling of governance mechanisms and built infrastructure contributes to progress with sustainability, which were weaved throughout the course with the Arctic Ocean as a case study. Outcomes of the joint-video conferencing course between The Fletcher School and MGIMO University have accelerated globally into the training initiatives with diplomatic schools among foreign ministries as well as with the United Nations Institute for Training and Research (UNITAR). Our hope is science diplomacy and its engine of informed decisionmaking will lead to lifelong learning across the jurisdictional spectrum with its subnational-national-international legal levels for the benefit of all on Earth across generations.

The variable “institutional references” refers to international institutions which are mentioned in the coverage of national media outlets. International institutions can be related to the EU (e.g., the European Commission, the European Parliament) or other transnational communities (e.g., the NATO for the transatlantic community). Studies using the variable “institutional reference” aim to compare the share of mentions of transnational and national institutions and search for differences between countries and/or an increase of references over time. The variable has been measured in analyses on quality and the popular press and in single country studies as well as in comparative research. It is usually coded on the level of articles. Some studies consider headlines or the articles’ first paragraph only. Field of application/theoretical foundation: The variable “institutional references” is used to analyze the monitoring of transnational governance in national media outlets. It is one indicator for the vertical transnationalization of the public sphere (Koopmans & Erbe, 2004; Trenz, 2004; Wessler et al., 2008). References/combination with other methods of data collection: Research on vertical transnationalization of the public sphere has been combined with qualitative studies on editorial processes and interviews with journalists (Hepp et al., 2012). The aim is to gain a deeper understanding of which editorial processes and which occasions drive EU coverage. Example studies: Wessler et al. (2008); Hepp et al. (2016) Information on Wessler et al., 2008 Authors: Hartmut Wessler, Bernhard Peters, Michael Brüggemann, Katharina Kleinen-von Königslöw, Stefanie Sifft Research question/research interest: Comparison of the transnationalization of public spheres in six countries Object of analysis: National quality newspaper, popular press, regional papers Timeframe of analysis: 1982–2013 Variable name/definition: Institutional references Information on Hepp et al., 2016 Authors: Andreas Hepp, Monika Elsler, Swantje Lingenberg, Anne Mollen, Johanna Möller, Anke Offerhaus Research question/research interest: Comparison of the transnationalization of public spheres in six countries Object of analysis: National quality newspaper, popular press, regional papers Timeframe of analysis: 1982–2013 Information about variable Variable name/definition: Institutional references “What international institutions were mentioned in the article? Institutions were coded, but concepts were not; for example the euro is not an institution. If the reference occurred in the header or the first paragraph of the article, it was coded as a primary institutional reference. Up to three primary institutional references could be coded per article. All international institutions that were mentioned in an article but had not already been coded as primary institutional references were coded as secondary institutional refences. Up to five secondary institutional references could be coded per article.” (Wessler et al., 2008, p. 212) 01 European Union in general (EU) 02 European Commission 03 European Council 04 Council of the European Union 05 European Parliament 06 European Court of Justice 07 European Central Bank 08 other EU institutions 09 EU Intergovernmental Conference 10 EU Convention 11 NATO 12 OECD 13 GATT/WTO 14 UN 15 UN Security Council 16 UN World Conference 17 Bretton Wood Institutions (World Bank, IMF) 18 Commonwealth 19 West European Union (WEU) 20 CSCE/OSCE (Conference/Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) 21 European Court of Human Rights 22 EFTA 23 EEC 25 Warsaw Pact 997 Other institutions – please specify! 998 Unclear 999 Not applicable Level of analysis: Article Scale level: Nominal Reliability: Kappa 0.79 References Wessler, H., Peters, B., Brüggemann, M., Kleinen-von Königslöw, K., Sifft, S. (2008). Transnationalization of Public Spheres. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Hepp, A., Elsler, M., Lingenberg, S., Mollen, A., Möller, J., Offerhaus, A. (2016). The Communicative Construction of Europe. Cultures of Political Discourse, Public Sphere and the Euro Crisis. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

W. A. Schabas, The Trial of the Kaiser, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2018, 432 pages, ISBN 9780198833857. (Prof. J. M. Reijntjes, Prof.em. in Criminal Law, The Open University of the Netherlands and the University of Curaçao.) Harold Hongju Koh, The Trump Administration and International Law, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2018, 232 pages, ISBN 9780190912185. (David l. Sloss, John A. and Elizabeth H. Sutro Professor of Law, Santa Clara University School of Law) Gina Heathcote, Feminist Dialogues on International Law: Success, Tensions, Futures, Oxford University Press, Oxford 2019, 256 pages, ISBN 9780199685103. (Aoife O'Donoghue, Professor of International Law and Governance, Durham University Law School) Steven Wheatley, The Idea of International Human Rights Law, Oxford University Press, New York 2019, 204 pages, ISBN 978-0-19-874984-4. (Mark A. Chinen, Professor of Law at the Seattle University School of Law and a Fellow of the Fred T. Korematsu Center for Law and Equality) Marco Longobardo, The Use of Force in Occupied Territory, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2018, xxix+320 pages, ISBN 9781108473415. (Michael Bothe, Professor Emeritus of Public Law, Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt am Main) Shavana Musa, Victim Reparation Under the Ius Post Bellum: An Historical and Normative Perspective, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2019, 290 pages, ISBN 9781108471732. (Dr. Jens Iverson, Assistant Professor of Public International Law, Leiden Law School, Leiden University) Russell Buchan, Cyber Espionage and International Law, Hart, Oxford 2019, xxviii+219 pages, ISBN 9781782257363. (François Delerue, Research Fellow in Cyberdefense and International Law, Institut de Recherche stratégique de l'Ecole militaire (IRSEM) and Lecturer, Sciences Po Paris) Alejandro Rodiles, Coalitions of the Willing and International Law: The Interplay Between Formality and Informality, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2018, xx+287 pages, ISBN 978-1-10-849365-9. (Matteo Tondini, Legal Advisor and Researcher Member, Italian Group, International Society for Military Law and the Law of War) Cindy Wittke, Law in the Twilight: International Courts and Tribunals, the Security Council and the Internationalisation of Peace Agreements Between State and Non-State Parties, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 2018, 244 pages, ISBN 9781108335676. (Kimana Zulueta-Fülscher, Head of International IDEA's MyConstitution Programme (Yangon, Myanmar)) P. Chandrasekhara Rao and Philippe Gautier, The International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea: Law, Practice and Procedure, Edward Elgar Publishing, Cheltenham 2018, xxvii+363 pages, ISBN 9781786433008. (Valentin J. Schatz, Research Associate, Chair of International Law of the Sea and International Environmental Law, Public International Law and Public Law (Alexander Proelß), Faculty of Law, University of Hamburg) Lloyd Freeburn, Regulating International Sport. Power, Authority and Legitimacy, Brill/Nijhoff, Leiden 2018, 277 pages, ISBN 978-90-04-37978-7. (Christian J. Tams, Chair of International Law, University of Glasgow; Director, Glasgow Centre of International Law &amp; Security)

ObjectiveTo prove the role of partnerships in Disease Surveillance and Response to emerging public health threats in Kerala state, India.IntroductionKerala is a small state in India, having a population of only 34 million (2011 census) but with excellent health indices, human development index and a worthy model of decentralised governance. Integrated Disease Surveillance Program, a centrally supported surveillance program, in place since 2006 and have carved its own niche among the best performing states,in India. Laboratory confirmation of health related events/disease outbreaks is the key to successful and timely containement of such events, which need support from a wide range of Laboratories-from Primary care centers to advanced research laboratories, including private sector. In a resource constraint setting, an effective model of Partnership have helped this state in achieving great heights. Networking with laboratores of Medical Education Department, and Premier Private sector laboratories, Financing equipments and reagents through decentralised governance program, resource sharing with other National programs, Laboraotries of Food Safety, Fisheries and Water authorities have resulted in laboratory confirmation of public health events to the extend of 75-80% in the past 5 years in the state. Etiological confirmation accelerated response measures, often multidsciplinary, involving Human health sector, Animal Health, Agriculture, wild life and even environemntal sectors, all relevant in One Health context.MethodsDuring 2013-14,state launhced a laboratory networking initiative, with aid and guidance from central government,through a mutually beneficial MoU, linking all the 5 Govt Medical College Microbiology Laboratories with the State Health surveillance system. A State Laboratory Cordinator was designated, and these teaching Hospital were requested to assist the state in testing of outbreak samples from adjoining 3-4 districts.Additional funds were provided for these institutions after a team assessment and periodic monitoring.All the 14 disricts of state gained remarkably in laboratory confirmation of various outbreaks.During 2013, when one of the remote districts in the state detected an unusual fever cluster among the indigenous community, investigation by a multidisciplinary team, supported by a reputed private sector virology laboratory of an academic institution of the neighbouring state, confirmed Lyme disease, first time in the state. In 2014 and 2015, the same laboratory confirmed another hitherto unreported disease, Kyasanur Forest disease, in the same district. These two events lead to the establishing of a Private Public Partnership model in disease surveillance in the state. This model shared physical infrastructure in the govt hospital premises with technological support from the virology center. Since then, this laboratory has contributed to >90% of laboratory confirmation of health events in the district. Eventually, the same laboratory became the pioneer in confirmation of the first Nipah Virus outbreak in the state in 2018. This laboratory is also the Reference laboratory for H1N1 and Avian Influenza for whole of South India. This surveillance network, has since then, established additional units in other parts of the state through special government order.From the response perspective also, the state adopted similar partnership approach. The strategy for control of Kyasanur Forest Disease(KFD) is a classical example. Monkey deaths were autopsied by Wildlife experts, domestic animals were treated for tick infestation by the veterinary officers, research work done at Veterinary university, human cases treated and vulnerable population vaccinated by Human Health officers, Tribal and Revenue department addressed the welfare aspects of the affected indigenous communities, and the district collector cordinated all related activities. It was a pathbreaking experience, and since 2015, till date, no new case is reported from the district, unlike hotspots in other parts of India.In 2014, the state gained from Fisheries department laboratory, by confirmation of a fish toxin from an event of food borne infection outbreak. In the same year, Veterinary Univerisity laboratory isolated Vibrio Cholera from water samples from a Cholera outbreak.In 2018, the state surveillance unit, engaged with Veterinary University of the state to undertake MAT testing of Human Leptospirosis cases for facilitating the identification of serovars, another landmark effort, approved by Govt of India. The state surveillance system also receives tremendous support from laboratories of research centers like Rajeev Gandhi center for Biotechnology and Vector Control Research Center of ICMR (Indian council of Medical Research center). The state is now, preparing a draft action plan for constituing a One Health Governance Secretariate in Kerala, to bring together all the stakeholders in disease surveillance, for optimizing their contribution.ResultsState Health surveillance system detected 135,130,140,130,disease outbreaks during the years 2014,15,16,17,and 93, till date in 2018. The laboratory confirmation of 65%,75%,80%,82.5% and 65.5% in respective years facilitated prompt response by the state. This was made possible with an extensive laboratory collaboration with partners ranging from Institutional labs of state government as well as decentralised local self governments,(12.3%) Regional Public Health labs(13.8%), Referral Network Labs of Govt Medical College Hospitals (16.2%), Manipal Center for Viral Research Lab(11.5%) Kerala Water Authority Labs (6.2%), Food Security and Safety department (2.3%) and a small contribution by Private Laboratories (1.5%) during 2017. In 2018, 324 human samples were tested and 16 samples confirmed for Nipah virus disease,from MCVR Manipal. The same laboratory confirmed Lyme disease (2013) and Kyasanur Forest Disease (2014 and 2015) from human sampels. 3 environemntal samples were tested positive for Legionnaires bacteria from cooling system of 2 Tourist Hotels, following notification of Legionnaires Pneumonia among 2 foreign tourists.(2016 and 17). Fish toxin "Ciguaterin" was confrimed from an incident of food borne outbreak by a laboratory attached to Fisheries department ( 2015) - a unique example of One Health application in disease surveillance and outbreak response. Laboratories attached to Kerala Water Authority supports testing of water sampels during water borne infections and Food Safety department facilitates analysis of food items during food borne infections. 7 water samples tested positive for Vibrio Cholerae during a Cholera outbreak, done through Reserch wing of Veterinary Univerisity Micobiology Lab in 2016. An instance of Primary Amoebic Meningoencephalitis was confirmed through a premier private tertiary center laboraotry.Leptospira serovars are being identified through a collaborative project with a Veterinary University(2018).ConclusionsKerala state in India has shown many successful models in development sector. Partnership in Laboratory surveillance is the most recent one in the segment. Besides interdepartmental collaboration, a unique model of Private Public Partnership is also tried by this state, resulting in historic achievements like high eteological confirmation of outbreks including the mos recent and first ever Nipah virus disease,ample evidence for state's commitment to IHR compliance as well.This model, I feel is replicable in similar situations in resource poor countries across the globe.

Introduction Most developed countries, including Australia, have a strong focus on national, state and local strategies for emergency management and response in the face of disasters and crises. This framework can include coping with catastrophic dislocation, service disruption, injury or loss of life in the face of natural disasters such as major fires, floods, earthquakes or other large-impact natural events, as well as dealing with similar catastrophes resulting from human actions such as bombs, biological agents, cyber-attacks targeting essential services such as communications networks, or other crises affecting large populations. Emergency management frameworks for crisis and disaster response are distinguished by their focus on the domestic context for such events; that is, how to manage and assist the ways in which civilian populations, who are for the most part inexperienced and untrained in dealing with crises and disasters, are able to respond and behave in such situations so as to minimise the impacts of a catastrophic event. Even in countries like Australia that demonstrate a strong public commitment to cultural pluralism and social cohesion, ethno-cultural diversity can be seen as a risk or threat to national security and values at times of political, natural, economic and/or social tensions and crises. Australian government policymakers have recently focused, with increasing intensity, on “community resilience” as a key element in countering extremism and enhancing emergency preparedness and response. In some sense, this is the result of a tacit acknowledgement by government agencies that there are limits to what they can do for domestic communities should such a catastrophic event occur, and accordingly, the focus in recent times has shifted to how governments can best help people to help themselves in such situations, a key element of the contemporary “resilience” approach. Yet despite the robustly multicultural nature of Australian society, explicit engagement with Australia’s cultural diversity flickers only fleetingly on this agenda, which continues to pursue approaches to community resilience in the absence of understandings about how these terms and formations may themselves need to be diversified to maximise engagement by all citizens in a multicultural polity. There have been some recent efforts in Australia to move in this direction, for example the Australian Emergency Management Institute (AEMI)’s recent suite of projects with culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) communities (2006-2010) and the current Australia-New Zealand Counter-Terrorism Committee-supported project on “Harnessing Resilience Capital in Culturally Diverse Communities to Counter Violent Extremism” (Grossman and Tahiri), which I discuss in a longer forthcoming version of this essay (Grossman). Yet the understanding of ethno-cultural identity and difference that underlies much policy thinking on resilience remains problematic for the way in which it invests in a view of the cultural dimensions of community resilience as relic rather than resource – valorising the preservation of and respect for cultural norms and traditions, but silent on what different ethno-cultural communities might contribute toward expanded definitions of both “community” and “resilience” by virtue of the transformative potential and existing cultural capital they bring with them into new national and also translocal settings. For example, a primary conclusion of the joint program between AEMI and the Australian Multicultural Commission is that CALD communities are largely “vulnerable” in the context of disasters and emergency management and need to be better integrated into majority-culture models of theorising and embedding community resilience. This focus on stronger national integration and the “vulnerability” of culturally diverse ethno-cultural communities in the Australian context echoes the work of scholars beyond Australia such as McGhee, Mouritsen (Reflections, Citizenship) and Joppke. They argue that the “civic turn” in debates around resurgent contemporary nationalism and multicultural immigration policies privileges civic integration over genuine two-way multiculturalism. This approach sidesteps the transculturational (Ortiz; Welsch; Mignolo; Bennesaieh; Robins; Stein) aspects of contemporary social identities and exchange by paying lip-service to cultural diversity while affirming a neo-liberal construct of civic values and principles as a universalising goal of Western democratic states within a global market economy. It also suggests a superficial tribute to cultural diversity that does not embed diversity comprehensively at the levels of either conceptualising or resourcing different elements of Australian transcultural communities within the generalised framework of “community resilience.” And by emphasising cultural difference as vulnerability rather than as resource or asset, it fails to acknowledge the varieties of resilience capital that many culturally diverse individuals and communities may bring with them when they resettle in new environments, by ignoring the question of what “resilience” actually means to those from culturally diverse communities. In so doing, it also avoids the critical task of incorporating intercultural definitional diversity around the concepts of both “community” and “resilience” used to promote social cohesion and the capacity to recover from disasters and crises. How we might do differently in thinking about the broader challenges for multiculturalism itself as a resilient transnational concept and practice? The Concept of Resilience The meanings of resilience vary by disciplinary perspective. While there is no universally accepted definition of the concept, it is widely acknowledged that resilience refers to the capacity of an individual to do well in spite of exposure to acute trauma or sustained adversity (Liebenberg 219). Originating in the Latin word resilio, meaning ‘to jump back’, there is general consensus that resilience pertains to an individual’s, community’s or system’s ability to adapt to and ‘bounce back’ from a disruptive event (Mohaupt 63, Longstaff et al. 3). Over the past decade there has been a dramatic rise in interest in the clinical, community and family sciences concerning resilience to a broad range of adversities (Weine 62). While debate continues over which discipline can be credited with first employing resilience as a concept, Mohaupt argues that most of the literature on resilience cites social psychology and psychiatry as the origin for the concept beginning in the mid-20th century. The pioneer researchers of what became known as resilience research studied the impact on children living in dysfunctional families. For example, the findings of work by Garmezy, Werner and Smith and Rutter showed that about one third of children in these studies were coping very well despite considerable adversities and traumas. In asking what it was that prevented the children in their research from being negatively influenced by their home environments, such research provided the basis for future research on resilience. Such work was also ground-breaking for identifying the so-called ‘protective factors’ or resources that individuals can operationalise when dealing with adversity. In essence, protective factors are those conditions in the individual that protect them from the risk of dysfunction and enable recovery from trauma. They mitigate the effects of stressors or risk factors, that is, those conditions that predispose one to harm (Hajek 15). Protective factors include the inborn traits or qualities within an individual, those defining an individual’s environment, and also the interaction between the two. Together, these factors give people the strength, skills and motivation to cope in difficult situations and re-establish (a version of) ‘normal’ life (Gunnestad). Identifying protective factors is important in terms of understanding the particular resources a given sociocultural group has at its disposal, but it is also vital to consider the interconnections between various protective mechanisms, how they might influence each other, and to what degree. An individual, for instance, might display resilience or adaptive functioning in a particular domain (e.g. emotional functioning) but experience significant deficits in another (e.g. academic achievement) (Hunter 2). It is also essential to scrutinise how the interaction between protective factors and risk factors creates patterns of resilience. Finally, a comprehensive understanding of the interrelated nature of protective mechanisms and risk factors is imperative for designing effective interventions and tailored preventive strategies (Weine 65). In short, contemporary thinking about resilience suggests it is neither entirely personal nor strictly social, but an interactive and iterative combination of the two. It is a quality of the environment as much as the individual. For Ungar, resilience is the complex entanglements between “individuals and their social ecologies [that] will determine the degree of positive outcomes experienced” (3). Thinking about resilience as context-dependent is important because research that is too trait-based or actor-centred risks ignoring any structural or institutional forces. A more ecological interpretation of resilience, one that takes into a person’s context and environment into account, is vital in order to avoid blaming the victim for any hardships they face, or relieving state and institutional structures from their responsibilities in addressing social adversity, which can “emphasise self-help in line with a neo-conservative agenda instead of stimulating state responsibility” (Mohaupt 67). Nevertheless, Ungar posits that a coherent definition of resilience has yet to be developed that adequately ‘captures the dual focus of the individual and the individual’s social ecology and how the two must both be accounted for when determining the criteria for judging outcomes and discerning processes associated with resilience’ (7). Recent resilience research has consequently prompted a shift away from vulnerability towards protective processes — a shift that highlights the sustained capabilities of individuals and communities under threat or at risk. Locating ‘Culture’ in the Literature on Resilience However, an understanding of the role of culture has remained elusive or marginalised within this trend; there has been comparatively little sustained investigation into the applicability of resilience constructs to non-western cultures, or how the resources available for survival might differ from those accessible to western populations (Ungar 4). As such, a growing body of researchers is calling for more rigorous inquiry into culturally determined outcomes that might be associated with resilience in non-western or multicultural cultures and contexts, for example where Indigenous and minority immigrant communities live side by side with their ‘mainstream’ neighbours in western settings (Ungar 2). ‘Cultural resilience’ considers the role that cultural background plays in determining the ability of individuals and communities to be resilient in the face of adversity. For Clauss-Ehlers, the term describes the degree to which the strengths of one’s culture promote the development of coping (198). Culturally-focused resilience suggests that people can manage and overcome stress and trauma based not on individual characteristics alone, but also from the support of broader sociocultural factors (culture, cultural values, language, customs, norms) (Clauss-Ehlers 324). The innate cultural strengths of a culture may or may not differ from the strengths of other cultures; the emphasis here is not so much comparatively inter-cultural as intensively intra-cultural (VanBreda 215). A culturally focused resilience model thus involves “a dynamic, interactive process in which the individual negotiates stress through a combination of character traits, cultural background, cultural values, and facilitating factors in the sociocultural environment” (Clauss-Ehlers 199). In understanding ways of ‘coping and hoping, surviving and thriving’, it is thus crucial to consider how culturally and linguistically diverse minorities navigate the cultural understandings and assumptions of both their countries of origin and those of their current domicile (Ungar 12). Gunnestad claims that people who master the rules and norms of their new culture without abandoning their own language, values and social support are more resilient than those who tenaciously maintain their own culture at the expense of adjusting to their new environment. They are also more resilient than those who forego their own culture and assimilate with the host society (14). Accordingly, if the combination of both valuing one’s culture as well as learning about the culture of the new system produces greater resilience and adaptive capacities, serious problems can arise when a majority tries to acculturate a minority to the mainstream by taking away or not recognising important parts of the minority culture. In terms of resilience, if cultural factors are denied or diminished in accounting for and strengthening resilience – in other words, if people are stripped of what they possess by way of resilience built through cultural knowledge, disposition and networks – they do in fact become vulnerable, because ‘they do not automatically gain those cultural strengths that the majority has acquired over generations’ (Gunnestad 14). Mobilising ‘Culture’ in Australian Approaches to Community Resilience The realpolitik of how concepts of resilience and culture are mobilised is highly relevant here. As noted above, when ethnocultural difference is positioned as a risk or a threat to national identity, security and values, this is precisely the moment when vigorously, even aggressively, nationalised definitions of ‘community’ and ‘identity’ that minoritise or disavow cultural diversities come to the fore in public discourse. The Australian evocation of nationalism and national identity, particularly in the way it has framed policy discussion on managing national responses to disasters and threats, has arguably been more muted than some of the European hysteria witnessed recently around cultural diversity and national life. Yet we still struggle with the idea that newcomers to Australia might fall on the surplus rather than the deficit side of the ledger when it comes to identifying and harnessing resilience capital. A brief example of this trend is explored here. From 2006 to 2010, the Australian Emergency Management Institute embarked on an ambitious government-funded four-year program devoted to strengthening community resilience in relation to disasters with specific reference to engaging CALD communities across Australia. The program, Inclusive Emergency Management with CALD Communities, was part of a wider Australian National Action Plan to Build Social Cohesion, Harmony and Security in the wake of the London terrorist bombings in July 2005. Involving CALD community organisations as well as various emergency and disaster management agencies, the program ran various workshops and agency-community partnership pilots, developed national school education resources, and commissioned an evaluation of the program’s effectiveness (Farrow et al.). While my critique here is certainly not aimed at emergency management or disaster response agencies and personnel themselves – dedicated professionals who often achieve remarkable results in emergency and disaster response under extraordinarily difficult circumstances – it is nevertheless important to highlight how the assumptions underlying elements of AEMI’s experience and outcomes reflect the persistent ways in which ethnocultural diversity is rendered as a problem to be surmounted or a liability to be redressed, rather than as an asset to be built upon or a resource to be valued and mobilised. AEMI’s explicit effort to engage with CALD communities in building overall community resilience was important in its tacit acknowledgement that emergency and disaster services were (and often remain) under-resourced and under-prepared in dealing with the complexities of cultural diversity in emergency situations. Despite these good intentions, however, while the program produced some positive outcomes and contributed to crucial relationship building between CALD communities and emergency services within various jurisdictions, it also continued to frame the challenge of working with cultural diversity as a problem of increased vulnerability during disasters for recently arrived and refugee background CALD individuals and communities. This highlights a common feature in community resilience-building initiatives, which is to focus on those who are already ‘robust’ versus those who are ‘vulnerable’ in relation to resilience indicators, and whose needs may require different or additional resources in order to be met. At one level, this is a pragmatic resourcing issue: national agencies understandably want to put their people, energy and dollars where they are most needed in pursuit of a steady-state unified national response at times of crisis. Nor should it be argued that at least some CALD groups, particularly those from new arrival and refugee communities, are not vulnerable in at least some of the ways and for some of the reasons suggested in the program evaluation. However, the consistent focus on CALD communities as ‘vulnerable’ and ‘in need’ is problematic, as well as partial. It casts members of these communities as structurally and inherently less able and less resilient in the context of disasters and emergencies: in some sense, as those who, already ‘victims’ of chronic social deficits such as low English proficiency, social isolation and a mysterious unidentified set of ‘cultural factors’, can become doubly victimised in acute crisis and disaster scenarios. In what is by now a familiar trope, the description of CALD communities as ‘vulnerable’ precludes asking questions about what they do have, what they do know, and what they do or can contribute to how we respond to disaster and emergency events in our communities. A more profound problem in this sphere revolves around working out how best to engage CALD communities and individuals within existing approaches to disaster and emergency preparedness and response. This reflects a fundamental but unavoidable limitation of disaster preparedness models: they are innately spatially and geographically bounded, and consequently understand ‘communities’ in these terms, rather than expanding definitions of ‘community’ to include the dimensions of community-as-social-relations. While some good engagement outcomes were achieved locally around cross-cultural knowledge for emergency services workers, the AEMI program fell short of asking some of the harder questions about how emergency and disaster service scaffolding and resilience-building approaches might themselves need to change or transform, using a cross-cutting model of ‘communities’ as both geographic places and multicultural spaces (Bartowiak-Théron and Crehan) in order to be more effective in national scenarios in which cultural diversity should be taken for granted. Toward Acknowledgement of Resilience Capital Most significantly, the AEMI program did not produce any recognition of the ways in which CALD communities already possess resilience capital, or consider how this might be drawn on in formulating stronger community initiatives around disaster and threats preparedness for the future. Of course, not all individuals within such communities, nor all communities across varying circumstances, will demonstrate resilience, and we need to be careful of either overgeneralising or romanticising the kinds and degrees of ‘resilience capital’ that may exist within them. Nevertheless, at least some have developed ways of withstanding crises and adapting to new conditions of living. This is particularly so in connection with individual and group behaviours around resource sharing, care-giving and social responsibility under adverse circumstances (Grossman and Tahiri) – all of which are directly relevant to emergency and disaster response. While some of these resilient behaviours may have been nurtured or enhanced by particular experiences and environments, they can, as the discussion of recent literature above suggests, also be rooted more deeply in cultural norms, habits and beliefs. Whatever their origins, for culturally diverse societies to achieve genuine resilience in the face of both natural and human-made disasters, it is critical to call on the ‘social memory’ (Folke et al.) of communities faced with responding to emergencies and crises. Such wellsprings of social memory ‘come from the diversity of individuals and institutions that draw on reservoirs of practices, knowledge, values, and worldviews and is crucial for preparing the system for change, building resilience, and for coping with surprise’ (Adger et al.). Consequently, if we accept the challenge of mapping an approach to cultural diversity as resource rather than relic into our thinking around strengthening community resilience, there are significant gains to be made. For a whole range of reasons, no diversity-sensitive model or measure of resilience should invest in static understandings of ethnicities and cultures; all around the world, ethnocultural identities and communities are in a constant and sometimes accelerated state of dynamism, reconfiguration and flux. But to ignore the resilience capital and potential protective factors that ethnocultural diversity can offer to the strengthening of community resilience more broadly is to miss important opportunities that can help suture the existing disconnects between proactive approaches to intercultural connectedness and social inclusion on the one hand, and reactive approaches to threats, national security and disaster response on the other, undermining the effort to advance effectively on either front. This means that dominant social institutions and structures must be willing to contemplate their own transformation as the result of transcultural engagement, rather than merely insisting, as is often the case, that ‘other’ cultures and communities conform to existing hegemonic paradigms of being and of living. In many ways, this is the most critical step of all. A resilience model and strategy that questions its own culturally informed yet taken-for-granted assumptions and premises, goes out into communities to test and refine these, and returns to redesign its approach based on the new knowledge it acquires, would reflect genuine progress toward an effective transculturational approach to community resilience in culturally diverse contexts.References Adger, W. Neil, Terry P. Hughes, Carl Folke, Stephen R. Carpenter and Johan Rockström. “Social-Ecological Resilience to Coastal Disasters.” Science 309.5737 (2005): 1036-1039. ‹http://www.sciencemag.org/content/309/5737/1036.full> Bartowiak-Théron, Isabelle, and Anna Corbo Crehan. “The Changing Nature of Communities: Implications for Police and Community Policing.” Community Policing in Australia: Australian Institute of Criminology (AIC) Reports, Research and Policy Series 111 (2010): 8-15. Benessaieh, Afef. “Multiculturalism, Interculturality, Transculturality.” Ed. A. Benessaieh. Transcultural Americas/Ameriques Transculturelles. Ottawa: U of Ottawa Press/Les Presses de l’Unversite d’Ottawa, 2010. 11-38. Clauss-Ehlers, Caroline S. “Sociocultural Factors, Resilience and Coping: Support for a Culturally Sensitive Measure of Resilience.” Journal of Applied Developmental Psychology 29 (2008): 197-212. Clauss-Ehlers, Caroline S. “Cultural Resilience.” Encyclopedia of Cross-Cultural School Psychology. Ed. C. S. Clauss-Ehlers. New York: Springer, 2010. 324-326. Farrow, David, Anthea Rutter and Rosalind Hurworth. Evaluation of the Inclusive Emergency Management with Culturally and Linguistically Diverse (CALD) Communities Program. Parkville, Vic.: Centre for Program Evaluation, U of Melbourne, July 2009. ‹http://www.ag.gov.au/www/emaweb/rwpattach.nsf/VAP/(9A5D88DBA63D32A661E6369859739356)~Final+Evaluation+Report+-+July+2009.pdf/$file/Final+Evaluation+Report+-+July+2009.pdf>.Folke, Carl, Thomas Hahn, Per Olsson, and Jon Norberg. “Adaptive Governance of Social-Ecological Systems.” Annual Review of Environment and Resources 30 (2005): 441-73. ‹http://arjournals.annualreviews.org/doi/pdf/10.1146/annurev.energy.30.050504.144511>. Garmezy, Norman. “The Study of Competence in Children at Risk for Severe Psychopathology.” The Child in His Family: Children at Psychiatric Risk. Vol. 3. Eds. E. J. Anthony and C. Koupernick. New York: Wiley, 1974. 77-97. Grossman, Michele. “Resilient Multiculturalism? Diversifying Australian Approaches to Community Resilience and Cultural Difference”. Global Perspectives on Multiculturalism in the 21st Century. Eds. B. E. de B’beri and F. Mansouri. London: Routledge, 2014. Grossman, Michele, and Hussein Tahiri. Harnessing Resilience Capital in Culturally Diverse Communities to Counter Violent Extremism. Canberra: Australia-New Zealand Counter-Terrorism Committee, forthcoming 2014. Grossman, Michele. “Cultural Resilience and Strengthening Communities”. Safeguarding Australia Summit, Canberra. 23 Sep. 2010. ‹http://www.safeguardingaustraliasummit.org.au/uploader/resources/Michele_Grossman.pdf>. Gunnestad, Arve. “Resilience in a Cross-Cultural Perspective: How Resilience Is Generated in Different Cultures.” Journal of Intercultural Communication 11 (2006). ‹http://www.immi.se/intercultural/nr11/gunnestad.htm>. Hajek, Lisa J. “Belonging and Resilience: A Phenomenological Study.” Unpublished Master of Science thesis, U of Wisconsin-Stout. Menomonie, Wisconsin, 2003. Hunter, Cathryn. “Is Resilience Still a Useful Concept When Working with Children and Young People?” Child Family Community Australia (CFA) Paper 2. Melbourne: Australian Institute of Family Studies, 2012.Joppke, Christian. "Beyond National Models: Civic Integration Policies for Immigrants in Western Europe". West European Politics 30.1 (2007): 1-22. Liebenberg, Linda, Michael Ungar, and Fons van de Vijver. “Validation of the Child and Youth Resilience Measure-28 (CYRM-28) among Canadian Youth.” Research on Social Work Practice 22.2 (2012): 219-226. Longstaff, Patricia H., Nicholas J. Armstrong, Keli Perrin, Whitney May Parker, and Matthew A. Hidek. “Building Resilient Communities: A Preliminary Framework for Assessment.” Homeland Security Affairs 6.3 (2010): 1-23. ‹http://www.hsaj.org/?fullarticle=6.3.6>. McGhee, Derek. The End of Multiculturalism? Terrorism, Integration and Human Rights. Maidenhead: Open U P, 2008.Mignolo, Walter. Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges, and Border Thinking. Princeton: Princeton U P, 2000. Mohaupt, Sarah. “Review Article: Resilience and Social Exclusion.” Social Policy and Society 8 (2009): 63-71.Mouritsen, Per. "The Culture of Citizenship: A Reflection on Civic Integration in Europe." Ed. R. Zapata-Barrero. Citizenship Policies in the Age of Diversity: Europe at the Crossroad." Barcelona: CIDOB Foundation, 2009: 23-35. Mouritsen, Per. “Political Responses to Cultural Conflict: Reflections on the Ambiguities of the Civic Turn.” Ed. P. Mouritsen and K.E. Jørgensen. Constituting Communities. Political Solutions to Cultural Conflict, London: Palgrave, 2008. 1-30. Ortiz, Fernando. Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco and Sugar. Trans. Harriet de Onís. Intr. Fernando Coronil and Bronislaw Malinowski. Durham, NC: Duke U P, 1995 [1940]. Robins, Kevin. The Challenge of Transcultural Diversities: Final Report on the Transversal Study on Cultural Policy and Cultural Diversity. Culture and Cultural Heritage Department. Strasbourg: Council of European Publishing, 2006. Rutter, Michael. “Protective Factors in Children’s Responses to Stress and Disadvantage.” Annals of the Academy of Medicine, Singapore 8 (1979): 324-38. Stein, Mark. “The Location of Transculture.” Transcultural English Studies: Fictions, Theories, Realities. Eds. F. Schulze-Engler and S. Helff. Cross/Cultures 102/ANSEL Papers 12. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2009. 251-266. Ungar, Michael. “Resilience across Cultures.” British Journal of Social Work 38.2 (2008): 218-235. First published online 2006: 1-18. In-text references refer to the online Advance Access edition ‹http://bjsw.oxfordjournals.org/content/early/2006/10/18/bjsw.bcl343.full.pdf>. VanBreda, Adrian DuPlessis. Resilience Theory: A Literature Review. Erasmuskloof: South African Military Health Service, Military Psychological Institute, Social Work Research & Development, 2001. Weine, Stevan. “Building Resilience to Violent Extremism in Muslim Diaspora Communities in the United States.” Dynamics of Asymmetric Conflict 5.1 (2012): 60-73. Welsch, Wolfgang. “Transculturality: The Puzzling Form of Cultures Today.” Spaces of Culture: City, Nation World. Eds. M. Featherstone and S. Lash. London: Sage, 1999. 194-213. Werner, Emmy E., and Ruth S. Smith. Vulnerable But Invincible: A Longitudinal Study of\ Resilience and Youth. New York: McGraw Hill, 1982. NotesThe concept of ‘resilience capital’ I offer here is in line with one strand of contemporary theorising around resilience – that of resilience as social or socio-ecological capital – but moves beyond the idea of enhancing general social connectedness and community cohesion by emphasising the ways in which culturally diverse communities may already be robustly networked and resourceful within micro-communal settings, with new resources and knowledge both to draw on and to offer other communities or the ‘national community’ at large. In effect, ‘resilience capital’ speaks to the importance of finding ‘the communities within the community’ (Bartowiak-Théron and Crehan 11) and recognising their capacity to contribute to broad-scale resilience and recovery.I am indebted for the discussion of the literature on resilience here to Dr Peta Stephenson, Centre for Cultural Diversity and Wellbeing, Victoria University, who is working on a related project (M. Grossman and H. Tahiri, Harnessing Resilience Capital in Culturally Diverse Communities to Counter Violent Extremism, forthcoming 2014).

IntroductionIt has been nearly half a century since the appearance of Susan Sontag’s landmark essay “The Imagination of Disaster.” The critic wrote of the public fascination with science fiction disaster films, claiming that, on the one hand “from a psychological point of view, the imagination of disaster does not greatly differ from one period in history to another [but, on the other hand] from a political and moral point of view, it does” (224). Even if Sontag is right about aspects of the imagination of disaster not changing, the types, frequency, and magnitude of disasters and their representation in media and popular culture suggest that dynamic conditions prevail on both counts. Disaster has become a significantly urban phenomenon, and highly publicised “worst case” scenarios such as Hurricane Katrina and the Haiti earthquake highlight multiple demographic, cultural, and environmental contexts for visualising cataclysm. The 1950s and 60s science fiction films that Sontag wrote about were filled with marauding aliens and freaks of disabused science. Since then, their visual and dramatic effects have been much enlarged by all kinds of disaster scenarios. Partly imagined, these scenarios have real-life counterparts with threats from terrorism and the war on terror, pan-epidemics, and global climate change. Sontag’s essay—like most, if not all of the films she mentions—overlooked the aftermath; that is, the rebuilding, following extra-terrestrial invasion. It ignored what was likely to happen when the monsters were gone. In contrast, the psychological as well as the practical, social, and economic aspects of reconstruction are integral to disaster discourse today. Writing about how architecture might creatively contribute to post-conflict (including war) and disaster recovery, for instance, Boano elaborates the psychological background for rebuilding, where the material destruction of dwellings and cities “carries a powerful symbolic erosion of security, social wellbeing and place attachment” (38); these are depicted as attributes of selfhood and identity that must be restored. Similarly, Hutchison and Bleiker (385) adopt a view evident in disaster studies, that disaster-struck communities experience “trauma” and require inspired responses that facilitate “healing and reconciliation” as well as material aid such as food, housing, and renewed infrastructure. This paper revisits Sontag’s “The Imagination of Disaster,” fifty years on in view of the changing face of disasters and their representation in film media, including more recent films. The paper then considers disaster recovery and outlines the difficult path that “creative industries” like architecture and urban planning must tread when promising a vision of rebuilding that provides for such intangible outcomes as “healing and reconciliation.” We find that hopes for the seemingly positive psychologically- and socially-recuperative outcomes accompanying the prospect of rebuilding risk a variety of generalisation akin to wish-fulfilment that Sontag finds in disaster films. The Psychology of Science Fiction and Disaster FilmsIn “The Imagination of Disaster,” written at or close to the height of the Cold War, Sontag ruminates on what America’s interest in, if not preoccupation with, science fiction films tell us about ourselves. Their popularity cannot be explained in terms of their entertainment value alone; or if it can, then why audiences found (and still find) such films entertaining is something that itself needs explanation.Depicted in media like photography and film, utopian and dystopian thought have at least one thing in common. Their visions of either perfected or socially alienated worlds are commonly prompted by criticism of the social/political status quo and point to its reform. For Sontag, science fiction films portrayed both people’s worst nightmares concerning disaster and catastrophe (e.g. the end of the world; chaos; enslavement; mutation), as well as their facile victories over the kinds of moral, political, and social dissolution the films imaginatively depicted. Sontag does not explicitly attribute such “happy endings” to wish-fulfilling phantasy and ego-protection. (“Phantasy” is to be distinguished from fantasy. It is a psychoanalytic term for states of mind, often symbolic in form, resulting from infantile wish-fulfilment, desires and instincts.) She does, however, describe the kinds of fears, existential concerns (like annihilation), and crises of meaning they are designed (purpose built) to allay. The fears are a product of the time—the down and dark side of technology (e.g. depersonalisation; ambivalence towards science, scientists, and technology) and changes wrought in our working and personal lives by urbanisation. In short, then as now, science fictions films were both expressions of deep and genuine worries and of the pressing need to inventively set them to rest.When Sontag claims that “the imagination of disaster does not greatly differ” (224) from one period to another, this is because, psychologically speaking, neither the precipitating concerns and fears (death, loss of love, meaninglessness, etc.), nor the ways in which people’s minds endeavour to assuage them, substantively differ. What is different is the way they are depicted. This is unsurprisingly a function of the political, social, and moral situations and milieus that provide the context in which the imagination of disaster unfolds. In contemporary society, the extent to which the media informs and constructs the context in which the imagination operates is unprecedented.Sontag claims that there is little if any criticism of the real social and political conditions that bring about the fears the films depict (223). Instead, fantasy operates so as to displace and project the actual causes away from their all too human origins into outer space and onto aliens. In a sense, this is the core and raison d’etre for such films. By their very nature, science fiction films of the kind Sontag is discussing cannot concern themselves with genuine social or political criticism (even though the films are necessarily expressive of such criticism). Any serious questioning of the moral and political status quo—conditions that are responsible for the disasters befalling people—would hamper the operation of fantasy and its production of temporarily satisfying “solutions” to whatever catastrophe is being depicted.Sontag goes on to discuss various strategies science fiction employs to deal with such fears. For example, through positing a bifurcation between good and evil, and grossly oversimplifying the moral complexity of situations, it allows one to “give outlet to cruel or at least amoral feelings” (215) and to exercise feelings of superiority—moral and otherwise. Ambiguous feelings towards science and technology are repressed. Quick and psychologically satisfying fixes are sought for these by means of phantasy and the imaginative construction of invulnerable heroes. Much of what Sontag says can straightforwardly be applied to catastrophe in general. “Alongside the hopeful fantasy of moral simplification and international unity embodied in the science fiction films lurk the deepest anxieties about contemporary existence” (220). Sontag writes:In the films it is by means of images and sounds […] that one can participate in the fantasy of living through one’s own death and more, the death of cities, the destruction of humanity itself. Science fiction films are not about science. They are about disaster, which is one of the oldest subjects in art. In science fiction films disaster is rarely viewed intensively; it is always extensive. It is a matter of quality and ingenuity […] the science fiction film […] is concerned with the aesthetics of disaster […] and it is in the imagery of destruction that the core of a good science fiction film lies. (212–13)In science fiction films, disaster, though widespread, is viewed intensively as well as extensively. The disturbances constitutive of the disaster are moral and emotional as well as material. People are left without the mental or physical abilities they need to cope. Government is absent or useless. We find ourselves in what amounts to what Naomi Zack (“Philosophy and Disaster”; Ethics for Disaster) describes as a Hobbesian second state of nature—where government is inoperative and chaos (moral, social, political, personal) reigns. Science fiction’s way out is to imaginatively construct scenarios emotionally satisfying enough to temporarily assuage the distress (anomie or chaos) experienced in the film.There is, however, a tremendous difference in the way in which people who face catastrophic occurrences in their lives, as opposed to science fiction, address the problems. For one thing, they must be far closer to complex and quickly changing realities and uncertain truths than are the phantastic, temporarily gratifying, and morally unproblematic resolutions to the catastrophic scenarios that science fiction envisions. Genuine catastrophe, for example war, undermines and dismantles the structures—material structures to be sure but also those of justice, human kindness, and affectivity—that give us the wherewithal to function and that are shown to be inimical to catastrophe as such. Disaster dispenses with civilization while catastrophe displaces it.Special Effects and Changing StorylinesScience fiction and disaster film genres have been shaped by developments in visual simulation technologies providing opportunities for imaginatively mixing fact and fiction. Developments in filmmaking include computer or digital techniques for reproducing on the screen what can otherwise only be imagined as causal sequences of events and spectacles accompanying the wholesale destruction of buildings and cities—even entire planets. Indeed films are routinely promoted on the basis of how cinematographers and technicians have advanced the state of the art. The revival of 3-D movies with films such as Avatar (2009) and Prometheus (2012) is one of a number of developments augmenting the panoramas of 1950s classics featuring “melting tanks, flying bodies, crashing walls, awesome craters and fissures in the earth, plummeting spacecraft [and] colourful deadly rays” (Sontag 213). An emphasis on the scale of destruction and the wholesale obliteration of recognisable sites emblematic of “the city” (mega-structures like the industrial plant in Aliens (1986) and vast space ships like the “Death Star” in two Star Wars sequels) connect older films with new ones and impress the viewer with ever more extraordinary spectacle.Films that have been remade make for useful comparison. On the whole, these reinforce the continuation and predictability of some storylines (for instance, threats of extra-terrestrial invasion), but also the attenuation or disappearance of other narrative elements such as the monsters and anxieties released by mid-twentieth century atomic tests (Broderick). Remakes also highlight emerging themes requiring novel or updated critical frameworks. For example, environmental anxieties, largely absent in 1950s science fiction films (except for narratives involving colliding worlds or alien contacts) have appeared en masse in recent years, providing an updated view on the ethical issues posed by the fall of cities and communities (Taylor, “Urban”).In The Invasion of the Bodysnatchers and its remakes (1956, 1978, 1993), for example, the organic and vegetal nature of the aliens draws the viewer’s attention to an environment formed by combative species, allowing for threats of infestation, growth and decay of the self and individuality—a longstanding theme. In the most recent version, The Invasion (2007), special effects and directorial spirit render the orifice-seeking tendrils of the pod creatures threateningly vigorous and disturbing (Lim). More sanctimonious than physically invasive, the aliens in the 1951 version of The Day the Earth Stood Still are fed up with humankind’s fixation with atomic self-destruction, and threaten global obliteration on the earth (Cox). In the 2008 remake, the suave alien ambassador, Keanu Reeves, targets the environmental negligence of humanity.Science, including science as fiction, enters into disaster narratives in a variety of ways. Some are less obvious but provocative nonetheless; for example, movies dramatising the arrival of aliens such as War of the Worlds (1953 and 2005) or Alien (1979). These more subtle approaches can be personally confronting even without the mutation of victims into vegetables or zombies. Special effects technologies have made it possible to illustrate the course of catastrophic floods and earthquakes in considerable scientific and visual detail and to represent the interaction of natural disasters, the built environment, and people, from the scale of buildings, homes, and domestic lives to entire cities and urban populations.For instance, the blockbuster film The Day After Tomorrow (2004) runs 118 minutes, but has an uncertain fictional time frame of either a few weeks or 72 hours (if the film’s title is to taken literally). The movie shows the world as we know it being mostly destroyed. Tokyo is shattered by hailstones and Los Angeles is twisted by cyclones the likes of which Dorothy would never have seen. New York disappears beneath a mountainous tsunami. All of these events result from global climate change, though whether this is due to human (in) action or other causes is uncertain. Like their predecessors, the new wave of disaster movies like The Day After Tomorrow makes for questionable “art” (Annan). Nevertheless, their reception opens a window onto broader political and moral contexts for present anxieties. Some critics have condemned The Day After Tomorrow for its scientific inaccuracies—questioning the scale or pace of climate change. Others acknowledge errors while commending efforts to raise environmental awareness (Monbiot). Coincident with the film and criticisms in both the scientific and political arena is a new class of environmental heretic—the climate change denier. This is a shadowy character commonly associated with the presidency of George W. Bush and the oil lobby that uses minor inconsistencies of science to claim that climate change does not exist. One thing underlying both twisting facts for the purposes of making science fiction films and ignoring evidence of climate change is an infantile orientation towards the unknown. In this regard, recent films do what science fiction disaster films have always done. While freely mixing truths and half-truths for the purpose of heightened dramatic effect, they fulfil psychological tasks such as orchestrating nightmare scenarios and all too easy victories on the screen. Uncertainty regarding the precise cause, scale, or duration of cataclysmic natural phenomena is mirrored by suspension of disbelief in the viability of some human responses to portrayals of urban disaster. Science fiction, in other words, invites us to accept as possible the flight of Americans and their values to Mexico (The Day After Tomorrow), the voyage into earth’s molten core (The Core 2003), or the disposal of lava in LA’s drainage system (Volcano 1997). Reinforcing Sontag’s point, here too there is a lack of criticism of the real social and political conditions that bring about the fears depicted in the films (223). Moreover, much like news coverage, images in recent natural disaster films (like their predecessors) typically finish at the point where survivors are obliged to pick up the pieces and start all over again—the latter is not regarded as newsworthy. Allowing for developments in science fiction films and the disaster genre, Sontag’s observation remains accurate. The films are primarily concerned “with the aesthetics of destruction, with the peculiar beauties to be found in wreaking havoc, in making a mess” (213) rather than rebuilding. The Imagination of Disaster RecoverySontag’s essay contributes to an important critical perspective on science fiction film. Variations on her “psychological point of view” have been explored. (The two discourses—psychology and cinema—have parallel and in some cases intertwined histories). Moreover, in the intervening years, psychological or psychoanalytical terms and narratives have themselves become even more a part of popular culture. They feature in recent disaster films and disaster recovery discourse in the “real” world.Today, with greater frequency than in the 1950s and 60s films arguably, representations of alien invasion or catastrophic global warming serve to background conflict resolutions of a more quotidian and personal nature. Hence, viewers are led to suspect that Tom Cruise will be more likely to survive the rapacious monsters in the latest The War of the Worlds if he can become less narcissistic and a better father. Similarly, Dennis Quaid’s character will be much better prepared to serve a newly glaciated America for having rescued his son (and marriage) from the watery deep-freezer that New York City becomes in The Day After Tomorrow. In these films the domestic and familial comprise a domain of inter-personal and communal relations from which victims and heroes appear. Currents of thought from the broad literature of disaster studies and Western media also call upon this domain. The imagination of disaster recovery has come to partly resemble a set of problems organised around the needs of traumatised communities. These serve as an object of urban governance, planning, and design conceived in different ways, but largely envisioned as an organic unity that connects urban populations, their pasts, and settings in a meaningful, psychologically significant manner (Furedi; Hutchison and Bleiker; Boano). Terms like “place” or concepts like Boano’s “place-attachment" (38) feature in this discourse to describe this unity and its subjective dimensions. Consider one example. In August 2006, one year after Katrina, the highly respected Journal of Architectural Education dedicated a special issue to New Orleans and its reconstruction. Opening comments by editorialist Barbara Allen include claims presupposing enduring links between the New Orleans community conceived as an organic whole, its architectural heritage imagined as a mnemonic vehicle, and the city’s unique setting. Though largely unsupported (and arguably unsupportable) the following proposition would find agreement across a number of disaster studies and resonates in commonplace reasoning:The culture of New Orleans is unique. It is a mix of ancient heritage with layers and adaptations added by successive generations, resulting in a singularly beautiful cultural mosaic of elements. Hurricane Katrina destroyed buildings—though not in the city’s historic core—and displaced hundreds of thousands of people, but it cannot wipe out the memories and spirit of the citizens. (4) What is intriguing about the claim is an underlying intellectual project that subsumes psychological and sociological domains of reasoning within a distinctive experience of community, place, and memory. In other words, the common belief that memory is an intrinsic part of the human condition of shock and loss gives form to a theory of how urban communities experience disaster and how they might re-build—and justify rebuilding—themselves. This is problematic and invites anachronistic thinking. While communities are believed to be formed partly by memories of a place, “memory” is neither a collective faculty nor is it geographically bounded. Whose memories are included and which ones are not? Are these truly memories of one place or do they also draw on other real or imagined places? Moreover—and this is where additional circumspection is inspired by our reading of Sontag’s essay—does Allen’s editorial contribute to an aestheticised image of place, rather than criticism of the social and political conditions required for reconstruction to proceed with justice, compassionately and affectively? Allowing for civil liberties to enter the picture, Allen adds “it is necessary to enable every citizen to come back to this exceptional city if they so desire” (4). However, given that memories of places and desires for their recovery are not univocal, and often contain competing visions of what was and should be, it is not surprising they should result in competing expectations for reconstruction efforts. This has clearly proven the case for New Orleans (Vederber; Taylor, “Typologies”)ConclusionThe comparison of films invites an extension of Sontag’s analysis of the imagination of disaster to include the psychology, politics, and morality of rebuilding. Can a “psychological point of view” help us to understand not only the motives behind capturing so many scenes of destruction on screen and television, but also something of the creative impulses driving reconstruction? This invites a second question. How do some impulses, particularly those caricatured as the essence of an “enterprise culture” (Heap and Ross) associated with America’s “can-do” or others valorised as positive outcomes of catastrophe in The Upside of Down (Homer-Dixon), highlight or possibly obscure criticism of the conditions which made cities like New Orleans vulnerable in the first place? The broad outline of an answer to the second question begins to appear only when consideration of the ethics of disaster and rebuilding are taken on board. If “the upside” of “the down” wrought by Hurricane Katrina, for example, is rebuilding of any kind, at any price, and for any person, then the equation works (i.e., there is a silver lining for every cloud). If, however, the range of positives is broadened to include issues of social justice, then the figures require more complex arithmetic.ReferencesAllen, Barbara. “New Orleans and Katrina: One Year Later.” Journal of Architectural Education 60.1 (2006): 4.Annan, David. Catastrophe: The End of the Cinema? London: Lorrimer, 1975.Boano, Camillo. “‘Violent Space’: Production and Reproduction of Security and Vulnerabilities.” The Journal of Architecture 16 (2011): 37–55.Broderick, Mick, ed. Hibakusha Cinema: Hiroshima, Nagasaki and the Nuclear Image in Japanese Film. London: Kegan Paul, 1996.Cox, David. “Get This, Aliens: We Just Don’t Care!” The Guardian 15 Dec. 2008 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2008/dec/15/the-day-the-earth-stood-still›. Furedi, Frank. “The Changing Meaning of Disaster.” Area 39.4 (2007): 482–89.Heap, Shaun H., and Angus Ross, eds. Understanding the Enterprise Culture: Themes in the Work of Mary Douglas. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1992. Homer-Dixon, Thomas. The Upside of Down: Catastrophe, Creativity and the Renewal of Civilization. Washington, DC: Island Press, 2006.Hutchison, Emma, and Roland Bleiker. “Emotional Reconciliation: Reconstituting Identity and Community after Trauma.” European Journal of Social Theory 11 (2008): 385–403.Lim, Dennis. “Same Old Aliens, But New Neuroses.” New York Times 12 Aug. 2007: A17.Monbiot, George. “A Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall.” The Guardian 14 May 2004.Sontag, Susan. “The Imagination of Disaster” (1965). Against Interpretation and Other Essays. New York: Dell, 1979. 209–25.Taylor, William M. “Typologies of Katrina: Mnemotechnics in Post-Disaster New Orleans.” Interstices 13 (2012): 71–84.———. “Urban Disasters: Visualising the Fall of Cities and the Forming of Human Values.” Journal of Architecture 11.5 (2006): 603–12.Verderber, Stephen. “Five Years After – Three New Orleans Neighborhoods.” Journal of Architectural Education 64.1 (2010): 107–20.Zack, Naomi. Ethics for Disaster. New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009.———. “Philosophy and Disaster.” Homeland Security Affairs 2, article 5 (April 2006): ‹http://www.hsaj.org/?article=2.1.5›.FilmographyAlien. Dir. Ridley Scott. Brandywine Productions, 1979.Aliens. Dir. James Cameron. Brandywine Productions, 1986.Avatar. Dir. James Cameron. Lightstorm Entertainment et al., 2009.The Core. Dir. Jon Amiel. Paramount Pictures, 2003.The Day after Tomorrow. Dir. Roland Emmerich. 20th Century Fox, 2004.The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Dir. Don Siegel. Allied Artists, 1956; also 1978 and 1993.The Invasion. Dirs. Oliver Hirschbiegel and Jame McTeigue. Village Roadshow et al, 2007.Prometheus. Dir. Ridley Scott. Scott Free and Brandywine Productions, 2012Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Dir. George Lucas. Lucasfilm, 1977.Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. Dir. George Lucas. Lucasfilm, 1983.Volcano. Dir. Mick Jackson. 20th Century Fox, 1997.War of the Worlds. Dir. George Pal. Paramount, 1953; also Steven Spielberg. Paramount, 2005.Acknowledgments The authors are grateful to Oenone Rooksby and Joely-Kym Sobott for their assistance and advice when preparing this article. It was also made possible in part by a grant from the Australian Research Council.

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

‘Every space has become ad space’. Steve Hayden, Wired Magazine, May 2003. Marshall McLuhan’s (1964) dictum that media technologies constitute a sensory extension of the body shares a conceptual affinity with Ernst Jünger’s notion of ‘“organic construction” [which] indicates [a] synergy between man and machine’ and Walter Benjamin’s exploration of the mimetic correspondence between the organic and the inorganic, between human and non-human forms (Bolz, 2002: 19). The logo or brand is co-extensive with various media of communication – billboards, TV advertisements, fashion labels, book spines, mobile phones, etc. Often the logo is interchangeable with the product itself or a way or life. Since all social relations are mediated, whether by communications technologies or architectonic forms ranging from corporate buildings to sporting grounds to family living rooms, it follows that there can be no outside for sociality. The social is and always has been in a mutually determining relationship with mediating forms. It is in this sense that there is no outside. Such an idea has become a refrain amongst various contemporary media theorists. Here’s a sample: There is no outside position anymore, nor is this perceived as something desirable. (Lovink, 2002a: 4) Both “us” and “them” (whoever we are, whoever they are) are all always situated in this same virtual geography. There’s no outside …. There is nothing outside the vector. (Wark, 2002: 316) There is no more outside. The critique of information is in the information itself. (Lash, 2002: 220) In declaring a universality for media culture and information flows, all of the above statements acknowledge the political and conceptual failure of assuming a critical position outside socio-technically constituted relations. Similarly, they recognise the problems inherent in the “ideology critique” of the Frankfurt School who, in their distinction between “truth” and “false-consciousness”, claimed a sort of absolute knowledge for the critic that transcended the field of ideology as it is produced by the culture industry. Althusser’s more complex conception of ideology, material practices and subject formation nevertheless also fell prey to the pretence of historical materialism as an autonomous “science” that is able to determine the totality, albeit fragmented, of lived social relations. One of the key failings of ideology critique, then, is its incapacity to account for the ways in which the critic, theorist or intellectual is implicated in the operations of ideology. That is, such approaches displace the reflexivity and power relationships between epistemology, ontology and their constitution as material practices within socio-political institutions and historical constellations, which in turn are the settings for the formation of ideology. Scott Lash abandons the term ideology altogether due to its conceptual legacies within German dialectics and French post-structuralist aporetics, both of which ‘are based in a fundamental dualism, a fundamental binary, of the two types of reason. One speaks of grounding and reconciliation, the other of unbridgeability …. Both presume a sphere of transcendence’ (Lash, 2002: 8). Such assertions can be made at a general level concerning these diverse and often conflicting approaches when they are reduced to categories for the purpose of a polemic. However, the work of “post-structuralists” such as Foucault, Deleuze and Guattari and the work of German systems theorist Niklas Luhmann is clearly amenable to the task of critique within information societies (see Rossiter, 2003). Indeed, Lash draws on such theorists in assembling his critical dispositif for the information age. More concretely, Lash (2002: 9) advances his case for a new mode of critique by noting the socio-technical and historical shift from ‘constitutive dualisms of the era of the national manufacturing society’ to global information cultures, whose constitutive form is immanent to informational networks and flows. Such a shift, according to Lash, needs to be met with a corresponding mode of critique: Ideologycritique [ideologiekritik] had to be somehow outside of ideology. With the disappearance of a constitutive outside, informationcritique must be inside of information. There is no outside any more. (2002: 10) Lash goes on to note, quite rightly, that ‘Informationcritique itself is branded, another object of intellectual property, machinically mediated’ (2002: 10). It is the political and conceptual tensions between information critique and its regulation via intellectual property regimes which condition critique as yet another brand or logo that I wish to explore in the rest of this essay. Further, I will question the supposed erasure of a “constitutive outside” to the field of socio-technical relations within network societies and informational economies. Lash is far too totalising in supposing a break between industrial modes of production and informational flows. Moreover, the assertion that there is no more outside to information too readily and simplistically assumes informational relations as universal and horizontally organised, and hence overlooks the significant structural, cultural and economic obstacles to participation within media vectors. That is, there certainly is an outside to information! Indeed, there are a plurality of outsides. These outsides are intertwined with the flows of capital and the imperial biopower of Empire, as Hardt and Negri (2000) have argued. As difficult as it may be to ascertain the boundaries of life in all its complexity, borders, however defined, nonetheless exist. Just ask the so-called “illegal immigrant”! This essay identifies three key modalities comprising a constitutive outside: material (uneven geographies of labour-power and the digital divide), symbolic (cultural capital), and strategic (figures of critique). My point of reference in developing this inquiry will pivot around an analysis of the importation in Australia of the British “Creative Industries” project and the problematic foundation such a project presents to the branding and commercialisation of intellectual labour. The creative industries movement – or Queensland Ideology, as I’ve discussed elsewhere with Danny Butt (2002) – holds further implications for the political and economic position of the university vis-à-vis the arts and humanities. Creative industries constructs itself as inside the culture of informationalism and its concomitant economies by the very fact that it is an exercise in branding. Such branding is evidenced in the discourses, rhetoric and policies of creative industries as adopted by university faculties, government departments and the cultural industries and service sectors seeking to reposition themselves in an institutional environment that is adjusting to ongoing structural reforms attributed to the demands by the “New Economy” for increased labour flexibility and specialisation, institutional and economic deregulation, product customisation and capital accumulation. Within the creative industries the content produced by labour-power is branded as copyrights and trademarks within the system of Intellectual Property Regimes (IPRs). However, as I will go on to show, a constitutive outside figures in material, symbolic and strategic ways that condition the possibility of creative industries. The creative industries project, as envisioned by the Blair government’s Department of Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) responsible for the Creative Industry Task Force Mapping Documents of 1998 and 2001, is interested in enhancing the “creative” potential of cultural labour in order to extract a commercial value from cultural objects and services. Just as there is no outside for informationcritique, for proponents of the creative industries there is no culture that is worth its name if it is outside a market economy. That is, the commercialisation of “creativity” – or indeed commerce as a creative undertaking – acts as a legitimising function and hence plays a delimiting role for “culture” and, by association, sociality. And let us not forget, the institutional life of career academics is also at stake in this legitimating process. The DCMS cast its net wide when defining creative sectors and deploys a lexicon that is as vague and unquantifiable as the next mission statement by government and corporate bodies enmeshed within a neo-liberal paradigm. At least one of the key proponents of the creative industries in Australia is ready to acknowledge this (see Cunningham, 2003). The list of sectors identified as holding creative capacities in the CITF Mapping Document include: film, music, television and radio, publishing, software, interactive leisure software, design, designer fashion, architecture, performing arts, crafts, arts and antique markets, architecture and advertising. The Mapping Document seeks to demonstrate how these sectors consist of ‘... activities which have their origin in individual creativity, skill and talent and which have the potential for wealth and job creation through generation and exploitation of intellectual property’ (CITF: 1998/2001). The CITF’s identification of intellectual property as central to the creation of jobs and wealth firmly places the creative industries within informational and knowledge economies. Unlike material property, intellectual property such as artistic creations (films, music, books) and innovative technical processes (software, biotechnologies) are forms of knowledge that do not diminish when they are distributed. This is especially the case when information has been encoded in a digital form and distributed through technologies such as the internet. In such instances, information is often attributed an “immaterial” and nonrivalrous quality, although this can be highly misleading for both the conceptualisation of information and the politics of knowledge production. Intellectual property, as distinct from material property, operates as a scaling device in which the unit cost of labour is offset by the potential for substantial profit margins realised by distribution techniques availed by new information and communication technologies (ICTs) and their capacity to infinitely reproduce the digital commodity object as a property relation. Within the logic of intellectual property regimes, the use of content is based on the capacity of individuals and institutions to pay. The syndication of media content ensures that market saturation is optimal and competition is kept to a minimum. However, such a legal architecture and hegemonic media industry has run into conflict with other net cultures such as open source movements and peer-to-peer networks (Lovink, 2002b; Meikle, 2002), which is to say nothing of the digital piracy of software and digitally encoded cinematic forms. To this end, IPRs are an unstable architecture for extracting profit. The operation of Intellectual Property Regimes constitutes an outside within creative industries by alienating labour from its mode of information or form of expression. Lash is apposite on this point: ‘Intellectual property carries with it the right to exclude’ (Lash, 2002: 24). This principle of exclusion applies not only to those outside the informational economy and culture of networks as result of geographic, economic, infrastructural, and cultural constraints. The very practitioners within the creative industries are excluded from control over their creations. It is in this sense that a legal and material outside is established within an informational society. At the same time, this internal outside – to put it rather clumsily – operates in a constitutive manner in as much as the creative industries, by definition, depend upon the capacity to exploit the IP produced by its primary source of labour. For all the emphasis the Mapping Document places on exploiting intellectual property, it’s really quite remarkable how absent any elaboration or considered development of IP is from creative industries rhetoric. It’s even more astonishing that media and cultural studies academics have given at best passing attention to the issues of IPRs. Terry Flew (2002: 154-159) is one of the rare exceptions, though even here there is no attempt to identify the implications IPRs hold for those working in the creative industries sectors. Perhaps such oversights by academics associated with the creative industries can be accounted for by the fact that their own jobs rest within the modern, industrial institution of the university which continues to offer the security of a salary award system and continuing if not tenured employment despite the onslaught of neo-liberal reforms since the 1980s. Such an industrial system of traditional and organised labour, however, does not define the labour conditions for those working in the so-called creative industries. Within those sectors engaged more intensively in commercialising culture, labour practices closely resemble work characterised by the dotcom boom, which saw young people working excessively long hours without any of the sort of employment security and protection vis-à-vis salary, health benefits and pension schemes peculiar to traditional and organised labour (see McRobbie, 2002; Ross, 2003). During the dotcom mania of the mid to late 90s, stock options were frequently offered to people as an incentive for offsetting the often minimum or even deferred payment of wages (see Frank, 2000). It is understandable that the creative industries project holds an appeal for managerial intellectuals operating in arts and humanities disciplines in Australia, most particularly at Queensland University of Technology (QUT), which claims to have established the ‘world’s first’ Creative Industries faculty (http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/). The creative industries provide a validating discourse for those suffering anxiety disorders over what Ruth Barcan (2003) has called the ‘usefulness’ of ‘idle’ intellectual pastimes. As a project that endeavours to articulate graduate skills with labour markets, the creative industries is a natural extension of the neo-liberal agenda within education as advocated by successive governments in Australia since the Dawkins reforms in the mid 1980s (see Marginson and Considine, 2000). Certainly there’s a constructive dimension to this: graduates, after all, need jobs and universities should display an awareness of market conditions; they also have a responsibility to do so. And on this count, I find it remarkable that so many university departments in my own field of communications and media studies are so bold and, let’s face it, stupid, as to make unwavering assertions about market demands and student needs on the basis of doing little more than sniffing the wind! Time for a bit of a reality check, I’d say. And this means becoming a little more serious about allocating funds and resources towards market research and analysis based on the combination of needs between students, staff, disciplinary values, university expectations, and the political economy of markets. However, the extent to which there should be a wholesale shift of the arts and humanities into a creative industries model is open to debate. The arts and humanities, after all, are a set of disciplinary practices and values that operate as a constitutive outside for creative industries. Indeed, in their creative industries manifesto, Stuart Cunningham and John Hartley (2002) loath the arts and humanities in such confused, paradoxical and hypocritical ways in order to establish the arts and humanities as a cultural and ideological outside. To this end, to subsume the arts and humanities into the creative industries, if not eradicate them altogether, is to spell the end of creative industries as it’s currently conceived at the institutional level within academe. Too much specialisation in one post-industrial sector, broad as it may be, ensures a situation of labour reserves that exceed market needs. One only needs to consider all those now unemployed web-designers that graduated from multi-media programs in the mid to late 90s. Further, it does not augur well for the inevitable shift from or collapse of a creative industries economy. Where is the standing reserve of labour shaped by university education and training in a post-creative industries economy? Diehard neo-liberals and true-believers in the capacity for perpetual institutional flexibility would say that this isn’t a problem. The university will just “organically” adapt to prevailing market conditions and shape their curriculum and staff composition accordingly. Perhaps. Arguably if the university is to maintain a modality of time that is distinct from the just-in-time mode of production characteristic of informational economies – and indeed, such a difference is a quality that defines the market value of the educational commodity – then limits have to be established between institutions of education and the corporate organisation or creative industry entity. The creative industries project is a reactionary model insofar as it reinforces the status quo of labour relations within a neo-liberal paradigm in which bids for industry contracts are based on a combination of rich technological infrastructures that have often been subsidised by the state (i.e. paid for by the public), high labour skills, a low currency exchange rate and the lowest possible labour costs. In this respect it is no wonder that literature on the creative industries omits discussion of the importance of unions within informational, networked economies. What is the place of unions in a labour force constituted as individualised units? The conditions of possibility for creative industries within Australia are at once its frailties. In many respects, the success of the creative industries sector depends upon the ongoing combination of cheap labour enabled by a low currency exchange rate and the capacity of students to access the skills and training offered by universities. Certainly in relation to matters such as these there is no outside for the creative industries. There’s a great need to explore alternative economic models to the content production one if wealth is to be successfully extracted and distributed from activities in the new media sectors. The suggestion that the creative industries project initiates a strategic response to the conditions of cultural production within network societies and informational economies is highly debateable. The now well documented history of digital piracy in the film and software industries and the difficulties associated with regulating violations to proprietors of IP in the form of copyright and trademarks is enough of a reason to look for alternative models of wealth extraction. And you can be sure this will occur irrespective of the endeavours of the creative industries. To conclude, I am suggesting that those working in the creative industries, be they content producers or educators, need to intervene in IPRs in such a way that: 1) ensures the alienation of their labour is minimised; 2) collectivising “creative” labour in the form of unions or what Wark (2001) has termed the “hacker class”, as distinct from the “vectoralist class”, may be one way of achieving this; and 3) the advocates of creative industries within the higher education sector in particular are made aware of the implications IPRs have for graduates entering the workforce and adjust their rhetoric, curriculum, and policy engagements accordingly. Works Cited Barcan, Ruth. ‘The Idleness of Academics: Reflections on the Usefulness of Cultural Studies’. Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies (forthcoming, 2003). Bolz, Norbert. ‘Rethinking Media Aesthetics’, in Geert Lovink, Uncanny Networks: Dialogues with the Virtual Intelligentsia. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2002, 18-27. Butt, Danny and Rossiter, Ned. ‘Blowing Bubbles: Post-Crash Creative Industries and the Withering of Political Critique in Cultural Studies’. Paper presented at Ute Culture: The Utility of Culture and the Uses of Cultural Studies, Cultural Studies Association of Australia Conference, Melbourne, 5-7 December, 2002. Posted to fibreculture mailing list, 10 December, 2002, http://www.fibreculture.org/archives/index.html Creative Industry Task Force: Mapping Document, DCMS (Department of Culture, Media and Sport), London, 1998/2001. http://www.culture.gov.uk/creative/mapping.html Cunningham, Stuart. ‘The Evolving Creative Industries: From Original Assumptions to Contemporary Interpretations’. Seminar Paper, QUT, Brisbane, 9 May, 2003, http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/research/cirac/documen... ...ts/THE_EVOLVING_CREATIVE_INDUSTRIES.pdf Cunningham, Stuart; Hearn, Gregory; Cox, Stephen; Ninan, Abraham and Keane, Michael. Brisbane’s Creative Industries 2003. Report delivered to Brisbane City Council, Community and Economic Development, Brisbane: CIRAC, 2003. http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/research/cirac/documen... ...ts/bccreportonly.pdf Flew, Terry. New Media: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Frank, Thomas. One Market under God: Extreme Capitalism, Market Populism, and the End of Economic Democracy. New York: Anchor Books, 2000. Hartley, John and Cunningham, Stuart. ‘Creative Industries: from Blue Poles to fat pipes’, in Malcolm Gillies (ed.) The National Humanities and Social Sciences Summit: Position Papers. Canberra: DEST, 2002. Hayden, Steve. ‘Tastes Great, Less Filling: Ad Space – Will Advertisers Learn the Hard Lesson of Over-Development?’. Wired Magazine 11.06 (June, 2003), http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/11.06/ad_spc.html Hardt, Michael and Negri, Antonio. Empire. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000. Lash, Scott. Critique of Information. London: Sage, 2002. Lovink, Geert. Uncanny Networks: Dialogues with the Virtual Intelligentsia. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2002a. Lovink, Geert. Dark Fiber: Tracking Critical Internet Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2002b. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1964. McRobbie, Angela. ‘Clubs to Companies: Notes on the Decline of Political Culture in Speeded up Creative Worlds’, Cultural Studies 16.4 (2002): 516-31. Marginson, Simon and Considine, Mark. The Enterprise University: Power, Governance and Reinvention in Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Meikle, Graham. Future Active: Media Activism and the Internet. Sydney: Pluto Press, 2002. Ross, Andrew. No-Collar: The Humane Workplace and Its Hidden Costs. New York: Basic Books, 2003. Rossiter, Ned. ‘Processual Media Theory’, in Adrian Miles (ed.) Streaming Worlds: 5th International Digital Arts & Culture (DAC) Conference. 19-23 May. Melbourne: RMIT University, 2003, 173-184. http://hypertext.rmit.edu.au/dac/papers/Rossiter.pdf Sassen, Saskia. Losing Control? Sovereignty in an Age of Globalization. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996. Wark, McKenzie. ‘Abstraction’ and ‘Hack’, in Hugh Brown, Geert Lovink, Helen Merrick, Ned Rossiter, David Teh, Michele Willson (eds). Politics of a Digital Present: An Inventory of Australian Net Culture, Criticism and Theory. Melbourne: Fibreculture Publications, 2001, 3-7, 99-102. Wark, McKenzie. ‘The Power of Multiplicity and the Multiplicity of Power’, in Geert Lovink, Uncanny Networks: Dialogues with the Virtual Intelligentsia. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2002, 314-325. Links http://hypertext.rmit.edu.au/dac/papers/Rossiter.pdf http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/ http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/research/cirac/documents/THE_EVOLVING_CREATIVE_INDUSTRIES.pdf http://www.creativeindustries.qut.com/research/cirac/documents/bccreportonly.pdf http://www.culture.gov.uk/creative/mapping.html http://www.fibreculture.org/archives/index.html http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/11.06/ad_spc.html Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Rossiter, Ned. "Creative Industries and the Limits of Critique from " M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/11-creativeindustries.php>. APA Style Rossiter, N. (2003, Jun 19). Creative Industries and the Limits of Critique from . M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/11-creativeindustries.php>

A same-but-different dichotomy has recently been encapsulated within the US Food and Drug Administration’s ill-defined concept of “substantial equivalence” (USFDA, FDA). By invoking this concept the genetically modified organism (GMO) industry has escaped the rigors of safety testing that might otherwise apply. The curious concept of “substantial equivalence” grants a presumption of safety to GMO food. This presumption has yet to be earned, and has been used to constrain labelling of both GMO and non-GMO food. It is an idea that well serves corporatism. It enables the claim of difference to secure patent protection, while upholding the contrary claim of sameness to avoid labelling and safety scrutiny. It offers the best of both worlds for corporate food entrepreneurs, and delivers the worst of both worlds to consumers. The term “substantial equivalence” has established its currency within the GMO discourse. As the opportunities for patenting food technologies expand, the GMO recruitment of this concept will likely be a dress rehearsal for the developing debates on the labelling and testing of other techno-foods – including nano-foods and clone-foods. “Substantial Equivalence” “Are the Seven Commandments the same as they used to be, Benjamin?” asks Clover in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. By way of response, Benjamin “read out to her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran: ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS”. After this reductionist revelation, further novel and curious events at Manor Farm, “did not seem strange” (Orwell, ch. X). Equality is a concept at the very core of mathematics, but beyond the domain of logic, equality becomes a hotly contested notion – and the domain of food is no exception. A novel food has a regulatory advantage if it can claim to be the same as an established food – a food that has proven its worth over centuries, perhaps even millennia – and thus does not trigger new, perhaps costly and onerous, testing, compliance, and even new and burdensome regulations. On the other hand, such a novel food has an intellectual property (IP) advantage only in terms of its difference. And thus there is an entrenched dissonance for newly technologised foods, between claiming sameness, and claiming difference. The same/different dilemma is erased, so some would have it, by appeal to the curious new dualist doctrine of “substantial equivalence” whereby sameness and difference are claimed simultaneously, thereby creating a win/win for corporatism, and a loss/loss for consumerism. This ground has been pioneered, and to some extent conquered, by the GMO industry. The conquest has ramifications for other cryptic food technologies, that is technologies that are invisible to the consumer and that are not evident to the consumer other than via labelling. Cryptic technologies pertaining to food include GMOs, pesticides, hormone treatments, irradiation and, most recently, manufactured nano-particles introduced into the food production and delivery stream. Genetic modification of plants was reported as early as 1984 by Horsch et al. The case of Diamond v. Chakrabarty resulted in a US Supreme Court decision that upheld the prior decision of the US Court of Customs and Patent Appeal that “the fact that micro-organisms are alive is without legal significance for purposes of the patent law”, and ruled that the “respondent’s micro-organism plainly qualifies as patentable subject matter”. This was a majority decision of nine judges, with four judges dissenting (Burger). It was this Chakrabarty judgement that has seriously opened the Pandora’s box of GMOs because patenting rights makes GMOs an attractive corporate proposition by offering potentially unique monopoly rights over food. The rear guard action against GMOs has most often focussed on health repercussions (Smith, Genetic), food security issues, and also the potential for corporate malfeasance to hide behind a cloak of secrecy citing commercial confidentiality (Smith, Seeds). Others have tilted at the foundational plank on which the economics of the GMO industry sits: “I suggest that the main concern is that we do not want a single molecule of anything we eat to contribute to, or be patented and owned by, a reckless, ruthless chemical organisation” (Grist 22). The GMO industry exhibits bipolar behaviour, invoking the concept of “substantial difference” to claim patent rights by way of “novelty”, and then claiming “substantial equivalence” when dealing with other regulatory authorities including food, drug and pesticide agencies; a case of “having their cake and eating it too” (Engdahl 8). This is a clever slight-of-rhetoric, laying claim to the best of both worlds for corporations, and the worst of both worlds for consumers. Corporations achieve patent protection and no concomitant specific regulatory oversight; while consumers pay the cost of patent monopolization, and are not necessarily apprised, by way of labelling or otherwise, that they are purchasing and eating GMOs, and thereby financing the GMO industry. The lemma of “substantial equivalence” does not bear close scrutiny. It is a fuzzy concept that lacks a tight testable definition. It is exactly this fuzziness that allows lots of wriggle room to keep GMOs out of rigorous testing regimes. Millstone et al. argue that “substantial equivalence is a pseudo-scientific concept because it is a commercial and political judgement masquerading as if it is scientific. It is moreover, inherently anti-scientific because it was created primarily to provide an excuse for not requiring biochemical or toxicological tests. It therefore serves to discourage and inhibit informative scientific research” (526). “Substantial equivalence” grants GMOs the benefit of the doubt regarding safety, and thereby leaves unexamined the ramifications for human consumer health, for farm labourer and food-processor health, for the welfare of farm animals fed a diet of GMO grain, and for the well-being of the ecosystem, both in general and in its particularities. “Substantial equivalence” was introduced into the food discourse by an Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) report: “safety evaluation of foods derived by modern biotechnology: concepts and principles”. It is from this document that the ongoing mantra of assumed safety of GMOs derives: “modern biotechnology … does not inherently lead to foods that are less safe … . Therefore evaluation of foods and food components obtained from organisms developed by the application of the newer techniques does not necessitate a fundamental change in established principles, nor does it require a different standard of safety” (OECD, “Safety” 10). This was at the time, and remains, an act of faith, a pro-corporatist and a post-cautionary approach. The OECD motto reveals where their priorities lean: “for a better world economy” (OECD, “Better”). The term “substantial equivalence” was preceded by the 1992 USFDA concept of “substantial similarity” (Levidow, Murphy and Carr) and was adopted from a prior usage by the US Food and Drug Agency (USFDA) where it was used pertaining to medical devices (Miller). Even GMO proponents accept that “Substantial equivalence is not intended to be a scientific formulation; it is a conceptual tool for food producers and government regulators” (Miller 1043). And there’s the rub – there is no scientific definition of “substantial equivalence”, no scientific test of proof of concept, and nor is there likely to be, since this is a ‘spinmeister’ term. And yet this is the cornerstone on which rests the presumption of safety of GMOs. Absence of evidence is taken to be evidence of absence. History suggests that this is a fraught presumption. By way of contrast, the patenting of GMOs depends on the antithesis of assumed ‘sameness’. Patenting rests on proven, scrutinised, challengeable and robust tests of difference and novelty. Lightfoot et al. report that transgenic plants exhibit “unexpected changes [that] challenge the usual assumptions of GMO equivalence and suggest genomic, proteomic and metanomic characterization of transgenics is advisable” (1). GMO Milk and Contested Labelling Pesticide company Monsanto markets the genetically engineered hormone rBST (recombinant Bovine Somatotropin; also known as: rbST; rBGH, recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone; and the brand name Prosilac) to dairy farmers who inject it into their cows to increase milk production. This product is not approved for use in many jurisdictions, including Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Japan. Even Monsanto accepts that rBST leads to mastitis (inflammation and pus in the udder) and other “cow health problems”, however, it maintains that “these problems did not occur at rates that would prohibit the use of Prosilac” (Monsanto). A European Union study identified an extensive list of health concerns of rBST use (European Commission). The US Dairy Export Council however entertain no doubt. In their background document they ask “is milk from cows treated with rBST safe?” and answer “Absolutely” (USDEC). Meanwhile, Monsanto’s website raises and answers the question: “Is the milk from cows treated with rbST any different from milk from untreated cows? No” (Monsanto). Injecting cows with genetically modified hormones to boost their milk production remains a contested practice, banned in many countries. It is the claimed equivalence that has kept consumers of US dairy products in the dark, shielded rBST dairy farmers from having to declare that their milk production is GMO-enhanced, and has inhibited non-GMO producers from declaring their milk as non-GMO, non rBST, or not hormone enhanced. This is a battle that has simmered, and sometimes raged, for a decade in the US. Finally there is a modest victory for consumers: the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture (PDA) requires all labels used on milk products to be approved in advance by the department. The standard issued in October 2007 (PDA, “Standards”) signalled to producers that any milk labels claiming rBST-free status would be rejected. This advice was rescinded in January 2008 with new, specific, department-approved textual constructions allowed, and ensuring that any “no rBST” style claim was paired with a PDA-prescribed disclaimer (PDA, “Revised Standards”). However, parsimonious labelling is prohibited: No labeling may contain references such as ‘No Hormones’, ‘Hormone Free’, ‘Free of Hormones’, ‘No BST’, ‘Free of BST’, ‘BST Free’,’No added BST’, or any statement which indicates, implies or could be construed to mean that no natural bovine somatotropin (BST) or synthetic bovine somatotropin (rBST) are contained in or added to the product. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 3) Difference claims are prohibited: In no instance shall any label state or imply that milk from cows not treated with recombinant bovine somatotropin (rBST, rbST, RBST or rbst) differs in composition from milk or products made with milk from treated cows, or that rBST is not contained in or added to the product. If a product is represented as, or intended to be represented to consumers as, containing or produced from milk from cows not treated with rBST any labeling information must convey only a difference in farming practices or dairy herd management methods. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 3) The PDA-approved labelling text for non-GMO dairy farmers is specified as follows: ‘From cows not treated with rBST. No significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rBST-treated and non-rBST-treated cows’ or a substantial equivalent. Hereinafter, the first sentence shall be referred to as the ‘Claim’, and the second sentence shall be referred to as the ‘Disclaimer’. (PDA, “Revised Standards” 4) It is onto the non-GMO dairy farmer alone, that the costs of compliance fall. These costs include label preparation and approval, proving non-usage of GMOs, and of creating and maintaining an audit trail. In nearby Ohio a similar consumer versus corporatist pantomime is playing out. This time with the Ohio Department of Agriculture (ODA) calling the shots, and again serving the GMO industry. The ODA prescribed text allowed to non-GMO dairy farmers is “from cows not supplemented with rbST” and this is to be conjoined with the mandatory disclaimer “no significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rbST-supplemented and non-rbST supplemented cows” (Curet). These are “emergency rules”: they apply for 90 days, and are proposed as permanent. Once again, the onus is on the non-GMO dairy farmers to document and prove their claims. GMO dairy farmers face no such governmental requirements, including no disclosure requirement, and thus an asymmetric regulatory impost is placed on the non-GMO farmer which opens up new opportunities for administrative demands and technocratic harassment. Levidow et al. argue, somewhat Eurocentrically, that from its 1990s adoption “as the basis for a harmonized science-based approach to risk assessment” (26) the concept of “substantial equivalence” has “been recast in at least three ways” (58). It is true that the GMO debate has evolved differently in the US and Europe, and with other jurisdictions usually adopting intermediate positions, yet the concept persists. Levidow et al. nominate their three recastings as: firstly an “implicit redefinition” by the appending of “extra phrases in official documents”; secondly, “it has been reinterpreted, as risk assessment processes have … required more evidence of safety than before, especially in Europe”; and thirdly, “it has been demoted in the European Union regulatory procedures so that it can no longer be used to justify the claim that a risk assessment is unnecessary” (58). Romeis et al. have proposed a decision tree approach to GMO risks based on cascading tiers of risk assessment. However what remains is that the defects of the concept of “substantial equivalence” persist. Schauzu identified that: such decisions are a matter of “opinion”; that there is “no clear definition of the term ‘substantial’”; that because genetic modification “is aimed at introducing new traits into organisms, the result will always be a different combination of genes and proteins”; and that “there is no general checklist that could be followed by those who are responsible for allowing a product to be placed on the market” (2). Benchmark for Further Food Novelties? The discourse, contestation, and debate about “substantial equivalence” have largely focussed on the introduction of GMOs into food production processes. GM can best be regarded as the test case, and proof of concept, for establishing “substantial equivalence” as a benchmark for evaluating new and forthcoming food technologies. This is of concern, because the concept of “substantial equivalence” is scientific hokum, and yet its persistence, even entrenchment, within regulatory agencies may be a harbinger of forthcoming same-but-different debates for nanotechnology and other future bioengineering. The appeal of “substantial equivalence” has been a brake on the creation of GMO-specific regulations and on rigorous GMO testing. The food nanotechnology industry can be expected to look to the precedent of the GMO debate to head off specific nano-regulations and nano-testing. As cloning becomes economically viable, then this may be another wave of food innovation that muddies the regulatory waters with the confused – and ultimately self-contradictory – concept of “substantial equivalence”. Nanotechnology engineers particles in the size range 1 to 100 nanometres – a nanometre is one billionth of a metre. This is interesting for manufacturers because at this size chemicals behave differently, or as the Australian Office of Nanotechnology expresses it, “new functionalities are obtained” (AON). Globally, government expenditure on nanotechnology research reached US$4.6 billion in 2006 (Roco 3.12). While there are now many patents (ETC Group; Roco), regulation specific to nanoparticles is lacking (Bowman and Hodge; Miller and Senjen). The USFDA advises that nano-manufacturers “must show a reasonable assurance of safety … or substantial equivalence” (FDA). A recent inventory of nano-products already on the market identified 580 products. Of these 11.4% were categorised as “Food and Beverage” (WWICS). This is at a time when public confidence in regulatory bodies is declining (HRA). In an Australian consumer survey on nanotechnology, 65% of respondents indicated they were concerned about “unknown and long term side effects”, and 71% agreed that it is important “to know if products are made with nanotechnology” (MARS 22). Cloned animals are currently more expensive to produce than traditional animal progeny. In the course of 678 pages, the USFDA Animal Cloning: A Draft Risk Assessment has not a single mention of “substantial equivalence”. However the Federation of Animal Science Societies (FASS) in its single page “Statement in Support of USFDA’s Risk Assessment Conclusion That Food from Cloned Animals Is Safe for Human Consumption” states that “FASS endorses the use of this comparative evaluation process as the foundation of establishing substantial equivalence of any food being evaluated. It must be emphasized that it is the food product itself that should be the focus of the evaluation rather than the technology used to generate cloned animals” (FASS 1). Contrary to the FASS derogation of the importance of process in food production, for consumers both the process and provenance of production is an important and integral aspect of a food product’s value and identity. Some consumers will legitimately insist that their Kalamata olives are from Greece, or their balsamic vinegar is from Modena. It was the British public’s growing awareness that their sugar was being produced by slave labour that enabled the boycotting of the product, and ultimately the outlawing of slavery (Hochschild). When consumers boycott Nestle, because of past or present marketing practices, or boycott produce of USA because of, for example, US foreign policy or animal welfare concerns, they are distinguishing the food based on the narrative of the food, the production process and/or production context which are a part of the identity of the food. Consumers attribute value to food based on production process and provenance information (Paull). Products produced by slave labour, by child labour, by political prisoners, by means of torture, theft, immoral, unethical or unsustainable practices are different from their alternatives. The process of production is a part of the identity of a product and consumers are increasingly interested in food narrative. It requires vigilance to ensure that these narratives are delivered with the product to the consumer, and are neither lost nor suppressed. Throughout the GM debate, the organic sector has successfully skirted the “substantial equivalence” debate by excluding GMOs from the certified organic food production process. This GMO-exclusion from the organic food stream is the one reprieve available to consumers worldwide who are keen to avoid GMOs in their diet. The organic industry carries the expectation of providing food produced without artificial pesticides and fertilizers, and by extension, without GMOs. Most recently, the Soil Association, the leading organic certifier in the UK, claims to be the first organisation in the world to exclude manufactured nonoparticles from their products (Soil Association). There has been the call that engineered nanoparticles be excluded from organic standards worldwide, given that there is no mandatory safety testing and no compulsory labelling in place (Paull and Lyons). The twisted rhetoric of oxymorons does not make the ideal foundation for policy. Setting food policy on the shifting sands of “substantial equivalence” seems foolhardy when we consider the potentially profound ramifications of globally mass marketing a dysfunctional food. If there is a 2×2 matrix of terms – “substantial equivalence”, substantial difference, insubstantial equivalence, insubstantial difference – while only one corner of this matrix is engaged for food policy, and while the elements remain matters of opinion rather than being testable by science, or by some other regime, then the public is the dupe, and potentially the victim. “Substantial equivalence” has served the GMO corporates well and the public poorly, and this asymmetry is slated to escalate if nano-food and clone-food are also folded into the “substantial equivalence” paradigm. Only in Orwellian Newspeak is war peace, or is same different. It is time to jettison the pseudo-scientific doctrine of “substantial equivalence”, as a convenient oxymoron, and embrace full disclosure of provenance, process and difference, so that consumers are not collateral in a continuing asymmetric knowledge war. References Australian Office of Nanotechnology (AON). 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