Journal articles on the topic 'King William's Town (South Africa)'

Asthma affects over 330 million people worldwide, with relatively higher disease burdens in Australia, New Zealand, Africa, the Middle East, and South America. The symptoms associated with asthma were reported to be prevalent in children from the period of 1993 to 2013, in many low- and middle-income countries, due to changes in environmental conditions, such as domestic lifestyle, and urban and industrial developments. (1) Background: Several studies have also shown that children are prone to a severe type of asthma, because of their narrow respiratory airways and susceptibility to irritation from environmental agents. This study aimed to assess the association between environmental exposure and asthma among children in King Williams Town, South Africa. (2) Methodology: This study adopted a cross-sectional design method, with an estimated sample size of 262 participants. The eligible study participants were enrolled while attending Grey hospital in King Williams Town, for asthma management. Information will be collected from eligible, stable participants, on asthma treatment, through in-person interviewing in 2021. A semi-structured questionnaire will be administered to the participants. However, as a result of the prevailing COVID-19 pandemic, data may be abstracted from the asthma medical record of the eligible participants. Multivariate regression will be utilized, to describe the correlation between the variables, and the odds ratio will be calculated as well. (3) Discussion and conclusion: The study will objectively identify the local environmental agents that are associated with asthma among children in King Williams Town, in order to reprioritize treatment and preventative strategies. Ethical approval was obtained from the Research Ethics Committee, Faculty of Health Sciences at the University of Johannesburg.

This study investigated and analysed factors responsible for high dropout rate of learners at selected high schools in King William’s Town District, Province of the Eastern Cape. The aim of the study is provide an understanding into inherent problems of early exit of learners in the education sector, which impede the long-term production of professionals with bright future. The main findings of this study revealed that multiple motives, associated with individual characteristics of dropouts and social problems emanating from their family background and influence of the community, prompted learners to dropout. Moreover, learner dropout is inter alia caused by social factors such as lack of resources, the effect of poverty, orphans at school, the distance between the school and the community, drug abuse, pregnancy and HIV and AIDS prevalence in schools, gangsterism and learning barriers. The results of this research suggest that the government should make resources available with regard to scholar transport, school nurses to provide education awareness programmes in relation to early pregnancies, HIV and AIDS infection to improve attendance rate. The Department of Social Development should provide information with regard to benefits available to orphaned learners. The government should ensure sustainable provision of the school nutrition programme to alleviate hunger and poverty. School management should effectively regulate the behaviour of learners to promote discipline in schools so that substance abuse is eliminated.

South Africa’s second democratic elections in June 1999 represented an important step on that country’s path to “normality,” to political pluralism, as opposed to the racial oligarchy of the past. At the same time, the clear victory of the African National Congress (ANC) underscored the dominant-party nature of South African politics. Despite the party’s overwhelming victory, however, it had to contend with a number of challenges, most notably from within its Eastern Cape heartland. This article explores the nature of party competition in the Border Corridor of the province by examining both the 1999 election results and the results of a detailed opinion survey conducted in the area in late 1998. Sandwiched between the former homelands of the Transkei and Ciskei, the corridor is of considerable importance given its geographical location and political history. The district encompasses greater East London, the provincial capital of Bisho, and King Williams Town.

Abstract Electrical resistivity imaging (ERI) surveys and physico-chemical analysis were carried out on a solid waste landfill (SWL) in Eastern Cape, South Africa to assess the impact of leachate pollution on groundwater quality. 2-D resistivity imaging was done across three profile lines (A, C and E) on the landfill. Physico-chemical properties of water samples from the leachate pond and boreholes (BH1 and BH2), located between 80 m to 200 m from the edge of the landfill were analysed. The results revealed groundwater contamination to a depth of about 75 m,well within the aquiferous zone. High electrical conductivity (EC) and total dissolve solid (TDS) values observed in the groundwater samples indicate a downward transfer of leachate into the groundwater. The difference in EC and TDS values for BH2 and BH1 (9892 μS/cm/ 4939 mg/L and 6988 μS/cm/ 3497 mg/L respectively), indicated that concentration of contaminants increased towards the centre of the landfill The direction of flow of the leachate is towards the southwestern part of the landfill. In the absence of a leachate recovery system, the uncontrolled accumulation of leachate over time at the landfill will pose a threat to the groundwater quality, hence the need to improve waste management practices in the study area to mitigate the effects of pollution

List of abstracts and authors:1. Comparative benefits of Atypical antipsychoticsDiana P Morrison2. Evidence-based management of depression in SchizophreniaAndre F Joubert3. Second generation Antipsychotics: An African updateDave Swingler4. The drug management of patients with HIV/Aids in the Mental Health Care setting: A therapeutic challengeDenise White5. New developments in the treatment of Bipolar depressionJospeh R Calabrese6. Dual action antidepressants: Faster onset, more remission, better value?Roger M Pinder7. Antisocial personality disorder: A reviewDonald W Black8. The South African study of stress and health: An overviewDavid R Williams9. Ugliness is in the eye of the beholder: Psychiatric apsects of body image disturbanceDavid Castle10. Over diagnosed or under recognized? Treating ADHDDora Wynchank11. The contagious effects of trauma and their impact on human service organisationsKerry Gibson12. Temporal lobe epilepsy in adolescence - 'Understanding the narrative'Helen Clark13. The effectiveness of treatment programs for Methaqualone (Mandrax) dependenceGreg McCarthy, Nandi Siegfried, Bronwyn Myers14. Community influence on alcohol and marijuanaAlan J Flisher, Robyn Mallett, Gary King, Neo Morojele, Martie Muller, Carl Lombard15. Psychiatric presentations of medical illnessSebastian Akalula16. Imaging of brain function using SpectJames Warwick17. Selected neuropsychological test performances and SSRI usageTheophilus Lazarus18. Comparative effectiveness and safety of antipsychotic treatments for outpatient SchizophreniaFrans Korb, Adel Sadak, Aly Akram, Sunar Birsoz, Abderrahmane Belaid19. Evidence-based mental healthcare - What do you know, think, feel?Nandi Siegfried, George Swingler, Soraya Seedat, Martie Muller, Rachel Churchill, Dan Stein20. Competitions Act - Anti-competitive health care practicesZ Nthakwana21. Unique approach to mental wellness by medical SchemesPetro Kempen22. What happens to my medical aid contribution?Eugene Allers23. Financial issues in a modern private practiceMike Edwards24. Transcranial magnetic stimulation: Uses in brain function research and medical interventionAlan St Clair Gibson25. The Neurochemistry of dreams: Implications for PsychiatryMark Solms26. Tenascin-R expression in the Central Nervvous system of lower vertebratesRuth Jarvis, N-. Hsu, P. Pesheva and D.M. Lang25. Localisation of the Nogo-A receptor in Neronal Lipid raftsEdward Nyatia, D.M. Lang26. Characterising an animal model for early life trauma using time dependent sensitisationJoachim D.K. Uys, Willie M.U. Daniels, Dan J. Stein27. Tolmetin affords protection against Quinoclinic acid induced Neurotoxixity in Rat brainAmichand Dairam, S Daya28. Acetaminophen and aspirin inhibit superoxide anion generation and Lipid Peroxidation, and protect against 1-Methyl-4Phenyl Pyridinim-induced Dopaminergic Neurotoxicity in ratsH. Maharaj, D.S. Maharaj, K. S. Saravanan, K.P. Mohanakumar, S. Daya29. Can exercise provide Neuroprotection in a rat model for Parkinson's disease?M Mabandla, L Kellaway, A St Clair Gibson, M Lambert, V Russell30. Treatment of rapid cycling Bipolar disorderJoseph R. Calabrese31. Depression as a Neurodegenerative Disorder: The need for achieving remissionRoger M Pinder32. Side-effects induced by modern antidepressants- Overview and managementFranco Colin33. The Placebo response in antidepressant clinical trialsRobin Emsley34. Impulse control disorders: An overviewDonald W. Black35. Post traumatic stress disorder: The Wits trauma clinic experienceUgash Subramaney36. Post traumatic stress disorder among recently diagnosed patients with HIV in South AfricaSoraya Seedat, Bo Olley, D J Stein37. Improving outcome in SchizophreniaDiana P Morrison38. Reviewing post Graduate trainingCliff W Allwood39. Ethics in HIV ResearchKeimanthro Moodley40. Improving and maintaining ethical standrads in Psychiatric researchTuviah Zabow=============================================================Posters: Neurosciences section (Presenting author only)1. Blunted Acth response correlates with altered Neurotransmitter function in maternally separatedratsW M U Daniels2. A mechanism for zinc toxicity in Neuroblastoma cellsW M U Daniels3. The effects of Hypericum Perforatum, Quercetin, and Fluoxetine on receptor densities in the Rat BrainL Heiderman4. Trichotillomania and obsessive-compulsive disorder: Clinical and genetic comparisons within a South African populationS M J Hemmings5. Expression of Nogo-A in the amphibian central nervous systemN. J. Hsu6. Biochemical model for inflammation of the brain: The role of iron, transferring and toxiferring in Lipid PeroxidationS J Van Rensburg7. Improvement in Alzheimer's disease patients with antioxidant supplementation over 15 monthsS J Van Rensburg8. The Placebo effect - Is it all in the mind?S J Van Rensburg9. Very low serum iron concentrations in elderly patients with active CarcinomaS J van Rensburg10. Melatonin affords protection against Rotenone-induced NeurotoxicityR John11. Effect of enriched environment on Ca uptake via NMDA receptors into barrel cortex slices of spontaneously HypertensiveratsM Lehohla12. Effects of Methylpenidate in a rat model for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity DisorderG. L. S. Lelaka13. 6-Hydroxymelatonin converts Fe (III) to Fe(II) and reduces iron-induced Lipid PeroxidationD S Maharaj14. Metrofinate Potentiates Quinolinic Acid and Potassium Cyanide induced NeurotoxicityA Ramsunder15. The effect of chronic Intra-Amylgdala CRF injections on rat behaviour and HPA-Axis functionL Richter16. Effect of Glutamate in the Prefrontal Cortex of a rat model for Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity DisorderV Russell17. An investigation into the relationship between Corticosterone and Neuron Cell deathP J Van Vuuren=============================================================41. Blunted Acth response correlates with altered Neurotransmitter function in maternally separated RatsW M U Daniels, C Y Pietersen, M E Carstens, D J Stein42. A mechanism for Zinc Toxicity in NeuroBlastoma CellsW M U Daniels, J Hendricks, R Salie, S J Van Rensburg43. The effects of Hypericum Perforatum, Quercetin and Fluoxetine on receptor densities in the rat brainL Heideman and S Daya44. Trichotillomania and obsessive-compulsive disorder: Clinical and genetic comparisons withn a South African populationS M J Hemmings, C J Kinnear, C Lochner, H Moolman-Smook, D J H Niehaus, V Corfield, D J Stein45. Expression of Nogo-A in the amphibian central nervous systemN. J. Hsu, R Jarvis, D. M. Lang46. Biochemical model for inflammation of the brain: The role of iron, transferring and Toxiferring in Lipid PeroxidationS J Van Rensburg, R T Erasmus, J M van Zyl, D Hon, W M U Daniels, F C V Potocnik, M J Kotze, N J De Villiers, P R Hurly47. Improvement in Alzheimer's Disease patients with antioxidant supplementation over 15 monthsS J van Rensburg, F C V Potocnik, J M Van Zyl, B J Van der Walt, D Hon, A Roos, E Rienhardt, R T Erasmus48. The Placebo effect - Is it all in the mind?S J van Rensburg, R A Emsley, C M Smuts, M Kidd, S Van der Merwe, C C Myburgh, P Oosthuizen, H Bleeker49. Very low serum Iron concentrations in elderly patients with active CarcinomaS J van Rensburg, R Erasmus, D Hon, C Bouwens50. Melatonin affords protection against Rotenone-induced NeurotoxicityR John, S Daya51. Effect of enriched environment on Ca uptake via NMDA Receptors into barrel Cortex slices of spontaneously Hypertensive ratsM Lehohla, V Russell, L Kellaway52. Effects of Methylpenidate in a rat model for Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity DisorderG. L. S. Lelaka, V. A. Russel, L. A. Kellaway53. 6-Hydroxymelatonin converts Fe (III) to Fe (II) and reduces iron-induced Lipid PeroxidationD S Maharaj, S Daya54. Metrofinate Potentiates Quinolinic Acid and Potassium Cyanide induced NeurotoxicityA Ramsunder, S Daya55. The effect of chronic Intra-Amygdala CRF injections on rat behaviour and HPA-Axis functionL Richter, W Daniels, D J Stein56. Effect of Glutamate in the Prefrontal Cortex of a rat model for Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity DisorderV Russell, M Lehohla, L Kellaway57. An investigation into the relationship between Corticosterone and Neuron cell deathP J Van Vuuren, J Hendricks, W M U Daniels=============================================================Posters: Psychiatry Section1. Descriptive study of Tardive Dyskinesia in a South African Xhosa populationS Brink2. Alcohol drinking problems at three urban High Schools in UmtataO Alonso Betancourt3. Childhood and adolescent sexual abuse - Demographic, traumatic and clinical signpostsP D Carey4. Inositol in the treatment of Obsessive Compulsive DisorderP D Carey5. A review of factors associated with Suicidal behaviour in children and adolescents admitted to Tygerberg HospitalT Du Plessis6. Psychological and physical outcomes fo elective abortion; Local Anaesthesia vs Intravenous SedationT Ericksen7. Mental health literacy of Human Resource Practitioners in South AfricaC J Hugo8. The importance of a specialized clinic for the care of patients with first episodes of psychosisN Keyter9. Self-report vs Urinary drug screening in Schizophrenia: A pilot studyL Koen10. The effect of aggression on the use of Psychotropics in Schizophrenia: A naturalistic studyH Lategan11. Factor analysis of obsessive-compulsive spectrum disorders in patients with obssessive-compulsive disorder: Clinical and Genetic correlatesC Lochner12. Experiences in obsessive-compulsive Disorder and Trichotillomania: Role of childhood traumaC Lochner13. Delusional systems in Xhosa Schizophrenia SibpairsJ E Muller14. OCD Heteogeneity reflected by lack of Genealogically determined founder effectD J H Niehaus15. The efficacy and tolerbaility of low-dose vs standard dose Haloperidol in first episode Psychosis. A randomised, double-blind studyP P Oosthuizen16. Treatment with low-dose Haloperidol does not protect against Tardive DyskinesiaP P Oosthuizen17. Do healthcare funders discriminate against members on the grounds of mental illness?O Scholtz18. Treatment strategies in patients with Clozaopine-resistant Schizophrenia at Stikland Hospital: A critical evaluation of one optionA Schulte19. Early coadministration of Clonazepam with Paroxetine for generalized social anxiety disorderS Seedat20. Trauma exposure and post-traumatic stress symptoms in adolescents: A schools' survey in Cape Town (South Africa) and Nairobi (Kenya)S Seedat21. The QTC effects of Thioridazine when used as a second line Anti-psychotic ( at Stikland Hospital)C Seller22. Brain imaging and substance related disordersD J Stein23. Gender differences in trauma exposure & post traumatic stress disorder in a clinic sampleS Suliman24. Assessing the prevalence of anxiety and depressive symptoms among clinica at Tygerbeg Academic Hospital and controlsH Van der Bijl25. Pharmacological challenge with a serotonin ID Agonist in alcohol dependenceB Vythilingum26. The treatment of ADHD in adultsW Verbeeck=============================================================58. Descriptive study of Tardive Dyskinesia in a South African Xhosa populationS Brink, D J H Niehaus, L Koen, J E Muller59. Alcohol drinking problems at three Urban High Schools in UmtataO Alonso Betancourt, M Morales Herrera60. Childhood and adolescent sexual abuse - Demographic, traumatic and clinical signpostsP D Carey, J Walker, S Seedat, D J Stein61. Inositol in the treatment of obsessive compulsive DisorderP D Carey, S Seedat, D J Stein62. A review of factors associated with suicidal behaviour in children and adolescents admitted to Tygerberg HospitalT Du Plessis, S M Hawkridge, F H Theron, S A Du Plessis63. Psychological and physical outcomes of elective abortion: Local anaestheisa vs Intravenous sedationT Ericksen, S Seedat, P Labuschagne, D J Stein64. Mental health literacy of Human resource practitioners in South AfricaC J Hugo, H D Vos, D J Stein65. The importance of a specialized clinic for the care of patients with first episodes of psychosisN Keyter, P P Oosthuizen, R A Emsley, H J Turner66. Self-reort vs urinary drug screening in Schizophrenia: A pilot studyL Koen, D J H Niehaus, J E Muller, C Seller, N Keyter67. The effect of aggression on the use of Psychotropics in Schizophrenia: A naturalistic studyH Lategan, L Koen, D J H Niehaus68. Factor analysis of obsessive-compulsive spectrum disorders in patients with obsessive-compulsive Disorder: Clinical and genetic correlatesC Lochner, D J H Niehaus, S M J Hemmings, C J Kinnear, V A Corfield, J C Moolman-Smook, D J Stein69. Experiences in obsessive-compulsive disorder and Trichotillomania: Role of childhood traumaC Lochner, S Seedat, P D Carey, D J Stein70. Delusional systems in Xhosa Schizophrenia SibpairsJ E Muller, D J H Niehaus, L Koen, C Seller, N Keyter, C Laurent, R A Emsley71. OCD Heteogeneity reflected by lack of Genealogically determined founder effectD J H Niehaus, L Endeman, I Bosman, S Hemmings, C Lochner, L Koen, H Moolman-Smook, V A Corfield, D J Stein72. The efficacy and tolerability of low-dose vs standard dose Haloperidol in first episode Psychosis. A randomised, double-blind studyP P Oosthuizen, R A Emsley, H J Turner, N Keyter73. Treatment with low-dose Haloperidol does not protect against Tardive DyskinesiaP P Oosthuizen, R A Emsley, H J Turner, N Keyter74. Do healthcare funders discriminate against members on the grounds of mental illness?O Scholtz, P P Oosthuizen, C Hugo, B Richards75. Treatment strategies in patients with Clozapine resistant Schizophrenia at Stikland Hospital: A critical evaluation of one optionA Schulte, D J H Niehaus, L Koen, J E Muller, P P Oosthuizen, R A Emsley76. Early coadministration of Clonazepam with Paroxetine for generalised Social Anxiety DisorderS Seedat, M B Stein77. Trauma exposure and post-traumatic stress symptoms in adolescents: A schools' survey in Cape Town (South Africa) and Nairobi (Kenya)S Seedat, C Nyamap, F Njenga, B Vythilingum, D J Stein78. The QTC effects of Thioridazine when used as a second line Antipsychotic (at Stikland Hospital)C Seller, P P Oosthuizen79. Brain imaging and substance related disordersD J Stein80. Gender differences in trauma exposure & post traumatic stress disorder in a clinic sampleS Suliman, S Seedat, F Gxama, J Walker, W Rossouw81. Assessing the prevalence of anxiety and depressive symptoms among clinicians at Tygerberg Academic Hospital and controlsH Van der Bijl, P P Oosthuizen82. Pharmacological challenge with a Serotonin ID agonist in alcohol dependenceB Vythilingum, C Wessels, S Maritz, W P Pienaar, D J Stein83. The treatment of ADHD in adultsW Verbeeck

This article focuses on the controversial issue of apostasy pertaining to the alleged family of Shaykh Yusuf of Makassar, the Indonesian pioneer of Islam in colonial South Africa, after his demise at the Cape in the late 17th century during a period of Dutch occupation of both countries. It is reported in local and international historical and scholarly sources that the second generation grandchildren of this political exile and learned Islamic scholar converted from Islam to Christianity at the Cape and thereafter entered into marriages with Christian spouses. Their mother is alleged to have been the Shaykh’s daughter, Zytie Sara Marouff (alias Care Sale), and their father, the Rajah or King of Tambora (alias Abulbasi Sultan), a fellow exiled countryman. The marriage between the Rajah and Zytie is alleged to have taken place shortly after his arrival at the Cape in 1698 but before the death of Shaykh Yusuf in 1699. The conversions are recorded to have taken place within two decades of the Shaykh’s death and shortly after the death of their father, the Rajah, in 1719; both averted death sentences but died during exile at the Cape. The main aim of this article is to critically analyse these sources, which contain both conflicting information, and whose authors express ambivalent views, in an attempt to unravel the mystery surrounding their conversion and the marriage of their parents. Although some local Muslim religious authorities (ulama) at the Cape are aware of these conversions, many are not. In fact, these conversions were overlooked in a publication on the very topic. Local Muslims have therefore not been fully apprised by them of this aspect of their history because the topic is understandably also a sensitive one. The aim of this article is therefore not to dispute these facts or even that these conversions may have been a voluntary exercise and a consequence of freedom of choice. Although an analysis of some of the policies of the then Dutch colonial government which were enforced at the Cape (for example, those pertaining to interracial and interreligious marriages amidst limited religious freedom) are referred to, this article highlights that socio-economic reasons (poverty) and practical expediency (marriage) may indeed have precipitated such conversions. A detailed critical analysis, including of the Islamic law (Shari’a) pertaining to freedom of religion and apostasy, is unfortunately beyond the scope of this article due to space constraints. [Artikel ini membahas kontroversi pindah agama pada keluarga Syekh Yusus Makassar selepas diasingkan di Afrika Selatan pada masa kolonial Belanda akhir abad 17. Menurut sumber lokal dan tulisan sarjana internasional menyatakan bahwa generasi kedua keturunan Syekh Yusuf telah memeluk Kristen serta menikah dengan pasangan Kristen. Cucu yang dimaksud adalah anak dari putri Syekh Yusuf, Zytie Sara Marouff, yang menikah dengan Raja Tambora yang juga ikut dalam pengasingan di Cape Town. Pernikahan itu diperkirakan terjadi setelah rombongan tiba di Cape Town tahun 1698 dan sebelum wafatnya Syekh Yusuf tahun 1699. Sedangkan konversi agama yang terjadi sekitar dua dekade setelah wafatnya Syekh Yusuf dan selepas wafat ayah mereka Raja Tambora tahun 1719. Fokus utama artikel ini adalah mengkritisi sumber-sumber informasi yang bertentangan dan pandangan-pandangan para penulis yang ambivalen dalam rangka memperjelas misteri mengenai konversi dan pernikahan kedua orang tua mereka. Walaupun ulama lokal di Cape Town menyadari tentang konversi tersebut, namun sebagian besar tidak memperdulikannya. Sayangnya konversi ini dilihat berlebihan dalam berbagai tulisan. Lagipula penduduk muslim setempat tidak menjelaskan informasi hal ini pada catatan sejarah mereka karena dipahami sebagai hal yang sensitif. Oleh karena itu, artikel ini tidak bermaksud untuk memperdebatkan atau bahkan menguji fakta mengenai konversi agama yang memang bagian dari hak kebebasan beragama. Walaupun artikel membahas pelaksanaan kebijakan kolonial Belanda (misal pembatasan pernikahan antar ras dan antar agama ditengah pembatasan kebebasan beragama), artikel ini juga membahas sekilas soal kemiskinan dan praktik kebijaksanaan pernikahan dalam mengendapkan persoalan konversi. Namun karena keterbatasan halaman maka artikel ini tidak membahas persoalan hukum Islam mengenai kebebasan beragama dan pindah agama.]

-Monika Arnez, Keith Foulcher ,Clearing a space; Postcolonial readings of modern Indonesian literature. Leiden: KITlV Press, 2002, 381 pp. [Verhandelingen 202.], Tony Day (eds) -R.H. Barnes, Thomas Reuter, The house of our ancestors; Precedence and dualism in highland Balinese society. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002, viii + 359 pp. [Verhandelingen 198.] -Freek Colombijn, Adriaan Bedner, Administrative courts in Indonesia; A socio-legal study. The Hague: Kluwer law international, 2001, xiv + 300 pp. [The London-Leiden series on law, administration and development 6.] -Manuelle Franck, Peter J.M. Nas, The Indonesian town revisited. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian studies, 2002, vi + 428 pp. [Southeast Asian dynamics.] -Hans Hägerdal, Ernst van Veen, Decay or defeat? An inquiry into the Portuguese decline in Asia 1580-1645. Leiden: Research school of Asian, African and Amerindian studies, 2000, iv + 306 pp. [Studies on overseas history, 1.] -Rens Heringa, Genevieve Duggan, Ikats of Savu; Women weaving history in eastern Indonesia. Bangkok: White Lotus, 2001, xiii + 151 pp. [Studies in the material culture of Southeast Asia 1.] -August den Hollander, Kees Groeneboer, Een vorst onder de taalgeleerden; Herman Nuebronner van der Tuuk; Afgevaardigde voor Indië van het Nederlandsch Bijbelgenootschap 1847-1873; Een bronnenpublicatie. Leiden: KITlV Uitgeverij, 2002, 965 pp. -Edwin Jurriëns, William Atkins, The politics of Southeast Asia's new media. London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002, xii + 235 pp. -Victor T. King, Poline Bala, Changing border and identities in the Kelabit highlands; Anthropological reflections on growing up in a Kelabit village near an international frontier. Kota Samarahan, Sarawak: Unit Penerbitan Universiti Malayasia Sarawak, Institute of East Asian studies, 2002, xiv + 142 pp. [Dayak studies contemporary society series 1.] -Han Knapen, Bernard Sellato, Innermost Borneo; Studies in Dayak cultures. Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2002, 221 pp. -Michael Laffan, Rudolf Mrázek, Engineers of happy land; Technology and nationalism in a colony. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002, xvii + 311 pp. [Princeton studies in culture/power/history 15.] -Johan Meuleman, Michael Francis Laffan, Islamic nationhood and colonial Indonesia; The umma below the winds. London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003, xvi + 294 pp. [SOAS/RoutledgeCurzon studies on the Middle East 1.] -Rudolf Mrázek, Heidi Dahles, Tourism, heritage and national culture in Java; Dilemmas of a local community. Leiden: International Institute for Asian studies/Curzon, 2001, xvii + 257 pp. -Anke Niehof, Kathleen M. 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London; The British Library, 2001, xx + 210 pp. -Elisabeth Schröder-Butterfill, Jan Breman ,Good times and bad times in rural Java; Case study of socio-economic dynamics in two villages towards the end of the twentieth century. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002, xii + 330 pp. [Verhandelingen 195.], Gunawan Wiradi (eds) -Mariëtte van Selm, L.P. van Putten, Ambitie en onvermogen; Gouverneurs-generaal van Nederlands-Indië 1610-1796. Rotterdam: ILCO-productions, 2002, 192 pp. -Heather Sutherland, William Cummings, Making blood white; Historical transformations in early modern Makassar. Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2002, xiii + 257 pp. -Gerard Termorshuizen, Olf Praamstra, Een feministe in de tropen; De Indische jaren van Mina Kruseman. Leiden: KITlV Uitgeverij, 2003, 111 p. [Boekerij 'Oost en West'.] -Jaap Timmer, Dirk A.M. Smidt, Kamoro art; Tradition and innovation in a New Guinea culture; With an essay on Kamoro life and ritual by Jan Pouwer. Amsterdam: KIT Publishers/Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, 2003, 157 pp. -Sikko Visscher, Amy L. Freedman, Political participation and ethnic minorities; Chinese overseas in Malaysia, Indonesia and the United States. London: Routledge, 2000, xvi + 231 pp. -Reed L. Wadley, Mary Somers Heidhues, Golddiggers, farmers, and traders in the 'Chinese districts' of West Kalimantan, Indonesia. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia program, Cornell University, 2003, 309 pp. -Edwin Wieringa, Jan Parmentier ,Peper, Plancius en porselein; De reis van het schip Swarte Leeuw naar Atjeh en Bantam, 1601-1603. Zutphen: Walburg Pers, 2003, 237 pp. [Werken van de Linschoten-Vereeniging 101.], Karel Davids, John Everaert (eds) -Edwin Wieringa, Leonard Blussé ,Kennis en Compagnie; De Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie en de moderne wetenschap. Amsterdam: Balans, 2002, 191 pp., Ilonka Ooms (eds) -Edwin Wieringa, Femme S. Gaastra, De geschiedenis van de VOC. Zutphen; Wal_burg Pers, 2002, 192 pp.

Spiro Munayyer's account begins immediately after the United Nations General Assembly partition resolution of 29 November 1947 and culminates in the cataclysmic four days of Lydda's conquest by the Israeli army (10-14 July 1948) during which 49,000 of Lydda's 50,000 inhabitants ("swollen" with refugees) were forcefully expelled, the author himself being one of those few allowed to remain in his hometown. Although the author was not in a position of political or military responsibility, he was actively involved in Lydda's resistance movement both as the organizer of the telephone network linking up the various sectors of Lydda's front lines and as a volunteer paramedic, in which capacity he accompanied the city's defenders in most of the battles in which they took part. The result is one of the very few detailed eye-witness accounts that exists from the point of view of an ordinary Palestinian layman of one of the most important and tragic episodes of the 1948 war. The conquest of Lydda (and of its neighbor, Ramla, some five kilometers to the south) was the immediate objective of Operation Dani-the major offensive launched by the Israeli army at the order of Ben-Gurion during the so-called "Ten Days" of fighting (8-18 July 1948), between the First Truce (11 June-8 July) and the Second Truce (which started on 18 July and lasted, in theory, until the armistice agreements of 1949). The further objective of Operation Dani was to outflank the Transjordanian Arab Legion positions at Latrun (commanding the defile at Bab al-Wad, where the road from the coast starts climbing toward Jerusalem) in order to penetrate central Palestine and capture Rumallah and Nablus. Lydda and Ramla and the surrounding villages fell within the boundaries of the Arab state according to the UNGA partition resolution. Despite their proximity to Tel Aviv and the fall of many Palestinian towns since April (Tiberias, Haifa, Jaffa, Safad, Acre, and Baysan), they had held out until July even though little help had reached them from the Arab armies entering on 15 May. Their strategic importance was enormous because of their location at the intersection of the country's main north-south and west-east road and rail lines. Palestine's largest British army camp at Sarafand was a few kilometers west of Lydda, its main international airport an equal distance to the north, its central railway junction at Lydda itself. Ras al-Ayn, fifteen kilometers north of Lydda, was the main source of Jerusalem's water supply, while one of the largest British depots was at Bayt Nabala, seven kilometers to its northeast. The Israeli forces assembled for Operation Dani were put under the overall command of Yigal Allon, the Palmach commander. They consisted of the two Palmach brigades (Yiftach and Harel, the latter under the command of Yitzhak Rabin), the Eighth Armored Brigade composed of the Second Tank Battalion and the Ninth Commando Battalion (the former under the command of Yitzhak Sadeh, founder of the Palmach, the latter under that of Moshe Dayan), the Second Battalion Kiryati Brigade, the Third Battalion Alexandroni Brigade, and several units of the Kiryati Garrison Troops (Khayl Matzav). The Eighth Armored Brigade had a high proportion of World War II Jewish veterans volunteering from the United States, Britain, France, and South Africa (under the so-called MAHAL program), while its two battalions also included 700 members of the Irgun Zva'i Le'umi (IZL). The total strength of the Israeli attackers was about 8,000 men. The only regular Arab troops defending Lydda (and Ramla) was a minuscule force of 125 men-the Fifth Infantry Company of the Transjordanian Arab Legion. The defenders of Lydda (and Ramla) were volunteer civilian residents, like the author, under the command of a retired sergeant who had served in the Arab Legion. The reason for the virtual absence of Arab regular troops in the Lydda-Ramla sector was that the Arab armies closest to it (the Egyptian in the south, the Arab Legion in the east, and the Iraqi in the north) were already overstretched. The Egyptian northernmost post was at Isdud, thirty-two kilometers north of Gaza and a like distance southeast of Ramla-Lydda as the crow flies. The Iraqi southernmost post was at Ras al-Ayn, where they were weakest. And although the Arab Legion was in strength some fifteen kilometers due east at Latrun, the decision had been taken not to abandon its positions on the hills between Ras al-Ayn and Latrun for fear of being outflanked and cut off by the superior Israeli forces in the plains where Lydda and Ramla were situated. Indeed, as General Glubb, commander of the Arab Legion, informs us, he had told King Abdallah and the Transjordanian prime minister Tawfiq Abu Huda even before the end of the Mandate on 15 May that the Legion did not have the forces to hold and defend Lydda and Ramla against Israeli attacks despite the fact that these towns were in the area assigned to the Arabs by the UNGA partition resolution. This explains the token force of the Arab Legion-the Fifth Infantry Company. Thus, the fate of Lydda (and Ramla) was sealed the moment Operation Dani was launched. The Israeli forces did not attack Lydda from the west (where Lydda's defenses facing Tel Aviv were strongest), as the garrison commander Sergeant Hamza Subh expected. Instead, they split into two main forces, northern and southern, which were to rendezvous at the Jewish colony of Ben Shemen east of Lydda and then advance on Lydda from there. After capturing Lydda from the east they were to advance on Ramla, attacking it from the north while making feints against it from the west. Operation Dani began on the night of 9-10 July. Simultaneously with the advance of the ground troops, Lydda and Ramla were bombed from the air. In spite of the surprise factor, the defenders in the eastern sector of Lydda put up stout resistance throughout the 10th against vastly superior forces attacking from Ben Shemen in the north and the Arab village of Jimzu to the south. In the afternoon, Dayan rode with his Commando Battalion of jeeps and half-tracks through Lydda in a hit-and-run raid lasting under one hour "shooting up the town and creating confusion and a degree of terror among the population," as the Jewish brothers Jon and David Kimche put it. This discombobulated the defenders, some of whom surrendered. But the following morning (11 July) a small force of three Arab Legion armored cars entered Lydda, their mission being to help in the evacuation of the beleaguered Fifth Infantry Company. Their sudden appearance both panicked the Israeli troops and rallied the defenders who had not surrendered. The Israeli army put down what it subsequently described as the city's "uprising" with utmost brutality, leaving in a matter of hours in the city's streets about 250 civilian dead in an orgy of indiscriminate killing. Resistance continued sporadically during the 12th and 13th of July, its focus being Lydda's police station, which was finally overrun. As of 11 July, the Israeli army began the systematic expulsion of the residents of Lydda and Ramla (the latter having fallen on 12 July) toward the Arab Legion lines in the east. Also expelled were the populations of some twenty-five villages conquered during Operation Dani, making a total of some 80,000 expellees-the largest single instance of deliberate mass expulsion during the 1948 war. Most of the expellees were women, children, and elderly men, most of the able-bodied men having been taken prisoner. Memories of the trek of the Lydda and Ramla refugees is branded in the collective consciousness of the Palestinians. The Palestinian historian Aref al-Aref, who interviewed survivors at the time, estimates that 350 died of thirst and exhaustion in the blazing July sun, when the temperature was one hundred degrees in the shade. The reaction of public opinion in Ramallah and East Jerusalem at the sight of the new arrivals was to turn against the Arab Legion for its failure to help Lydda and Ramla. Arab Legion officers and men were stoned, loudly hissed at and cursed, a not unintended outcome by the person who gave the expulsion order, David Ben-Gurion, and the man who carried it out, Yitzhak Rabin, director of operations for Operation Dani.

This paper sought to explore the general public’s response to the national communications about COVID-19 in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. A qualitative research strategy was utilised to conduct fieldwork in Scenery Park Phase 1 and 2 locations in Buffalo City Metropolitan Municipality in King Williams town CBD, and Alice town CBD in the Eastern Cape Province, South Africa to understand the context of the participants. Exploratory and descriptive approaches were used in this study. Data collection was cross-sectional as information was gathered once through face-to-face interviews with purposively selected 30 community members and leaders, 10 from each location. The findings indicated that, dissemination of information about COVID-19 was ineffective and inadequate for little was done to address the illiterate population. The study recommends the training and development of crisis leadership competencies as a proactive measure. The study also recommends spirited awareness campaigns ahead of an impending disaster to fully educate and empower the masses.

Until the 1960s music in the African language Catholic churches in southern Africa was confined to European (or European style) tunes set to African language texts. The music used suited neither the languages of the people nor their spiritual and emotional needs. Some church leaders, such as Archbishop Hurley of Durban, wished to see a change for the better. Certain missionaries tried to do something about it, in particular Oswald Hirmer and Fritz Lobinger, Bavarian missionaries working in the Xhosa area. The author had done music studies, and in his work in Zwelitsha parish, near King Williams Town, had used some of the music resulting from the work of Hirmer and Lobinger. The two missionaries gave him the chance to start a project for creating new church music in African styles by working with local church members in different areas. This went so well that the author was taken onto the staff of Lumko Pastoral Institute, with Hirmer and Lobinger. Over the period 1979 to 1989 the author was able to promote and record new church music in many languages in South Africa and its neighbours, plus a great deal of the traditional music of the region. In 1996 Anselm Prior, then director of Lumko, returned all the field recording originals to the author, giving him the opportunity to put together a significant contribution to the preserved music heritage of Southern Africa, including African traditional music and church music. The article is a report on the project and its results.

Orientation:Work-related stress and burnout among social workers are on the rise because of extensive workload, job dissatisfaction and exposure to traumatic situations. Therefore, one should determine how they impact the well-being.Research purpose: This study determined the factors and effects of work-related stress and burnout on the well-being of social workers.Motivation for the study: An alarming number of social workers show no compassion towards the clients owing to burnout. Therefore, more research is needed for social workers to enhance their purpose and work engagement.Research approach/design and method: This qualitative study was designed from an interpretivist perspective. Fourteen social workers, aged 35–59 years, from two Department of Social Development and Welfare offices (Alice and King Williams Town) selected through purposive sampling participated in the study. Data were gathered by means of focus group interviews and grounded theory was applied for data analysis.Main findings: The study results confirmed that social workers attributed their work-related stress to lack of resources such as transport, computers and inadequate emotional support from their supervisors. Thus, they demonstrated impaired personal strength and poor human relations.Practical/managerial implications: To achieve commitment and optimism, there should be recruitment of new staff and salary increase for social workers.Contribution/value-add: The study results should provide coping strategies for social workers when faced with secondary traumatic stress.

Humans and wildlife are vulnerable to the toxicity of semi-volatile and persistent organic pollutants such as polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs). Neither the distribution of these pollutants nor their seasonal variation has ever been determined in the Buffalo River. Thus, the occurrence and concentration of 19 PCBs was assessed in King William’s Town (KWT), Izele (IZ), Zwelitsha (ZW), Maden (MD), Mdantsane (MSN) and Buffalo River estuary (BRE), all on the Buffalo River in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. Water samples were subjected to liquid-liquid extraction for PCBs, after which the compounds were separated and quantified on gas chromatography with electron capture detection. The PCBs differ in concentration from below detection limit (BDL) to 482 ng·L−1 in summer and BDL to 2 383 ng·L−1 in autumn. While the order of congeners increases during the summer from KWT > IZ > ZW > MD > MSN > BRE, the distribution in autumn followed the order BRE > IZ > ZW > KWT > MSN > MD. The total levels of PCBs at all the sites during summer were below the World Health Organization (WHO) permissible level of 500 ng·L−1 recommended for humans, but were exceeded at all the sampling sites in autumn except at MD. The evaluated risk with respect to cancer was lower than the acceptable threshold (10-6), whereas hazard quotients were slightly higher than the maximum threshold (of 1) stated by the United States Environmental Protection Agency (USEPA). The compounds are known to be toxic to humans and animals. The results appear to show that the exposure levels of the compounds were safe for humans and animals. Further studies are recommended in order to make a definitive conclusion.

This paper argues that artist Dope Saint Jude is transforming South African hip-hop by queering a genre that has predominantly been male and heteronormative. Specifically, I analyse the opening skit of her music video “Keep in Touch” in order to unpack the ways which she revives Gayle, a gay language that adopted double-coded forms of speech during the apartheid era—a context in which homosexuals were criminalised. The use of Gayle and spaces close to the city centre of Cape Town (such as Salt River and Woodstock) speaks to the city as it was before it was transformed by the decline of industries due to the country’s adoption of neoliberal economics and, more recently, by the gentrification of these spaces. Dope Saint Jude therefore reclaims these city spaces through her use of gay modes of speech that have a long history in Cape Town and by positioning her work as hip-hop, which has been popular in the city for well over two decades. Her inclusion of transgender MC and DJ Angel Ho pushes the boundaries of hegemonic and binary conceptions of gender identity even further. In essence, Dope Saint Jude is transforming local hip-hop in a context that is shaped significantly by US cultural imperialism. The artist is also transforming our perspective of spaces that have been altered by neoliberal economics.Setting the SceneDope Saint Jude (DSJ) is a queer MC from Elsies River, a working class township located on Cape Town's Cape Flats in South Africa. Elsies River was defined as a “coloured” neighbourhood under the apartheid state's Group Areas Act, which segregated South Africans racially. With the aid of the Population Registration Act, citizens were classified, not merely along the lines of white, Asian, or black—black subjects were also divided into further categories. The apartheid state also distinguished between black and “coloured” subjects. Michael MacDonald contends that segregation “ordained blacks to be inferior to whites; apartheid cast them to be indelibly different” (11). Apartheid declared “African claims in South Africa to be inferior to white claims” and effectively claimed that black subjects “belonged elsewhere, in societies of their own, because their race was different” (ibid). The term “coloured” defined people as “mixed race” to separate communities that might otherwise have identified as black in the broad and inclusive sense (Erasmus 16). Racial categorisation was used to create a racial hierarchy with white subjects at the top of that hierarchy and those classified as black receiving the least resources and benefits. This frustrated attempts to establish broad alliances of black struggles against apartheid. It is in this sense that race is socially and politically constructed and continues to have currency, despite the fact that biologically essentialist understandings of race have been discredited (Yudell 13–14). Thanks to apartheid town planning and resource allocation, many townships on the Cape Flats were poverty-stricken and plagued by gang violence (Salo 363). This continues to be the case because post-apartheid South Africa's embrace of neoliberal economics failed to address racialised class inequalities significantly (Haupt, Static 6–8). This is the '90s context in which socially conscious hip-hop crews, such as Prophets of da City or Black Noise, came together. They drew inspiration from Black Consciousness philosophy via their exposure to US hip-hop crews such as Public Enemy in order to challenge apartheid policies, including their racial interpellation as “coloured” as distinct from the more inclusive category, black (Haupt, “Black Thing” 178). Prophets of da City—whose co-founding member, Shaheen Ariefdien, also lived in Elsies River—was the first South African hip-hop outfit to record an album. Whilst much of their work was performed in English, they quickly transformed the genre by rapping in non-standard varieties of Afrikaans and by including MCs who rap in African languages (ibid). They therefore succeeded in addressing key issues related to race, language, and class disparities in relation to South Africa's transition to democracy (Haupt, “Black Thing”; Haupt, Stealing Empire). However, as is the case with mainstream US hip-hop, specifically gangsta rap (Clay 149), South African hip-hop has been largely dominated by heterosexual men. This includes the more commercial hip-hop scene, which is largely perceived to be located in Johannesburg, where male MCs like AKA and Cassper Nyovest became celebrities. However, certain female MCs have claimed the genre, notably EJ von Lyrik and Burni Aman who are formerly of Godessa, the first female hip-hop crew to record and perform locally and internationally (Haupt, Stealing Empire 166; Haupt, “Can a Woman in Hip-Hop”). DSJ therefore presents the exception to a largely heteronormative and male-dominated South African music industry and hip-hop scene as she transforms it with her queer politics. While queer hip-hop is not new in the US (Pabón and Smalls), this is new territory for South Africa. Writing about the US MC Jean Grae in the context of a “male-dominated music industry and genre,” Shanté Paradigm Smalls contends,Heteronormativity blocks the materiality of the experiences of Black people. Yet, many Black people strive for a heteronormative effect if not “reality”. In hip hop, there is a particular emphasis on maintaining the rigidity of categories, even if those categories fail [sic]. (87) DSJ challenges these rigid categories. Keep in TouchDSJ's most visible entry onto the media landscape to date has been her appearance in an H&M recycling campaign with British Sri Lankan artist MIA (H&M), some fashion shoots, her new EP—Reimagine (Dope Saint Jude)—and recent Finnish, US and French tours as well as her YouTube channel, which features her music videos. As the characters’ theatrical costumes suggest, “Keep in Touch” is possibly the most camp and playful music video she has produced. It commences somewhat comically with Dope Saint Jude walking down Salt River main road to a public telephone, where she and a young woman in pig tails exchange dirty looks. Salt River is located at the foot of Devil's Peak not far from Cape Town's CBD. Many factories were located there, but the area is also surrounded by low-income housing, which was designated a “coloured” area under apartheid. After apartheid, neighbourhoods such as Salt River, Woodstock, and the Bo-Kaap became increasingly gentrified and, instead of becoming more inclusive, many parts of Cape Town continued to be influenced by policies that enable racialised inequalities. Dope Saint Jude calls Angel Ho: DSJ: Awêh, Angie! Yoh, you must check this kak sturvy girl here by the pay phone. [Turns to the girl, who walks away as she bursts a chewing gum bubble.] Ja, you better keep in touch. Anyway, listen here, what are you wys?Angel Ho: Ah, just at the salon getting my hair did. What's good? DSJ: Wanna catch on kak today?Angel Ho: Yes, honey. But, first, let me Gayle you this. By the jol by the art gallery, this Wendy, nuh. This Wendy tapped me on the shoulder and wys me, “This is a place of decorum.”DSJ: What did she wys?Angel Ho: De-corum. She basically told me this is not your house. DSJ: I know you told that girl to keep in touch!Angel Ho: Yes, Mama! I'm Paula, I told that bitch, “Keep in touch!” [Points index finger in the air.](Saint Jude, Dope, “Keep in Touch”)Angel Ho's name is a play on the male name Angelo and refers to the trope of the ho (whore) in gangsta rap lyrics and in music videos that present objectified women as secondary to male, heterosexual narratives (Sharpley-Whiting 23; Collins 27). The queering of Angelo, along with Angel Ho’s non-binary styling in terms of hair, make-up, and attire, appropriates a heterosexist, sexualised stereotype of women in order to create room for a gender identity that operates beyond heteronormative male-female binaries. Angel Ho’s location in a hair salon also speaks to stereotypical associations of salons with women and gay subjects. In a discussion of gender stereotypes about hair salons, Kristen Barber argues that beauty work has traditionally been “associated with women and with gay men” and that “the body beautiful has been tightly linked to the concept of femininity” (455–56). During the telephonic exchange, Angel Ho and Dope Saint Jude code-switch between standard and non-standard varieties of English and Afrikaans, as the opening appellation, “Awêh,” suggests. In this context, the term is a friendly greeting, which intimates solidarity. “Sturvy” means pretentious, whilst “kak” means shit, but here it is used to qualify “sturvy” and means that the girl at the pay phone is very pretentious or “full of airs.” To be “wys” means to be wise, but it can also mean that you are showing someone something or educating them. The meanings of these terms shift, depending on the context. The language practices in this skit are in line with the work of earlier hip-hop crews, such as Prophets of da City and Brasse vannie Kaap, to validate black, multilingual forms of speech and expression that challenge the linguistic imperialism of standard English and Afrikaans in South Africa, which has eleven official languages (Haupt, “Black Thing”; Haupt, Stealing Empire; Williams). Henry Louis Gates’s research on African American speech varieties and literary practices emerging from the repressive context of slavery is essential to understanding hip-hop’s language politics. Hip-hop artists' multilingual wordplay creates parallel discursive universes that operate both on the syntagmatic axis of meaning-making and the paradigmatic axis (Gates 49; Haupt, “Stealing Empire” 76–77). Historically, these discursive universes were those of the slave masters and the slaves, respectively. While white hegemonic meanings are produced on the syntagmatic axis (which is ordered and linear), black modes of speech as seen in hip-hop word play operate on the paradigmatic axis, which is connotative and non-linear (ibid). Distinguishing between Signifyin(g) / Signification (upper case, meaning black expression) and signification (lower case, meaning white dominant expression), he argues that “the signifier ‘Signification’ has remained identical in spelling to its white counterpart to demonstrate [. . .] that a simultaneous, but negated, parallel discursive (ontological, political) universe exists within the larger white discursive universe” (Gates 49). The meanings of terms and expressions can change, depending on the context and manner in which they are used. It is therefore the shared experiences of speech communities (such as slavery or racist/sexist oppression) that determine the negotiated meanings of certain forms of expression. Gayle as a Parallel Discursive UniverseDSJ and Angel Ho's performance of Gayle takes these linguistic practices further. Viewers are offered points of entry into Gayle via the music video’s subtitles. We learn that Wendy is code for a white person and that to keep in touch means exactly the opposite. Saint Jude explains that Gayle is a very fun queer language that was used to kind of mask what people were saying [. . .] It hides meanings and it makes use of women's names [. . . .] But the thing about Gayle is it's constantly changing [. . .] So everywhere you go, you kind of have to pick it up according to the context that you're in. (Ovens, Saint Jude and Haupt)According to Kathryn Luyt, “Gayle originated as Moffietaal [gay language] in the coloured gay drag culture of the Western Cape as a form of slang amongst Afrikaans-speakers which over time, grew into a stylect used by gay English and Afrikaans-speakers across South Africa” (Luyt 8; Cage 4). Given that the apartheid state criminalised homosexuals, Gayle was coded to evade detection and to seek out other members of this speech community (Luyt 8). Luyt qualifies the term “language” by arguing, “The term ‘language’ here, is used not as a constructed language with its own grammar, syntax, morphology and phonology, but in the same way as linguists would discuss women’s language, as a way of speaking, a kind of sociolect” (Luyt 8; Cage 1). However, the double-coded nature of Gayle allows one to think of it as creating a parallel discursive universe as Gates describes it (49). Whereas African American and Cape Flats discursive practices function parallel to white, hegemonic discourses, gay modes of speech run parallel to heteronormative communication. Exclusion and MicroaggressionsThe skit brings both discursive practices into play by creating room for one to consider that DSJ queers a male-dominated genre that is shaped by US cultural imperialism (Haupt, Stealing Empire 166) as a way of speaking back to intersectional forms of marginalisation (Crenshaw 1244), which are created by “white supremacist capitalist patriarchy” (hooks 116). This is significant in South Africa where “curative rape” of lesbians and other forms of homophobic violence are prominent (cf. Gqola; Hames; Msibi). Angel Ho's anecdote conveys a sense of the extent to which black individuals are subject to scrutiny. Ho's interpretation of the claim that the gallery “is a place of decorum” is correct: it is not Ho's house. Black queer subjects are not meant to feel at home or feel a sense of ownership. This functions as a racial microaggression: “subtle insults (verbal, nonverbal, and/or visual) directed toward people of color, often automatically or unconsciously” (Solorzano, Ceja, and Yosso 60). This speaks to DSJ's use of Salt River, Woodstock, and Bo-Kaap for the music video, which features black queer bodies in performance—all of these spaces are being gentrified, effectively pushing working class people of colour out of the city (cf. Didier, Morange, and Peyroux; Lemanski). Gustav Visser explains that gentrification has come to mean a unit-by-unit acquisition of housing which replaces low-income residents with high-income residents, and which occurs independent of the structural condition, architecture, tenure or original cost level of the housing (although it is usually renovated for or by the new occupiers). (81–82) In South Africa this inequity plays out along racial lines because its neoliberal economic policies created a small black elite without improving the lives of the black working class. Instead, the “new African bourgeoisie, because it shares racial identities with the bulk of the poor and class interests with white economic elites, is in position to mediate the reinforcing cleavages between rich whites and poor blacks without having to make more radical changes” (MacDonald 158). In a news article about a working class Salt River family of colour’s battle against an eviction, Christine Hogg explains, “Gentrification often means the poor are displaced as the rich move in or buildings are upgraded by new businesses. In Woodstock and Salt River both are happening at a pace.” Angel Ho’s anecdote, as told from a Woodstock hair salon, conveys a sense of what Woodstock’s transformation from a coloured, working class Group Area to an upmarket, trendy, and arty space would mean for people of colour, including black, queer subjects. One could argue that this reading of the video is undermined by DSJ’s work with global brand H&M. Was she was snared by neoliberal economics? Perhaps, but one response is that the seeds of any subculture’s commercial co-option lie in the fact it speaks through commodities (for example clothing, make-up, CDs, vinyl, or iTunes / mp3 downloads (Hebdige 95; Haupt, Stealing Empire 144–45). Subcultures have a window period in which to challenge hegemonic ideologies before they are delegitimated or commercially co-opted. Hardt and Negri contend that the means that extend the reach of corporate globalisation could be used to challenge it from within it (44–46; Haupt, Stealing Empire 26). DSJ utilises her H&M work, social media, the hip-hop genre, and international networks to exploit that window period to help mainstream black queer identity politics.ConclusionDSJ speaks back to processes of exclusion from the city, which was transformed by apartheid and, more recently, gentrification, by claiming it as a creative and playful space for queer subjects of colour. She uses Gayle to lay claim to the city as it has a long history in Cape Town. In fact, she says that she is not reviving Gayle, but is simply “putting it on a bigger platform” (Ovens, Saint Jude, and Haupt). The use of subtitles in the video suggests that she wants to mainstream queer identity politics. 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IntroductionThe debate about the responsibility of museums to respect Indigenous peoples’ rights (Kelly and Gordon; Butts) has caught our attention on the basis of our previous research experience with regard to the protection of the tangible and intangible heritage of the San (former hunter gatherers) in Southern Africa (Martin and Vermeylen; Vermeylen, Contextualising; Vermeylen, Life Force; Vermeylen et al.; Vermeylen, Land Rights). This paper contributes to the critical debate about curatorial practices and the recovery of Indigenous peoples’ cultural practices and explores how museums can be transformed into cultural centres that “decolonise” their objects while simultaneously providing social agency to marginalised groups such as the San. Indigenous MuseumTraditional methods of displaying Indigenous heritage are now regarded with deep suspicion and resentment by Indigenous peoples (Simpson). A number of related issues such as the appropriation, ownership and repatriation of culture together with the treatment of sensitive and sacred materials and the stereotyping of Indigenous peoples’ identity (Carter; Simpson) have been identified as the main problems in the debate about museum curatorship and Indigenous heritage. The poignant question remains whether the concept of a classical museum—in the sense of how it continues to classify, value and display non-Western artworks—will ever be able to provide agency to Indigenous peoples as long as “their lives are reduced to an abstract set of largely arbitrary material items displayed without much sense of meaning” (Stanley 3). Indeed, as Salvador has argued, no matter how much Indigenous peoples have been involved in the planning and implementation of an exhibition, some issues remain problematic. First, there is the problem of representation: who speaks for the group; who should make decisions and under what circumstances; when is it acceptable for “outsiders” to be involved? Furthermore, Salvador raises another area of contestation and that is the issue of intention. As we agree with Salvador, no matter how good the intention to include Indigenous peoples in the curatorial practices, the fact that Indigenous peoples may have a (political) perspective about the exhibition that differs from the ideological foundation of the museum enterprise, is, indeed, a challenge that must not be overlooked in the discussion of the inclusive museum. This relates to, arguably, one of the most important challenges in respect to the concept of an Indigenous museum: how to present the past and present without creating an essentialising “Other”? As Stanley summarises, the modernising agenda of the museum, including those museums that claim to be Indigenous museums, continues to be heavily embedded in the belief that traditional cultural beliefs, practices and material manifestations must be saved. In other words, exhibitions focusing on Indigenous peoples fail to show them as dynamic, living cultures (Simpson). This raises the issue that museums recreate the past (Sepúlveda dos Santos) while Indigenous peoples’ interests can be best described “in terms of contemporaneity” (Bolton qtd. in Stanley 7). According to Bolton, Indigenous peoples’ interest in museums can be best understood in terms of using these (historical) collections and institutions to address contemporary issues. Or, as Sepúlveda dos Santos argues, in order for museums to be a true place of memory—or indeed a true place of recovery—it is important that the museum makes the link between the past and contemporary issues or to use its objects in such a way that these objects emphasize “the persistence of lived experiences transmitted through generations” (29). Under pressure from Indigenous rights movements, the major aim of some museums is now reconciliation with Indigenous peoples which, ultimately, should result in the return of the cultural objects to the originators of these objects (Kelly and Gordon). Using the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990 (NAGPRA) as an illustration, we argue that the whole debate of returning or recovering Indigenous peoples’ cultural objects to the original source is still embedded in a discourse that emphasises the mummified aspect of these materials. As Harding argues, NAGPRA is provoking an image of “native Americans as mere passive recipients of their cultural identity, beholden to their ancestors and the museum community for the re-creation of their cultures” (137) when it defines cultural patrimony as objects having ongoing historical, traditional or cultural importance, central to the Native American group or culture itself. According to Harding (2005) NAGPRA’s dominating narrative focuses on the loss, alienation and cultural genocide of the objects as long as these are not returned to their originators. The recovery or the return of the objects to their “original” culture has been applauded as one of the most liberating and emancipatory events in recent years for Indigenous peoples. However, as we have argued elsewhere, the process of recovery needs to do more than just smother the object in its past; recovery can only happen when heritage or tradition is connected to the experience of everyday life. One way of achieving this is to move away from the objectification of Indigenous peoples’ cultures. ObjectificationIn our exploratory enquiry about new museum practices our attention was drawn to a recent debate about ownership and personhood within the context of museology (Busse; Baker; Herle; Bell; Geismar). Busse, in particular, makes the point that in order to reformulate curatorial practices it is important to redefine the concept and meaning of objects. While the above authors do not question the importance of the objects, they all argue that the real importance does not lie in the objects themselves but in the way these objects embody the physical manifestation of social relations. The whole idea that objects matter because they have agency and efficacy, and as such become a kind of person, draws upon recent anthropological theorising by Gell and Strathern. Furthermore, we have not only been inspired by Gell’s and Strathern’s approaches that suggests that objects are social persons, we have also been influenced by Appadurai’s and Kopytoff’s defining of objects as biographical agents and therefore valued because of the associations they have acquired throughout time. We argue that by framing objects in a social network throughout its lifecycle we can avoid the recurrent pitfalls of essentialising objects in terms of their “primitive” or “traditional” (aesthetic) qualities and mystifying the identity of Indigenous peoples as “noble savages.” Focusing more on the social network that surrounds a particular object opens up new avenues of enquiry as to how, and to what extent, museums can become more inclusive vis-à-vis Indigenous peoples. It allows moving beyond the current discourse that approaches the history of the (ethnographic) museum from only one dominant perspective. By tracing an artwork throughout its lifecycle a new metaphor can be discovered; one that shows that Indigenous peoples have not always been victims, but maybe more importantly it allows us to show a more complex narrative of the object itself. It gives us the space to counterweight some of the discourses that have steeped Indigenous artworks in a “postcolonial” framework of sacredness and mythical meaning. This is not to argue that it is not important to be reminded of the dangers of appropriating other cultures’ heritage, but we would argue that it is equally important to show that approaching a story from a one-sided perspective will create a dualism (Bush) and reducing the differences between different cultures to a dualistic opposition fails to recognise the fundamental areas of agency (Morphy). In order for museums to enliven and engage with objects, they must become institutions that emphasise a relational approach towards displaying and curating objects. In the next part of this paper we will explore to what extent an online museum could progressively facilitate the process of providing agency to the social relations that link objects, persons, environments and memories. As Solanilla argues, what has been described as cybermuseology may further transform the museum landscape and provide an opportunity to challenge some of the problems identified above (e.g. essentialising practices). Or to quote the museologist Langlais: “The communication and interaction possibilities offered by the Web to layer information and to allow exploration of multiple meanings are only starting to be exploited. In this context, cybermuseology is known as a practice that is knowledge-driven rather than object-driven, and its main goal is to disseminate knowledge using the interaction possibilities of Information Communication Technologies” (Langlais qtd. in Solanilla 108). One thing which shows promise and merits further exploration is the idea of transforming the act of exhibiting ethnographic objects accompanied by texts and graphics into an act of cyber discourse that allows Indigenous peoples through their own voices and gestures to involve us in their own history. This is particularly the case since Indigenous peoples are using technologies, such as the Internet, as a new medium through which they can recuperate their histories, land rights, knowledge and cultural heritage (Zimmerman et al.). As such, new technology has played a significant role in the contestation and formation of Indigenous peoples’ current identity by creating new social and political spaces through visual and narrative cultural praxis (Ginsburg).Online MuseumsIt has been acknowledged for some time that a presence on the Web might mitigate the effects of what has been described as the “unassailable voice” in the recovery process undertaken by museums (Walsh 77). However, a museum’s online engagement with an Indigenous culture may have significance beyond undercutting the univocal authority of a museum. In the case of the South African National Gallery it was charged with challenging the extent to which it represents entrenched but unacceptable political ideologies. Online museums may provide opportunities in the conservation and dissemination of “life stories” that give an account of an Indigenous culture as it is experienced (Solanilla 105). We argue that in engaging with Indigenous cultural heritage a distinction needs to be drawn between data and the cognitive capacity to learn, “which enables us to extrapolate and learn new knowledge” (Langlois 74). The problem is that access to data about an Indigenous culture does not necessarily lead to an understanding of its knowledge. It has been argued that cybermuseology loses the essential interpersonal element that needs to be present if intangible heritage is understood as “the process of making sense that is generally transmitted orally and through face-to-face experience” (Langlois 78). We agree that the online museum does not enable a reality to be reproduced (Langlois 78).This does not mean that cybermuseology should be dismissed. Instead it provides the opportunity to construct a valuable, but completely new, experience of cultural knowledge (Langlois 78). The technology employed in cybermuseology provides the means by which control over meaning may, at least to some extent, be dispersed (Langlois 78). In this way online museums provide the opportunity for Indigenous peoples to challenge being subjected to manipulation by one authoritative museological voice. One of the ways this may be achieved is through interactivity by enabling the use of social tagging and folksonomy (Solanilla 110; Trant 2). In these processes keywords (tags) are supplied and shared by visitors as a means of accessing museum content. These tags in turn give rise to a classification system (folksonomy). In the context of an online museum engaging with an Indigenous culture we have reservations about the undifferentiated interactivity on the part of all visitors. This issue may be investigated further by examining how interactivity relates to communication. Arguably, an online museum is engaged in communicating Indigenous cultural heritage because it helps to keep it alive and pass it on to others (Langlois 77). However, enabling all visitors to structure online access to that culture may be detrimental to the communication of knowledge that might otherwise occur. The narratives by which Indigenous cultures, rather than visitors, order access to information about their cultures may lead to the communication of important knowledge. An illustration of the potential of this approach is the work Sharon Daniel has been involved with, which enables communities to “produce knowledge and interpret their own experience using media and information technologies” (Daniel, Palabras) partly by means of generating folksonomies. One way in which such issues may be engaged with in the context of online museums is through the argument that database and narrative in such new media objects are opposed to each other (Manovich, New Media 225). A new media work such as an online museum may be understood to be comprised of a database and an interface to that database. A visitor to an online museum may only move through the content of the database by following those paths that have been enabled by those who created the museum (Manovich, New Media 227). In short it is by means of the interface provided to the viewer that the content of the database is structured into a narrative (Manovich, New Media: 226). It is possible to understand online museums as constructions in which narrative and database aspects are emphasized to varying degrees for users. There are a variety of museum projects in which the importance of the interface in creating a narrative interface has been acknowledged. Goldblum et al. describe three examples of websites in which interfaces may be understood as, and explicitly designed for, carrying meaning as well as enabling interactivity: Life after the Holocaust; Ripples of Genocide; and Yearbook 2006.As with these examples, we suggest that it is important there be an explicit engagement with the significance of interface(s) for online museums about Indigenous peoples. The means by which visitors access content is important not only for the way in which visitors interact with material, but also as to what is communicated about, culture. It has been suggested that the curator’s role should be moved away from expertly representing knowledge toward that of assisting people outside the museum to make “authored statements” within it (Bennett 11). In this regard it seems to us that involvement of Indigenous peoples with the construction of the interface(s) to online museums is of considerable significance. Pieterse suggests that ethnographic museums should be guided by a process of self-representation by the “others” portrayed (Pieterse 133). Moreover it should not be forgotten that, because of the separation of content and interface, it is possible to have access to a database of material through more than one interface (Manovich, New Media 226-7). Online museums provide a means by which the artificial homogenization of Indigenous peoples may be challenged.We regard an important potential benefit of an online museum as the replacement of accessing material through the “unassailable voice” with the multiplicity of Indigenous voices. A number of ways to do this are suggested by a variety of new media artworks, including those that employ a database to rearrange information to reveal underlying cultural positions (Paul 100). Paul discusses the work of, amongst others, George Legrady. She describes how it engages with the archive and database as sites that record culture (104-6). Paul specifically discusses Legrady’s work Slippery Traces. This involved viewers navigating through more than 240 postcards. Viewers of work were invited to “first chose one of three quotes appearing on the screen, each of which embodies a different perspective—anthropological, colonialist, or media theory—and thus provides an interpretive angle for the experience of the projects” (104-5). In the same way visitors to an online museum could be provided with a choice of possible Indigenous voices by which its collection might be experienced. We are specifically interested in the implications that such approaches have for the way in which online museums could engage with film. Inspired by Basu’s work on reframing ethnographic film, we see the online museum as providing the possibility of a platform to experiment with new media art in order to expose the meta-narrative(s) about the politics of film making. As Basu argues, in order to provoke a feeling of involvement with the viewer, it is important that the viewer becomes aware “of the plurality of alternative readings/navigations that they might have made” (105). As Weinbren has observed, where a fixed narrative pathway has been constructed by a film, digital technology provides a particularly effective means to challenge it. It would be possible to reveal the way in which dominant political interests regarding Indigenous cultures have been asserted, such as for example in the popular film The Gods Must Be Crazy. New media art once again provides some interesting examples of the way ideology, that might otherwise remain unclear, may be exposed. Paul describes the example of Jennifer and Kevin McCoy’s project How I learned. The work restructures a television series Kung Fu by employing “categories such as ‘how I learned about blocking punches,’ ‘how I learned about exploiting workers,’ or ‘how I learned to love the land’” (Paul 103) to reveal in greater clarity, than otherwise might be possible, the cultural stereotypes used in the visual narratives of the program (Paul 102-4). We suggest that such examples suggest the ways in which online museums could work to reveal and explore the existence not only of meta-narratives expressed by museums as a whole, but also the means by which they are realised within existing items held in museum collections.ConclusionWe argue that the agency for such reflective moments between the San, who have been repeatedly misrepresented or underrepresented in exhibitions and films, and multiple audiences, may be enabled through the generation of multiple narratives within online museums. We would like to make the point that, first and foremost, the theory of representation must be fully understood and acknowledged in order to determine whether, and how, modes of online curating are censorious. As such we see online museums having the potential to play a significant role in illuminating for both the San and multiple audiences the way that any form of representation or displaying restricts the meanings that may be recovered about Indigenous peoples. ReferencesAppadurai, Arjun. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1986. Bal, Mieke. “Exhibition as Film.” Exhibition Experiments. Ed. Sharon Macdonald and Paul Basu. Malden: Blackwell Publishing 2007. 71-93. Basu, Paul. “Reframing Ethnographic Film.” Rethinking Documentary. Eds. Thomas Austin and Wilma de Jong. Maidenhead: Open U P, 2008. 94-106.Barringer, Tim, and Tom Flynn. Colonialism and the Object: Empire, Material Culture and the Museum. London: Routledge, 1998. 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Introduction In a period marked by the pervasiveness of new mobile technologies saturating urban areas of the Asia-Pacific region, it can be easy to forget the realities of life in the rural areas. In a location such as Australia, in which 80% of the population lives in urban areas, one must be reminded of the sociotechnological realities of rural existence where often-newer mobile communication devices cease to function. This paper focuses on these black spots – and often forgotten areas – where examples of older, mediated technologies such as UHF Citizen Band (CB) radios can be found as integral to practices of everyday rural life. As Anderson notes, constructs of the nation are formed through contested notions of what individuals and communities imagine and project as a sense of place. In Australia, one of the dominant contested imageries can be found in the urban and rural divide, a divide that is not just social and cultural but technological; it is marked by a digital divide. This divide neatly corresponds to the images of Australia experienced by Australians (predominantly living in urban areas) and exported tourist images of the rugged vast rural landscapes. The remote Australia Outback is a popular destination for domestic tourists. Its sparsely populated and rough terrain attracts tourists seeking a quintessentially Australian experience. Roads are often unmade and in poor condition. Fuel and food supplies and health services are widely separated and there is almost no permanent accommodation. Apart from a small number of regional centres there is no access to mobile phones or radio broadcasts. As a consequence tourists must be largely self sufficient. While the primary roads carry significant road traffic it is possible to drive all day on secondary roads without seeing another person. Isolation and self-sufficiency are both an attraction and a challenge. Travelling in campervans, towing caravans or camper trailers and staying in caravan parks, national parks, roadside stops or alone in the bush, tourists spend extended times in areas where there are few other tourists. Many tourists deal with this isolation by equipping their vehicles with CB radios. Depending on the terrain, they are able to listen to, and participate in conversations with other CB users within a 10-20 kilometre range. In some areas where there are repeater stations, the range of radio transmissions can be extended. This paper examines the role of these CB radios in the daily life of tourists in the Australian Outback. Theoretical Issues The links between travel, the new communications technologies and the diminished spatial-time divide have been explored by John Urry. According to Urry, mobile electronic devices make it possible for people “to leave traces of their selves in informational space” (266). Using these informational traces, mobile communication technologies ‘track’ the movements of travellers, enabling them to communicate synchronously. People become ’nodes in multiple networks of communication and mobility’ (266). Another consequence of readily available communication independent of location is for the meaning of social connections. Social encounters provide tourists with the opportunity to develop and affirm understandings of their shared common occupation of unfamiliar social and cultural landscapes (Harrison). Both transitory and enduring relationships provide information, companionship and resources that allow tourists to create, share and give meaning to their experiences (Stokowski). Communication technology also enables individuals to enter and remain part of social networks while physically absent and distant from them (Johnsen; Makimoto and Manners, Urry). The result is a “nomadic intimacy” in an everyday social and physical environment characterised by extended spaces and individual freedom to move around in these spaces (Fortunati). For travellers in the Australian Outback, this “nomadic intimacy” is both literal and metaphorical. Research has shown that travellers use mobile communications services and a range of other communication strategies to maintain a “symbolic proximity” with family, friends and colleagues (Wurtzel and Turner) and to promote a sense of “presence while absent”, or ‘co-presence’ (Gergen; Lury; Short, Williams and Christie; White and White, “Keeping Connected”; White and White, “Home and Away”). Central to the original notion of co-presence was that it was contingent on those involved in a given communication both being and feeling close enough to perceive each other and to be perceived in the course of their activities (Goffman). That is, the notion of co-presence initially referred to physical presence in face-to-face contact and interactions. However, increasing use of mobile phones in particular has meant that this sense of connection can be affirmed at a distance. But what happens when travellers do not have access to mobile phones and the Internet, and as a consequence, do not have access to their networks of family, friends and colleagues? How do they deal with travel and isolation in a harsh environment? These issues are the starting point for the present paper, which examines travellers’ experience of CB radio in the remote Australian Outback. This exploration of how the CB radio has been incorporated into the daily lives of these travellers can be seen as a contribution to an understanding of the domestication of mobile communications (Haddon). Methodology People were included in the study if they used CB radios while travelling in remote parts of Western Australian and the Northern Territory. The participants were approached in caravan parks, camping grounds and at roadside stops. Most were travelling in caravans while others were using camper trailers and campervans. Twenty-four travellers were interviewed, twelve men and twelve women. All were travelling with partners or spouses, and one group of two couples was travelling together. They ranged in age from twenty five to seventy years, and all were Australian residents. The duration of their travels varied from six weeks to eleven months. Participants were interviewed using a semi-structured interview schedule. The interviews were transcribed and then thematically coded with respect to regularly articulated points of view. Where points of view were distinctive, they were noted during the coding process as contrasting instances. While the relatively small sample size limits generalizability, the issues raised by the respondents provide insights into the meaning of CB radio use in the daily life of travellers in the Australian Outback. Findings Staying Safe The primary reason given for travelling with a CB radio was personal safety. The tourists interviewed were aware of the risks associated with travelling in the Outback. Health emergencies, car accidents and problems with tyres in a harsh and hot environment without ready access to water were often mentioned. ‘If you call a May Day someone will come out and answer…” (Female, 55). Another interviewee reported that: Last year we helped some folk who were bogged in the sand right at the end of the road in the middle of nowhere. The wife just started calling the various channels explaining that they were bogged and asking whether there was anyone out there….We went and towed them out. …. It would have been a long walk for them to get help. (Female, 55) Even though most interviewees had not themselves experienced a personal emergency, many recounted stories about how CB radio had been used to come to the aid of someone in distress. Road conditions were another concern. Travellers were often rightly very concerned about hazards ahead. One traveller noted: You are always going to hear someone who gives you an insight as to what is happening up ahead on the road. If there’s an accident up ahead someone’s going to get on the radio and let people know. Or there could be road works or the road could be shitty. (Male, 50) Safety arose in another context. Tourists share the rough and often dusty roads with road trains towing up to three trailers. These vehicles can be 50 metres long. A road train creates wind turbulence when it passes a car and trailer or caravan and the dust it raises reduces visibility. Because of this car drivers and caravanners need to be extremely careful when they pass or are passed by one. Passing a road train at 100 km can take 2.5km. Interviewees reported that they communicated with road train drivers to negotiate a safe time and place to pass. One caravanner noted: Sometimes you see a road train coming up behind you. You call him up and say ” I’ll pull over for you mate and slow down and you go”. You use it a lot because it’s safer. We are not in a hurry. Road trains are working and they are in a hurry and he (sic.) is bigger, so he has the right of way. (Male, 50) As with the dominant rationale for installing and using a CB radio, Rice and Katz showed that concern about safety is the primary motive for women acquiring a mobile phone, and safety was also important for men. The social contact enabled by CB radio provided a means of tracking the movements of other travellers who were nearby. This tracking ability engendered a sense of comfort and enabled them to communicate and exchange information synchronously in a potentially dangerous environment. As a consequence, a ‘metaworld’ (Suvantola) of ‘informational traces’ (Urry) was created. Making Oneself Known All interactions entail conventions and signals that enable a conversation to commence. These conventions were also seen to apply to CB conversations. Driving in a car or truck involves being physically enclosed with the drivers and passengers being either invisible or only partially visible to other travellers. Caravanners deal with this lack of visibility in a number of ways. Many have their first names, the name of their caravan and the channel they use on the rear of their van. A typical sign was “Bill and Rose, Travelling Everywhere, Channel 18” or “Harry and Mary, Bugger Work, Gone Fishing”, Channel 18” clearly visible to anyone coming from behind. (The male partner’s name was invariably first.) A sign that identified the occupants was seen as an invitation to chat by other travellers. One traveller said that if he saw such a sign he would call up by saying: “Hello Harry and Mary”. From then on who knows where it goes. It depends on the people. If someone comes back really cheery and a bit cheeky I can be cheery and cheeky back. (Male, 50) The names of caravans were used in other more personal ways. One couple from South Africa had given their van a Zulu name and that was seen as a way of identifying their origins and encouraging a specific kind of conversation while they were on the road. This couple reported that People call us up and ask us what it means. We have lots of calls about that. We’ve had more conversations about that than anything else. (Male, 67) Another caravanner reported that he had seen a van with “Nanna and Poppa’ on the back. They used that as a cue to start a conversation about their grandchildren. But caravan names linked to their CB radio channel can have a deeper personal meaning. One couple had their first names and the number 58 on the rear of their van. (The number 58 is beyond the range of CB channels.) On further questioning the number 58 was revealed to be the football club number of a daughter who had died. The sign was an attempt to deal with their grief and its public display a way of entering into a conversation about grief and loss. It has probably backfired because it puts people back into their shell because they think “We don’t want to talk about death”. But because of the sign we’ve met people who’ve lost a child too. (Male, 50) As Featherstone notes, drivers develop competence in switching between a range of communicative modes while they are travelling. These range from body gestures to formal signalling devices on other cars. Signage on caravans designed to invite conversation was a specialised signalling device specific to the CB user. Talking Loneliness was another theme emerging from the interviews. One of the attractions of the Outback is its sparse population. As one interviewee noted ‘You can travel all day and not see another soul’ (Female, 35). But this loneliness can be a challenge. Some of these roads are pretty lonely, the radio lets you know that there’s somebody else out there. (Male, 54) Hearing other travellers talk was comforting. As with previous research showing that travellers use mobile communications services to maintain a “symbolic proximity” (Gergen; Lury; Short, Williams and Christie; White and White, “Keeping Connected”) the CB conversations enabled the travellers to feel this sense of connection. These interactions also offered them the possibility of converting mediated relationships into face-to-face encounters along the road. That is, some travellers reported that CB-based chats with people while they were driving would lead to a decision to stop along the road for a shared morning tea or lunch. Conventions governed the use of specific channels. Some of these are government regulated, while others are user generated. For instance, Channels 18 and 40, were seen as ‘working channels’. Some interviewees felt very strongly about people who ‘cluttered up’ these channels and moved to another unused channel when they wanted to have an extended conversation. One couple was unaware of the local convention and could not understand why no one was calling them up. They later discovered that they were on the ‘wrong channel’. Interviewees travelling in a convoy would use the standard channel for travellers and then agree to move to another channel of their choice. When we travelling in a convoy we go off Channel 18 and use another channel to talk. The girls love it to talk about their knitting and work out what they’ve done wrong. We sometimes tell jokes. Also we work out what we are going to do in the next town. (Male, 67) These extended conversations parallel the lengthy conversations between drivers equipped with CB radio in the United States during the 1970’s which Dannaher described as ‘as diverse as those found at a cocktail party’. They also provided a sense of the “nomadic intimacy” described by Fortunati. Eavesdropping While travellers used Channel 18 for conversations they set their radio to automatically scan all forty channels. When a conversation was located the radio would stop scanning and they could listen to what was being said. This meant that travellers would overhear conversations between strangers. We scan all the channels so you can hear anyone coming up behind, especially trucks and you can hear them say “that damn caravan” and you can say ’ that damn caravan will pull over at the first opportunity.” (Female, 44) But the act of listening in to other people’s conversations created moral dilemmas for some travellers. One interviewee described it as “voyeurism for the ears”. While she described listening to farm conversations as giving her an insight into daily life on huge cattle station she was tempted to butt into one conversation that she was listening to. On reflection she decided against entering the conversation. She said: I didn’t want them to know that we were eavesdropping on their conversation. I’d be embarrassed if a third-party knew that we were listening in. I guess that I’ve been taught that you shouldn’t listen in to other people’s conversations. It’s not good manners… (Female, 35) When travellers overheard conversations between road train or truck drivers they had mixed responses. These conversations were often sexually loaded and seen as coarse by the middle class travellers. Some were forgiving of the conversational excesses, distinguishing themselves from the rough and tumble world of the ‘truckies’. One traveller noted that the truck drivers use a lot of bad language, but you’ve got to go with that, because that’s the type of people they are. But you have to go with the flow. We know that we are ‘playing’ and the truckies are ‘working’ so you have to be considerate to them. (Female, 50) While the language of the truck drivers was often threatening to middle class travellers, overhearing their conversations was also seen as a comfort. One traveller remarked that sometimes you hear truckies talking about their families and they obviously know each other. It’s kind of nice to see how they think. (Female, 50) Travellers had similar feelings when they overheard conversations from cattle stations. Also, local cattle station workers and their families would use CB radios for their social and working communications. Travellers would often overhear these conversations. One traveller noted that when we are driving through a cattle station we work out which channel they are using, and we lock it on that one. And then we listen until they are out of range. We are city people and listening to the station chatter gives us a bit of an insight into what it must be like as a farmer working land out here. And then we talk about the farmers’ conversations. (Female, 35) Another traveller noted: If you are travelling and there’s nothing you can see you can listen to the farmer talking to his wife or the kids. It’s absolutely awesome to hear conversations on radio. (Female, 67) This empathic listening allows the travellers to imagine the lives of others in settings quite different from those with which they are familiar. Furthermore, hearing farmers talking about fixing the fence in the left paddock or rounding up strays makes ‘you feel that you’re not alone’. The networking of the travellers’ social life arising from listening in to others meant that they were able to learn about the environment in which they found themselves, as well as enabling them to feel that they continued to remain embedded or ‘co-present’ in social relationships in circumstances of considerable physical isolation. Conclusions The accounts provided by tourists illustrated the way communications technologies – in this case, CB radio – enabled people to become ’nodes in multiple networks of communication and mobility’ described by Urry and to maintain ‘co-presence’. The CB radio allowed tourists to remain part of social networks while being physically absent from them (Gergen). Their responses also demonstrated the significance of CB radio in giving meaning to the experience of travel. The CB radio was shown to be an important part of the travel experience in the remote Australian Outback. The use of CB made it possible for travellers in the Australian Outback to obtain information vital for the safe traverse of the huge distances and isolated roads. The technology enabled them to break down the atomism and frontier-like isolation of the highway. Drivers and their passengers could reach out to other travellers and avoid remaining unconnected strangers. Long hours on the road could be dealt with by listening in on others’ conversations, even though some ambivalence was expressed about this activity. Despite an awareness that they could be violating the personal boundaries of others and that their conversations could be overheard, the use of CB radio meant staying safe and enjoying guilty pleasures. Imagined or not. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Community. London: Verso, 1983 Dannefer, W. Dale. “The C.B. Phenomenon: A Sociological Appraisal.” Journal of Popular Culture 12 (1979): 611-19. 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Johnsen, Truls Erik. “The Social Context of Mobile Use of Norwegian Teens.” Machines That Become Us: The Social Context of Personal Communication Technology. Ed. James Katz. London: Transaction Publishers, 2003. 161-69. Ling, Richard. “One Can Talk about Common Manners! The Use of Mobile Telephones in Inappropiate Situations.” Communications on the Move: The Experience of Mobile Telephony in the 1990s (Report of Cost 248: The Future European Telecommunications User Mobile Workgroup). Ed. Leslie Haddon. Farsta, Sweden: Telia AB, 1997. 97-120. Lury, Celia. “The Objects of Travel.” Touring Cultures: Transformations of Travel and Theory. Eds. Chris Rojek and John Urry. London: Routledge, 1997. 75-95. Rice, Ronald E., and James E. Katz. “Comparing Internet and Mobile Phone Usage: Digital Divides of Usage, Adoption and Dropouts.” Telecommunications Policy 27 (2003): 597-623. Short, J., E. Williams, and B. Christie. The Social Psychology of Telecommunications. New York: Wiley, 1976. Stokowski, Patricia. “Social Networks and Tourist Behavior.” American Behavioural Scientist 36.2 (1992): 212-21. Suvantola, Jaakko. Tourist’s Experience of Place. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002. Urry, John. “Mobility and Proximity.” Sociology 36.2 (2002): 255-74. ———. “Social Networks, Travel and Talk.” British Journal of Sociology 54.2 (2003): 155-75. White, Naomi Rosh, and Peter B. White. “Home and Away: Tourists in a Connected World.” Annals of Tourism Research 34. 1 (2007): 88-104. White, Peter B., and Naomi Rosh White. “Keeping Connected: Travelling with the Telephone.” Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies 11.2 (2005): 102-18. Williams, Stephen, and Lynda Williams. “Space Invaders: The Negotiation of Teenage Boundaries through the Mobile Phone.” The Sociological Review 53.2 (2005): 314-31. Wurtzel, Alan H., and Colin Turner. “Latent Functions of the Telephone: What Missing the Extension Means.” The Social Impact of the Telephone. Ed. Ithiel de Sola Pool. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1977. 246-61. Citation reference for this article MLA Style White, Peter B., and Naomi White. "Staying Safe and Guilty Pleasures: Tourists and CB Radio in the Australian Outback." M/C Journal 10.1 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0703/11-white-white.php>. APA Style White, P., and N. White. (Mar. 2007) "Staying Safe and Guilty Pleasures: Tourists and CB Radio in the Australian Outback," M/C Journal, 10(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0703/11-white-white.php>.

All history of this area and the general talk and all of that is that 1973 was a turning point and the Aquarius Festival is credited with having turned this region around in so many ways, but I think that is a myth ... and I have to honour the truth; and the truth is that old Dicke Donelly came and did a Welcome to Country the night before the festival. (Joseph in Joseph and Hanley)In 1973 the Australian Union of Students (AUS) held the Aquarius Arts and Lifestyle Festival in a small, rural New South Wales town called Nimbin. The festival was seen as the peak expression of Australian counterculture and is attributed to creating the “Rainbow Region”, an area with a concentration of alternative life stylers in Northern NSW (Derrett 28). While the Aquarius Festival is recognised as a founding historical and countercultural event, the unique and important relationships established with Indigenous people at this time are generally less well known. This article investigates claims that the 1973 Aquarius Festival was “the first event in Australian history that sought permission for the use of the land from the Traditional Owners” (Joseph and Hanley). The diverse international, national and local conditions that coalesced at the Aquarius Festival suggest a fertile environment was created for reconciliatory bonds to develop. Often dismissed as a “tree hugging, soap dodging movement,” the counterculture was radically politicised having sprung from the 1960s social revolutions when the world witnessed mass demonstrations that confronted war, racism, sexism and capitalism. Primarily a youth movement, it was characterised by flamboyant dress, music, drugs and mass gatherings with universities forming the epicentre and white, middle class youth leading the charge. As their ideals of changing the world were frustrated by lack of systematic change, many decided to disengage and a migration to rural settings occurred (Jacob; Munro-Clarke; Newton). In the search for alternatives, the counterculture assimilated many spiritual practices, such as Eastern traditions and mysticism, which were previously obscure to the Western world. This practice of spiritual syncretism can be represented as a direct resistance to the hegemony of the dominant Western culture (Stell). As the new counterculture developed, its progression from urban to rural settings was driven by philosophies imbued with a desire to reconnect with and protect the natural world while simultaneously rejecting the dominant conservative order. A recurring feature of this countercultural ‘back to the land’ migration was not only an empathetic awareness of the injustices of colonial past, but also a genuine desire to learn from the Indigenous people of the land. Indigenous people were generally perceived as genuine opposers of Westernisation, inherently spiritual, ecological, tribal and communal, thus encompassing the primary values to which the counterculture was aspiring (Smith). Cultures converged. One, a youth culture rebelling from its parent culture; the other, ancient cultures reeling from the historical conquest by the youths’ own ancestors. Such cultural intersections are rich with complex scenarios and politics. As a result, often naïve, but well-intended relations were established with Native Americans, various South American Indigenous peoples, New Zealand Maori and, as this article demonstrates, the Original People of Australia (Smith; Newton; Barr-Melej; Zolov). The 1960s protest era fostered the formation of groups aiming to address a variety of issues, and at times many supported each other. Jennifer Clarke says it was the Civil Rights movement that provided the first models of dissent by formulating a “method, ideology and language of protest” as African Americans stood up and shouted prior to other movements (2). The issue of racial empowerment was not lost on Australia’s Indigenous population. Clarke writes that during the 1960s, encouraged by events overseas and buoyed by national organisation, Aborigines “slowly embarked on a political awakening, demanded freedom from the trappings of colonialism and responded to the effects of oppression at worst and neglect at best” (4). Activism of the 1960s had the “profoundly productive effect of providing Aborigines with the confidence to assert their racial identity” (159). Many Indigenous youth were compelled by the zeitgeist to address their people’s issues, fulfilling Charlie Perkins’s intentions of inspiring in Indigenous peoples a will to resist (Perkins). Enjoying new freedoms of movement out of missions, due to the 1967 Constitutional change and the practical implementation of the assimilation policy, up to 32,000 Indigenous youth moved to Redfern, Sydney between 1967 and 1972 (Foley, “An Evening With”). Gary Foley reports that a dynamic new Black Power Movement emerged but the important difference between this new younger group and the older Indigenous leaders of the day was the diverse range of contemporary influences. Taking its mantra from the Black Panther movement in America, though having more in common with the equivalent Native American Red Power movement, the Black Power Movement acknowledged many other international struggles for independence as equally inspiring (Foley, “An Evening”). People joined together for grassroots resistance, formed anti-hierarchical collectives and established solidarities between varied groups who previously would have had little to do with each other. The 1973 Aquarius Festival was directly aligned with “back to the land” philosophies. The intention was to provide a place and a reason for gathering to “facilitate exchanges on survival techniques” and to experience “living in harmony with the natural environment.” without being destructive to the land (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Early documents in the archives, however, reveal no apparent interest in Australia’s Indigenous people, referring more to “silken Arabian tents, mediaeval banners, circus, jugglers and clowns, peace pipes, maypole and magic circles” (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). Obliterated from the social landscape and minimally referred to in the Australian education system, Indigenous people were “off the radar” to the majority mindset, and the Australian counterculture similarly was slow to appreciate Indigenous culture. Like mainstream Australia, the local counterculture movement largely perceived the “race” issue as something occurring in other countries, igniting the phrase “in your own backyard” which became a catchcry of Indigenous activists (Foley, “Whiteness and Blackness”) With no mention of any Indigenous interest, it seems likely that the decision to engage grew from the emerging climate of Indigenous activism in Australia. Frustrated by student protestors who seemed oblivious to local racial issues, focusing instead on popular international injustices, Indigenous activists accused them of hypocrisy. Aquarius Festival directors, found themselves open to similar accusations when public announcements elicited a range of responses. Once committed to the location of Nimbin, directors Graeme Dunstan and Johnny Allen began a tour of Australian universities to promote the upcoming event. While at the annual conference of AUS in January 1973 at Monash University, Dunstan met Indigenous activist Gary Foley: Gary witnessed the presentation of Johnny Allen and myself at the Aquarius Foundation session and our jubilation that we had agreement from the village residents to not only allow, but also to collaborate in the production of the Festival. After our presentation which won unanimous support, it was Gary who confronted me with the question “have you asked permission from local Aboriginal folk?” This threw me into confusion because we had seen no Aboriginals in Nimbin. (Dunstan, e-mail) Such a challenge came at a time when the historical climate was etched with political activism, not only within the student movement, but more importantly with Indigenous activists’ recent demonstrations, such as the installation in 1972 of the Tent Embassy in Canberra. As representatives of the counterculture movement, which was characterised by its inclinations towards consciousness-raising, AUS organisers were ethically obliged to respond appropriately to the questions about Indigenous permission and involvement in the Aquarius Festival at Nimbin. In addition to this political pressure, organisers in Nimbin began hearing stories of the area being cursed or taboo for women. This most likely originated from the tradition of Nimbin Rocks, a rocky outcrop one kilometre from Nimbin, as a place where only certain men could go. Jennifer Hoff explains that many major rock formations were immensely sacred places and were treated with great caution and respect. Only a few Elders and custodians could visit these places and many such locations were also forbidden for women. Ceremonies were conducted at places like Nimbin Rocks to ensure the wellbeing of all tribespeople. Stories of the Nimbin curse began to spread and most likely captivated a counterculture interested in mysticism. As organisers had hoped that news of the festival would spread on the “lips of the counterculture,” they were alarmed to hear how “fast the bad news of this curse was travelling” (Dunstan, e-mail). A diplomatic issue escalated with further challenges from the Black Power community when organisers discovered that word had spread to Sydney’s Indigenous community in Redfern. Organisers faced a hostile reaction to their alleged cultural insensitivity and were plagued by negative publicity with accusations the AUS were “violating sacred ground” (Janice Newton 62). Faced with such bad press, Dunstan was determined to repair what was becoming a public relations disaster. It seemed once prompted to the path, a sense of moral responsibility prevailed amongst the organisers and they took the unprecedented step of reaching out to Australia’s Indigenous people. Dunstan claimed that an expedition was made to the local Woodenbong mission to consult with Elder, Uncle Lyle Roberts. To connect with local people required crossing the great social divide present in that era of Australia’s history. Amy Nethery described how from the nineteenth century to the 1960s, a “system of reserves, missions and other institutions isolated, confined and controlled Aboriginal people” (9). She explains that the people were incarcerated as a solution to perceived social problems. For Foley, “the widespread genocidal activity of early “settlement” gave way to a policy of containment” (Foley, “Australia and the Holocaust”). Conditions on missions were notoriously bad with alcoholism, extreme poverty, violence, serious health issues and depression common. Of particular concern to mission administrators was the perceived need to keep Indigenous people separate from the non-indigenous population. Dunstan described the mission he visited as having “bad vibes.” He found it difficult to communicate with the elderly man, and was not sure if he understood Dunstan’s quest, as his “responses came as disjointed raves about Jesus and saving grace” (Dunstan, e-mail). Uncle Lyle, he claimed, did not respond affirmatively or negatively to the suggestion that Nimbin was cursed, and so Dunstan left assuming it was not true. Other organisers began to believe the curse and worried that female festival goers might get sick or worse, die. This interpretation reflected, as Vanessa Bible argues, a general Eurocentric misunderstanding of the relationship of Indigenous peoples with the land. Paul Joseph admits they were naïve whites coming into a place with very little understanding, “we didn’t know if we needed a witch doctor or what we needed but we knew we needed something from the Aborigines to lift the spell!”(Joseph and Hanley). Joseph, one of the first “hippies” who moved to the area, had joined forces with AUS organisers. He said, “it just felt right” to get Indigenous involvement and recounted how organisers made another trip to Woodenbong Mission to find Dickee (Richard) Donnelly, a Song Man, who was very happy to be invited. Whether the curse was valid or not it proved to be productive in further instigating respectful action. Perhaps feeling out of their depth, the organisers initiated another strategy to engage with Australian Indigenous people. A call out was sent through the AUS network to diversify the cultural input and it was recommended they engage the services of South African artist, Bauxhau Stone. Timing aligned well as in 1972 Australia had voted in a new Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. Whitlam brought about significant political changes, many in response to socialist protests that left a buoyancy in the air for the counterculturalist movement. He made prodigious political changes in support of Indigenous people, including creating the Aboriginal Arts Board as part of the Australian Council of the Arts (ACA). As the ACA were already funding activities for the Aquarius Festival, organisers were successful in gaining two additional grants specifically for Indigenous participation (Farnham). As a result We were able to hire […] representatives, a couple of Kalahari bushmen. ‘Cause we were so dumb, we didn’t think we could speak to the black people, you know what I mean, we thought we would be rejected, or whatever, so for us to really reach out, we needed somebody black to go and talk to them, or so we thought, and it was remarkable. This one Bau, a remarkable fellow really, great artist, great character, he went all over Australia. He went to Pitjantjatjara, Yirrkala and we arranged buses and tents when they got here. We had a very large contingent of Aboriginal people come to the Aquarius Festival, thanks to Whitlam. (Joseph in Joseph and Henley) It was under the aegis of these government grants that Bauxhau Stone conducted his work. Stone embodied a nexus of contemporary issues. Acutely aware of the international movement for racial equality and its relevance to Australia, where conditions were “really appalling”, Stone set out to transform Australian race relations by engaging with the alternative arts movement (Stone). While his white Australian contemporaries may have been unaccustomed to dealing with the Indigenous racial issue, Stone was actively engaged and thus well suited to act as a cultural envoy for the Aquarius Festival. He visited several local missions, inviting people to attend and notifying them of ceremonies being conducted by respected Elders. Nimbin was then the site of the Aquarius Lifestyle and Celebration Festival, a two week gathering of alternative cultures, technologies and youth. It innovatively demonstrated its diversity of influences, attracted people from all over the world and was the first time that the general public really witnessed Australia’s counterculture (Derrett 224). As markers of cultural life, counterculture festivals of the 1960s and 1970s were as iconic as the era itself and many around the world drew on the unique Indigenous heritage of their settings in some form or another (Partridge; Perone; Broadley and Jones; Zolov). The social phenomenon of coming together to experience, celebrate and foster a sense of unity was triggered by protests, music and a simple, yet deep desire to reconnect with each other. Festivals provided an environment where the negative social pressures of race, gender, class and mores (such as clothes) were suspended and held the potential “for personal and social transformation” (St John 167). With the expressed intent to “take matters into our own hands” and try to develop alternative, innovative ways of doing things with collective participation, the Aquarius Festival thus became an optimal space for reinvigorating ancient and Indigenous ways (Dunstan, “A Survival Festival”). With philosophies that venerated collectivism, tribalism, connecting with the earth, and the use of ritual, the Indigenous presence at the Aquarius Festival gave attendees the opportunity to experience these values. To connect authentically with Nimbin’s landscape, forming bonds with the Traditional Owners was essential. Participants were very fortunate to have the presence of the last known initiated men of the area, Uncle Lyle Roberts and Uncle Dickee Donnely. These Elders represented the last vestiges of an ancient culture and conducted innovative ceremonies, song, teachings and created a sacred fire for the new youth they encountered in their land. They welcomed the young people and were very happy for their presence, believing it represented a revolutionary shift (Wedd; King; John Roberts; Cecil Roberts). Images 1 and 2: Ceremony and talks conducted at the Aquarius Festival (people unknown). Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Paul White. The festival thus provided an important platform for the regeneration of cultural and spiritual practices. John Roberts, nephew of Uncle Lyle, recalled being surprised by the reaction of festival participants to his uncle: “He was happy and then he started to sing. And my God … I couldn’t get near him! There was this big ring of hippies around him. They were about twenty deep!” Sharing to an enthusiastic, captive audience had a positive effect and gave the non-indigenous a direct Indigenous encounter (Cecil Roberts; King; Oshlak). Estimates of the number of Indigenous people in attendance vary, with the main organisers suggesting 800 to 1000 and participants suggesting 200 to 400 (Stone; Wedd; Oshlak: Joseph; King; Cecil Roberts). As the Festival lasted over a two week period, many came and left within that time and estimates are at best reliant on memory, engagement and perspectives. With an estimated total attendance at the Festival between 5000 and 10,000, either number of Indigenous attendees is symbolic and a significant symbolic statistic for Indigenous and non-indigenous to be together on mutual ground in Australia in 1973. Images 3-5: Performers from Yirrkala Dance Group, brought to the festival by Stone with funding from the Federal Government. Photographs reproduced by permission of photographer and festival attendee Dr Ian Cameron. For Indigenous people, the event provided an important occasion to reconnect with their own people, to share their culture with enthusiastic recipients, as well as the chance to experience diverse aspects of the counterculture. Though the northern NSW region has a history of diverse cultural migration of Italian and Indian families, the majority of non-indigenous and Indigenous people had limited interaction with cosmopolitan influences (Kijas 20). Thus Nimbin was a conservative region and many Christianised Indigenous people were also conservative in their outlook. The Aquarius Festival changed that as the Indigenous people experienced the wide-ranging cultural elements of the alternative movement. The festival epitomised countercultural tendencies towards flamboyant fashion and hairstyles, architectural design, fantastical art, circus performance, Asian clothes and religious products, vegetarian food and nudity. Exposure to this bohemian culture would have surely led to “mind expansion and consciousness raising,” explicit aims adhered to by the movement (Roszak). Performers and participants from Africa, America and India also gave attending Indigenous Australians the opportunity to interact with non-European cultures. Many people interviewed for this paper indicated that Indigenous people’s reception of this festival experience was joyous. For Australia’s early counterculture, interest in Indigenous Australia was limited and for organisers of the AUS Aquarius Festival, it was not originally on the agenda. The counterculture in the USA and New Zealand had already started to engage with their Indigenous people some years earlier. However due to the Aquarius Festival’s origins in the student movement and its solidarities with the international Indigenous activist movement, they were forced to shift their priorities. The coincidental selection of a significant spiritual location at Nimbin to hold the festival brought up additional challenges and countercultural intrigue with mystical powers and a desire to connect authentically to the land, further prompted action. Essentially, it was the voices of empowered Indigenous activists, like Gary Foley, which in fact triggered the reaching out to Indigenous involvement. While the counterculture organisers were ultimately receptive and did act with unprecedented respect, credit must be given to Indigenous activists. The activist’s role is to trigger action and challenge thinking and in this case, it was ultimately productive. Therefore the Indigenous people were not merely passive recipients of beneficiary goodwill, but active instigators of appropriate cultural exchange. After the 1973 festival many attendees decided to stay in Nimbin to purchase land collectively and a community was born. Relationships established with local Indigenous people developed further. Upon visiting Nimbin now, one will see a vibrant visual display of Indigenous and psychedelic themed art, a central park with an open fire tended by local custodians and other Indigenous community members, an Aboriginal Centre whose rent is paid for by local shopkeepers, and various expressions of a fusion of counterculture and Indigenous art, music and dance. While it appears that reconciliation became the aspiration for mainstream society in the 1990s, Nimbin’s early counterculture history had Indigenous reconciliation at its very foundation. The efforts made by organisers of the 1973 Aquarius Festival stand as one of very few examples in Australian history where non-indigenous Australians have respectfully sought to learn from Indigenous people and to assimilate their cultural practices. It also stands as an example for the world, of reconciliation, based on hippie ideals of peace and love. 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